BREEDING DISCONTENT

What a Dick

2011-12-27T09:29:00.009-05:00

I stood in the middle of a bar, drink in hand and pleasantly drunk. I swayed back and forth with the rhythm of drunken homosexuals singing bad karaoke versions of otherwise fabulous songs. She stood behind behind me and off to the right and eventually she caught my eye. She had long blond hair, perky tits, long legs and a bit of a mustache. I turned to her, locked eyes, took a sip of whiskey and blurted out "Hey, are you a fucking dude?" She smiled and averted her eyes. "No I'm a lesbian." I paused before taking another sip of whiskey and said "Well, you look like you're sporting and X and a Y chromosome to me." She took a step closer me and and introduced herself as Monique. She told me she thought I was beautiful and I took another sip of whiskey. "Oh yeah? I think you look like a dude." I said with a smirk on my face. "No, I'm a lesbian stuck in a man's body." I looked her over and said "Nice tits, are they real?" She looked at me and said "They are now." I knew my original assumption had been correct. "So you're a dude who likes chicks but you're a lesbian? Yeah, that makes SO much sense. Do you have a cock or a pussy?" She grabbed my hand, smiled at me and put my hand on her crotch. My jaw must've dropped because she said "Oh you like that don't you?" Not only was she a man but she was sporting one of the biggest cocks my hand had ever touched. She leaned in and whispered in a voice that was no longer feminine "You ever been fucked by a dude dressed up as a chick?" I pulled back, looked at her for a moment and said "No I'm not into men who are incapable of being a man." I grabbed his cock a little harder, kissed his cheek and walked off.

Trust your instincts. If she looks like a dude, chances are she's got a huge cock.

Please tell me I'm adopted...

2011-10-11T11:58:00.000-04:00

I need to tell this story…

My Dad can’t spell for shit. It’s always been a joke that without spell check, he’d be completely lost. There are, those precious rare occasions, when even spell check throws it’s hands in the air and goes, “what the fuck?”

———

me: “Hello.”

dad: “Hey, it’s your Dad. My PowerBook is broken.”

me: “What makes you think that?”

dad: “Spell check isn’t working.”

me: “Ok, explain.”

dad: “I’m typing in a simple word and it can’t find the god damn thing. It’s not even giving me choices.”

me: “What’s the word?… hold on, Ashley’s (my sister) beeping through”

dad: “Oh, okay.”

———-

me: “Hey, what’s up?”

my sister: “Dad’s gonna call you. Be ready.”

me: “He’s on the other line.”

my sister: “Has he told you yet?”

me: “Told me what?”

my sister: “Oh fuck. I’m not spoiling it. Jesus, I hope we’re adopted. Bye. Have fun.”

———-

me: “Dad?”

dad: “Yeah, she okay?”

me: “Yep. Question about Halloween. What word is spell checker choking on?”

dad: “Sub Jest.”

me: “Huh? Sub Jest? Like two words?”

dad: “No, suuuubbbbb jjjjeeeeeessssttttt. Why is this so damn hard?”

me: “Dad, I don’t know what word that is either. Can you use it in a sentence?”

dad: “Ok, I’ll try” ….. silence…. “Ok, why the fuck can’t this fucking mac spell sub jest?”

me: “Dad, calm down. That’s not a word.” (stifling laughter) “What sentence are you typing?”

dad: “It’s a note to your aunt. I want her to SUB JEST to your cousin that they come up the night before the party. Ugh, I hate computers.”

me: “Suggest Dad. The word is suggest.”

dad: “That’s what I said.”

me: “How’d you spell it?”

dad: “S. U. B. G. E. S. T.”

me: “I suggest you spell it S-U-G-G-E-S-T.”

dad: “I guess your sister was right then. Gotta go.”

me: “Bye Dad.”

One For the Road

2011-09-29T16:19:00.003-04:00

Masturbation can be a fun activity for one to do when they're alone. I often masturbate, and I use the term "often" instead of throwing out the actual number of times I masturbate in a day to make me seem like less of a sexual deviant. The truth is I masturbate between 3-5 times a day, if not more. I understand the need to masturbate, to have an orgasm but the kid I'm about to tell you about used his masturbation to invade my privacy. Not only was it disturbing but it was HILARIOUS.

At the time I lived with my boyfriend and two of his brothers. Not only was I surrounded by men who probably masturbated at the drop of a towel but I was also in my room masturbating most of the day. What? I have needs. One day while my boyfriend was at work, his brothers were mowing the lawn with a friend of theirs. The youngest brother asked me to take him to the store and I obliged. Upon returning to the house I decided it was time for me to take a shower and get ready because my boyfriend and I were going out that afternoon. I took my shower, masturbated and dried off. I opened my cabinet searching for my bottle of lotion and it was nowhere to be found. Now this really pissed me off because it was a brand new bottle of lotion and it was mine. No one should have been in or near my room, let alone in my bathroom stealing my lotion. I got dressed, went into the living room and interrogated the boys about my lotion. They both denied taking it so I went into their bathroom and looked in the cabinet. BINGO, my fucking lotion. Oh but wait, what's this? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! Next to my bottle of lotion lie a pair of light blue, skimpy panties. MY light blue, skimpy panties. Lotion in one hand, panties in the other I stormed into the living room snorting and stomping like a bull.

"Which one of you sick fucks decided it was okay to steal my panties AND my lotion?"

They both sat there, mouths ajar, looking at each other.

"I don't know if this is some sort of weird fucking joke but this is not okay. It's not okay for you to touch my things, let alone go into my room when I'm not here."

The youngest brother quickly denies followed by the oldest.

"So if it wasn't either of you, then who the fuck was it?"

They sit in silence, still staring at each other. I could almost see the light bulb appear over the youngest brother's head. He explains that the kid was here had done similar things before and that's why he was living with his aunt. Who happened to be my boyfriend's father's secretary. The oldest told me that while the youngest and I were gone the boy had come inside to use the restroom and it had taken him quite a while. He chalked it up to the kid taking a massive shit. Then he also said that the kid had commented on how hot I was.

So apparently, this kid decides to waltzes into my fucking room, dig through my drawers, find a pretty pair of panties, raid my fucking bathroom cabinet, steal my lotion, go to the OTHER bathroom and masturbate. As if by not masturbating in MY bathroom he was showing a little bit of respect. I'm faced with the decision to call my boyfriend's father, who is a devout Christian and explain to him what just happened so he can tell the boy's aunt or I can just let it be.

Fuck that. I'm telling.

I call my boyfriend's father and begin to explain what happened as the bothers listen in. The three of us are sat around the kitchen table laughing so hard we're crying. He asks me if what I was telling him was the truth or if I was just playing a prank on him. I explain that even though we're all dying of laughter that the situation is indeed serious.

"Oh my, OH MY."

I could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he realized he'd have to explain the situation to his secretary.

He does so and she apologizes to me a million times. Every time I see her in public she does all she can to avoid me and if a collision is unavoidable she does her best not to make eye contact with me while we speak. It must be odd speaking to the woman your nephew sexually assaulted in his mind while holding her panties in one hand and jerking off with stolen lotion in the other.

I'm all for self gratification and fantasizing but for fucks sake, if you're going to masturbate with someone else's lotion while sniffing their panties PUT THEM BACK WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED SO NO ONE KNOWS.

This has been a lesson in masturbation.
The more you know, the more you can blow.

Social Media Explained

2011-09-22T01:32:00.001-04:00

Facebook - “I love horses.”

MySpace - “Beating a dead horse sent you a message.”

Twitter - “A dead horse? I beat dead unicorns.”

Tumblr - “Truthful Tuesday, I’m obsessed with unicorns. Sexually. Here’s a picture of my boobs.”

Witstream - “So, how about that Charlie Sheen roast? Tiger blood!”

Social Security Numbers' Mystery Unmasked

2011-09-11T20:48:00.001-04:00

We all know that a social security number is made up of the “Area number”, the “Group number” and the “Serial number” (AAA-GG-SSSS), but did you know there is a mathematical formula behind them that proves Chaos Theory? Try this out, I promise it works. That and I have way too much fucking time on my hands.

If you take the sum of the first three digits, plus the sum of the second two digits, minus the sum of the last four digits, multiplied by the three digit number created by the first, fourth and seventh digits, then divided by difference between the first and last digits given the last is larger (difference between second and eighth if this is the case) then if the middle two digits are less than 50 you round the number to the tenth, if the middle two digits are more than 50 you round the number to the hundredth, if the middle two digits are equal to 50 you round to the whole.

Take that final number and multiply it by sixth digit, minus the seventh digit, divided by the eighth digit and add the ninth. Square the number. Write that number down, we’ll come back to it.

Add each of the individual numbers together, subtract your birthdate, subtract the year of your birth (ie subtract 1,975 if you were born in 1975) and add the number of siblings you have (only those born before you). If this number is a positive number, take the square root and round to the nearest whole number. If it is a negative number, subtract it from itself (ie, if -1985, subtract -1985 from it.). Multiply this number by the number you have wrote down from the last part.

This final number is the amount of you I expect actually mathematically finished this equation. Especially on a friday night.

Math courtesy my last three Irish Car Bombs.

1-800-SEX-CHAT

2011-08-28T20:58:00.009-04:00

My first caller when I was working as a phone sex operator was very quick. I had never ever had phone sex before. I told him it was my first time and he told me that I sounded very sexy. He asked me put my hand in my shirt and start playing with my breast and I told him I was. Then he said he wanted to get fucked in the ass. So I told him I had a 12inch strap on ready to take him. Then I heard an "ugh yeah" followed by the click of him hanging up. This took about 30 seconds. It was so quick I thought we got disconnected. The other girls told me that most calls end with a hang up. So that was a very encouraging feeling starting a new job.

What I really liked about being a phone sex operator was the variety and diversity of people's fetishes who called in. Every time my phone rang I didn't have a clue what the caller was going to want, unless I recognized the number on the caller ID. Some men called in so frequently and talked to the girls so much that they even had special accounts set up at discounted rates. But every new caller always got me excited. I would look at each one as an opportunity to learn something new.

Hands down the weirdest caller that I had was a guy who was into vacuum cleaners. Anything thing to do with a vacuum would turn him on. He said the fantasy came from a cartoon he saw when he was a boy. It was a Hansel and Gretel story where instead of the witch having a broom she had a vacuum that she used to chase the kids around, suck them up and they would be trapped in the cleaner's bag. So I would make up stories about chasing children and chasing him around the house with my magic vacuum. Needless to say he was a happy customer.

Bottle Butt

2011-08-21T19:44:00.004-04:00

We all have our quirks, dark secrets and fetishes. Mine happens to be bondage and spanking. My best friend, however, is at the opposite end of the spectrum. I'm very submissive with men in the bedroom and she tends to be more dominant. I got to spend quite a bit of time with her yesterday, which was awesome because we hadn't seen one another in 7 months. She had a Karate tournament and asked me to ride along and I did. We had to pick up my friend Joe (future boy toy) from Ball Ground on the way to Greenville, so on the ride she and I discussed men. Our favorite subject. I have never known any women to be as boy crazy as she and I. After we picked up Joe (future boy toy) we started talking about the weirdest things we've ever made a guy do. Oh, I forgot to mention that not only is she a Domme but she also likes "Panty Boys" as she calls them. She LOVES making men dress up as women and basically emasculating them. It's something, as a submissive, I could NEVER do. I prefer the masculinity of man be intact when he shoves his cock inside of me. Call me old fashioned but I LOVE a manly man. You know, the kind of man who can house a family of birds in his chest hair. The kind of man who can pick me up and throw me over his shoulders when I refuse to go with him. The kind of man who puts me in my place when I won't make his favorite sandwich. I can't deal with "Panty Boys", I'd eat them alive.

Back to the matter at hand.

I asked her what the weirdest thing she's ever made a guy do and what she told me had me in tears and it had Joe's (future boy toy) asshole clenched so tight that I was sure when he stood up he'd take the interior with him.

She met a guy online and began chatting with him. As their relationship grew they decided to play a bit. This guy gets off on being told what to do so it's not like he was being forced to do any of this. She was drinking Moonshine one night and got a little More than frisky. She was having a bit of fun watching him masturbate and she noticed a beer bottle in the background. She demanded that he pick up the beer bottle and shove it into his ass. He obliged. As he's basically fucking himself in the ass with this fucking beer bottle she tells him to masturbate. So there this dude is, ass naked with a bottle shoved right up his ass, jerking it on web cam. She's loving this shit. He's getting ready to cum and she yells at him to bend over and cum on his own fucking face AND HE FUCKING DOES IT. The dude busts a nut in his own face, bottle up his ass, then proceeds to lick his own fucking cum from around his mouth.

At this point, I'm laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face. Joe (future boy toy) is completely silent. Lips and asshole puckered. No story in my vault could top hers so I didn't even tell one.

Later she's talking about her fantasy to fuck the Weasley's from Harry Potter. All of them, even Jenny. Her fantasy is having an orgy with all of them and being able to cast a spell on herself to have extra holes to take all of the men at the same time. Me, being a fucking idiot, asked her "Will it feel good in the extra holes?" She looks at me, serious look across her face and says "Of course it feels good, it's fucking magic." I die laughing.

After we dropped Joe (future boy toy) off, our conversation drifted into more serious topics. I realized that no matter how far apart she and I are, she will always be fucking weirder than me.

This is why good friends are so very important, because who the fuck else is going to stand beside you through all the weird fucking shit that you do?

Popped By The Cops

2011-08-12T12:06:00.007-04:00

When I was 17 I decided to go to Job Corps because I had already missed so much of my Senior year that no matter how high my grades were I'd still have to repeat it. Job Corps was a great decision not because of the job training, but because I lived on campus and it was nothing but a tiny town full of teenagers and young adults. I can still recall seeing people fucking everywhere behind buildings. Good thing that Job Corps handed out condoms or there could have been another baby boom. On the weekends you were allowed to leave campus IF you were over 18. Which meant that my friends and I fell just under that category. However, being the cunning little fucks that we were we found a way out which required climbing over a fence without being seen, walking through a cornfield, walking down the highway WITHOUT being seen by the officer running the front gate and walking down the train tracks (trestle and all)into the tiny town of San Marcos, TX.

A few of us decided to go into town one Saturday to go swimming at the waterfall. The group included me, Steven, Matt and Waldo. Yeah, Waldo. The most cock-eyed son of bitch I have ever met. He STILL holds that record to this day. After passing through turmoil just to get into town we go into Hastings, which is a huge music/book store, to cool off before we continued to the waterfall. While we were there Matt bought a Walkman and an Eminem tape. Yeah you just read that correctly. Tape. Walkman. After we were done, we made our way to the waterfall, smoked some Kush with the college kids that were there, swam and just enjoyed being free for a day. It started raining so Steven and I got out and walked into the woods. Somethings went on, a few firsts but that's for another story. Let's just say that I've had that awesome sex scene beneath the canopy of the trees as the rain drizzles down on me.

As the rain came down harder we figured we'd better get back on the road before it got any worse. We made our way back to Hastings, went in and sat down. I got bored sitting there so I decided to walk around. I noticed one of the employees following me around. I went over to the guys and I sat down. I leaned over to Matt and I said

"Hey dude, either the guy who works here has the hots for me or he thinks I'm shoplifting."

Matt basically told me I was nuts so I beckoned him to watch. Without hesitation as soon as I got up the employee was back on my ass. After a while of playing musical dick with that guy I told the guys it was time to go.

Now, before we entered the building we were made to put our bags behind the counter. We went to the counter, grabbed our bags and proceeded outside. I was the last one out. As I walk out the security alarm goes off. I was already embarrassed by the fact the alarm had gone off causing EVERYONE in the store to stop and stare but as one of the employees grabbed my arms I could hear the snarky comments of parents to their children.

"And that's what happens if you shoplift,
you don't want to be like her do you?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Good."

The employee asked me to empty my bag and I did. There it was, Matt's Walkman still in the case with no receipt. I knew at that moment I was fucked because without a proper receipt it looks like I stole the Walkman. The cops were called and when they arrived they took me into a tiny room. One officer left to ask the boys some questions and I was stuck with Officer Wonderful in that tiny little room. He began to interrogate me and I asked to see the video tape of me shoplifting. I then explained the situation, told him about my bag being behind the counter and that there was no possible way that I could've hidden the Walkman on my persons, grabbed my bag, and shoved it in there all before walking out of the door. The counter was right there next to the door. He claimed I had stolen it earlier that day.

That was the moment I lost my cool. I screamed profanities at him, I spit at him and I kicked the chair he was sitting in. He got up, grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. I threw my head back catching the bottom of his chin and he let me go. I turned around, hands clenched at my side, waiting for him to draw his baton. He never did. We just stood there staring at each other. At that moment his partner came in, whispered something to the cop, handed him the Walkman and walked out. The cop approached me with a bit of malice in his eyes and I took a step forward, greeting him with my pride that he'd tried to take from me. He handed me the Walkman and explained that the store had checked the bar code on the device and it showed that it had in fact been purchased earlier that day. I knew that he knew he was in the wrong for the way he interrogated me, instigated me. He apologized, stuck his hand out to shake mine and I spit in his hand. Not just a little spit. I hocked a loogie and spit it in his hand. I could see the anger seething beneath his skin but there was nothing he could do because he KNEW my Miranda rights had been violated.

I walked out of the store with my pride still intact and then I kicked Matt right in the fucking dick for leaving that fucking Walkman in the package with no receipt. We made it back to campus, no scars, no bruises, just pride, just laughter and a bottle of MD 20/20 that some old man bought for us.

All in all,
It was a great fucking day.

Short n Sweet

2011-08-05T02:01:00.003-04:00

Hey all! It's me, Steph, better known as The Google Goddess or also The Akron Bean.

You may recognize me from a fantastic podcast called "The Last Podcaster Standing."

I've been invited here to share my thoughts and feelings on whatever I might come up with(which could be dangerous).

I just wanted to give a quick introduction and give a huge thanks to Bone for the invite to do this. It truly is an honor and it gives me a great way to let go of all the funny, fucked up shit I deal with on a daily basis, plus give you updates from the show...you guys really don't know what you're in for!

Expect a lot from me very soon!! So, that's that. Okay...moving on.

#TLPS

G.G.

2011-08-02T22:37:00.000-04:00

It could be a crisis, but I can't tell because I'm high

The funny thing about love is the way it enjoys anal.

Seriously, love will sneak up behind you and jam it's dry, 9 inch rod in your ass.

If you take a look back at my life (it's in the semen stained VHS case next to Babes in Boyland), you would notice a pattern of bad decisions, that I can always link back to a man. And one time a woman.

I attract domineering men. Conquering a lady like me is a challenge to some. Then it's a game. I want to win the game, so I'm all in. Immediately. I've got 8200 in chips and they are all on red. Fast, hard, hot and heavy love. Like your first high. Like 160 in a new camaro. Like your first orgasm. It will never be that good ever again. You will be chasing the dragon for the remainder of your relationship.

You're winning, buying round after round, having a great time, then BAM. Wrong hole, love!

That one straw. It dropped and the camel is fucked. You're also fucked.

I have acted crazy over relationships, not because of deep feelings for another human being, but because of my fear of loss. I mean losing the game. Defeat. I do not take it well.
When I hear a Lifetime wife beater say "if I can't have you, no one will" I can relate. He's got it right there. If you aren't going to be mine, you're damn well not going to be anyone Else's either.

I've burned clothing, smashed a windshield with my easel, broke into an exes apartment, slandered and most likely libeled as well. I have poor decision making skills. And love brings out the worst in me.

I blame public schools. And the boys I slept with while I was there.

I See a Dead Person

2011-08-02T14:16:00.003-04:00

As crazy as this is going to sound, I've seen "spirits" all of my life. My entire family can tell you stories of me seeing ghosts. I remember staying at my aunt's house. I hated that place so much. I was lying on the couch one night, everyone was in bed and I was having trouble falling asleep. I began hearing someone walking around in the kitchen and I knew that no one was up but me. The footsteps grew loud and heavy as if whatever was walking around weighed more than the average person. It paced back and forth from the kitchen to the end of the couch where I was sleeping, stopping at the foot for a second before returning on the path it came and back again. I never saw what it was even though my eyes were wide open. I never stayed the night at her house after that.

I could sit here all day writing stories of these encounters but who really wants to read a bunch of ghost stories? I will tell you about one particular incident where my heart felt like it stopped beating for a moment.

We had just recently moved to Georgia when I met a man and we began dating. He was coming to pick me up that night and I was excited because it was the first "date" date we were going to have. I got ready and as ex-military I'm very impatient when it comes to time. I'm a very prompt, if not early, woman. He was late and I was growing weary of sitting inside. I walked through the house and started turning off the lights. The last light to turn off was the light in my bedroom. I walked into my room, turned off the light and ventured out into the hallways towards the front door. I was digging in my purse for my phone to use as a light source. When I found my phone I glanced up and I saw a figure slowly moving towards me. I gasped, dropped my phone and began backing up. No words escaped my lips, I could feel my heart pounding so hard I thought it would jump right out of my chest. I continued backing up until my back hit the wall behind me. As the figure moved toward me, it held out it's hand as if beckoning me to take hold of it. I slid down the wall, whimpering and completely terrified. It grew closer and closer and I was clenching my purse so tightly that my hands began to hurt. As I sat there on the floor trembling, unable to move, it spoke to me.

"Baby."
"Baby."

I was confused and almost couldn't understand what it was saying because of the fear that gripped my entire body. I spoke back to it.

"Wh.. wh.. what do you want from me?"

It stood there, hand still extended. It spoke again.

"Take my hand."

The voice was so familiar. I knew him, I knew that voice. It spoke again.

"Jessica, will you get off the fucking floor so we can go eat? I'm starving."

At that moment, that fucking very moment I snapped out of and realized I was sitting on the floor, shivering and absolutely terrified because my boyfriend walked into the house without me hearing him and proceeded to scare the fucking shit out of me. I was so pissed off at him, I stood up screaming
"Why the fuck didn't you say anything to me?"
He told me that he thought I knew it was him and I replied
"Yes, because all women cower in the presence of their boyfriend."
He said
"Well, we do live in Georgia and the domestic abuse rate in this town in through the roof."

I could have stabbed him at that point but karma paid him back. He's now married to the town whore and she fucks everyone BUT him.

Take THAT asshole!

Mikey's Last Stand

2011-07-31T11:12:00.003-04:00

Originally posted in it's entirety at getoffendedbone.tumblr.com

My name’s Michael but everyone calls me Squeal. I fucking hate it, so please call me Mikey. I just turned 8 years old… physically. I’m much older mentally. I have to be, otherwise I’d be dead by now, like my mother. My dad killed her. He’s a fucking asshole. Oh, he’s still around, he didn’t go to jail or anything. It’s not like he killed her with his own hands or a gun or anything. No, he made her do it herself like he did everything else. It kind of makes sense if you really think about it. He made her do everything for him, even cut up his god damn steak. Only fitting that his constant mental abuse drove her to parking her car in the garage, turning on the key, and turning off her life.

She did leave me a note. At least.

Dear Michael,
Mommy loves you. I'm sorry I have to leave you but I think it's best. Don't hate me. I know you're stronger than me and much smarter. I know you'll find your own way out.
Love, Mom

It could have said the same thing in as few as three words, “Fuck You Michael”.

How can an 8 year old possibly talk like this? you’re probably asking yourself right now. I’m sort of a genius with an abusive cocksucker of a father who only ever taught me one thing… excessive alcohol consumption leads to vomit on his 8 year old’s bedroom floor and subsequently the before mentioned 8 year old son cleaning it all up the next morning. Like I said, Cocksucker.

Squeal was the nickname given to me by Fred Cooper the first day of 7th grade. Yep, genius, remember? He said I looked like a tiny little piglet compared to everyone else. From that moment forth, everyone squeals and oinks like a little pig when I come into a classroom. The name stuck, unfortunately, and I was forever dubbed, “Squeal” by my peers.

Click here to read the whole story

Does This Pregnancy Make Me Look Crazy?

2011-07-29T11:13:00.005-04:00

Yes folks, that's me as an expectant mother. I almost look sweet don't I? Don't let the smile and the Summer dress fool you. I was a ball of emotions. Pregnancy isn't the same for every woman and one of my followers suggested this as a blog so I decided it would be fun to share the crazy things I did during pregnancy.

When I found out I was pregnant I was severely surprised because of my past I didn't think I'd ever be able to have a child. I was happy, nonetheless. A few weeks after I found out I was pregnant I started getting sick all the time. I couldn't even look at a piece of meat without vomiting on the floor. The worst food experience I can recall was eating dinner with my son's father and his family at a steak house. No one but he and I knew I was pregnant so I had to try and keep my vomiting to a minimum. I was doing good, with my little salad and buttered bread, until they brought dinner out. The smell alone was killing and watching all of the fat, starving people tear into their meat like animals hit a nerve. I looked at my son's father and he knew what was going to happen. As soon as I stood, I turned my head and lost what little of my lunch I had eaten. They all looked at me as if I were insane and we had to spill the vomit, so to speak, and admit that I was pregnant. They congratulated us and continued eating as I walked outside and sat in the car.

I was in college when I found out I was pregnant and I happened to be working on a paper about Paganism. Because I knew so much about the religion already I had sat down and begun banging away at the keyboard. It was storming outside and being the scatterbrain that I am, I hadn't yet saved any of my work. Much to my dismay, the power shut of thus erasing every last bit of work I had done. I sat there staring at the computer in disbelief, scolding myself for not saving any of my work. Then as it hit me that I'd have to start all over I began sobbing into my hands. Not merely sobbing but screaming at the same time. I walked through the entire house, screaming, cursing, crying and stomping my feet. I flailed my arms as if I were signaling to the Gods that I would kill them all shall I ever find them. In between sobbing I'd grab a Little Debbie and furiously eat it while screaming. It took nearly 30 minutes for my son's father to calm me down. I went back to my computer, still slightly sobbing and started all over again. I got an "A" on that paper so it wasn't all bad.

In the months leading up to my son's birth I became increasingly emotional and anything would set me off. I once cursed out a woman in the grocery store for taking the cucumber I wanted. I sobbed at her and shook my fist until she relinquished that damn cucumber. I saw it first and I wanted it. In my mind, it already belonged to me.

Sitting on the couch one evening a Huggies commercial came on. I can't recall the content but there was a mother holding her newborn baby and I started to violently sob. My son's father looked at me and asked if I were okay. I cried at him "I'm just fucking fine. Why do you ask so many fucking questions?" He said "If you're okay, why are you crying for no reason." I paused for a moment and began thinking again of the commercial and I screamed "Because that stupid baby on that fucking commercial was so cute and I wanna hold it. Whats wrong with you? How could you not noticed how cute the fucking baby was?" and I stormed off to my bedroom where I grabbed the box of Little Debbie's hidden in my sock drawer and ate until fell asleep.

My son's father bought me a Playstation 3 when he realized how bored I was being at home. I was grateful because being a gamer, I could sit there for hours with my Little Debbie's, pickles, Doritos and 64 ounce mug of ice water and play video games all day. My fiend Ben came over one day and he brought over some fighting game. I usually play RPG's but I figured I'd give it shot since I loved playing Street Fighter back in the day. A few rounds in I noticed that Ben was doing the same moves over and over and it was really beginning to piss me off. As the little man on the game announced that Ben had won I sat forward and I screamed "That is such bullshit! You only won because you had me in the fucking corner kicking me repeatedly. Admit you stupid fuck. Admit that you suck at this game and the only way to beat was to do a repeat fucking move." He stared at me in disbelief for a second and he said "I think this pregnancy has really gone to your head." Without hesitation I threw the controller right at his head and hit him square in the face. I made him leave for being a dick and I refused to give him the game back. We're still friends to this day and we laugh about that incident whenever we're together.

I was also known to eat in the middle of the night. My son's father once found me sitting Indian style in the middle of the kitchen, no lights, no TV on. Just me, in the dark eating a piece of chocolate cake. He asked me what I was doing and I pulled the fridge open and I yelled "I'm eating a piece of fucking cake, genius. What does it look like I'm doing, giving birth?" At that point he knew it was best to leave me to my prey.

The birth went fine except for me cursing out a few of the nurses for not letting me eat. I wish I had more crazy things to tell you but for the most part it was just me crying and cursing at people. Those are the ones that stick out in my mind. I almost missed being pregnant because it gave me an excuse to curse at people, flip them off and throw things at them without them being able to retaliate. My next pregnancy is going to be awesome.

The fucking irony of it all was that during the first draft of this blog my fucking power went out and I lost everything I had been working on. Luckily, I laughed.

That Is Bacon I Smell, Right?

2011-07-27T14:15:00.002-04:00

One of the last nights I spent in Texas before I left at the age of 21 was possibly one of the best nights I've ever had. There were approximately 6 of us that night, if not more. My recollection is a bit fuzzy. The first part of the night was spent at a friend's house drinking and doing other recreational activities that may or may not have been illegal in the state of Texas back then. After that we drove to Cue & Cushion which was the pool hall we were always at if we weren't at home.

This is where I meet my first love. A bottle of Jameson. I haven't been the same since then.

After I have no idea how many shots of Jameson I realized I was being given the stink eye by my fuck buddy's ex girlfriend. At that point, being of Irish decent and full of Jameson, I stood on top of our pool table and kindly yelled "What the fuck are YOU looking at?" she looked around like she had no idea that she'd been staring at me all night and I said "Yeah you, with the face. You got a problem?" I was then yanked down off of the table by my ex. Me being 5'8" and a buck twenty-five at the time, it wasn't even a chore for him to yank me down. The owner asked us to leave because he knew if I stuck around I'd end up hitting the girl and being arrested. The guy adored me so he didn't want to see anything bad happen to me or on her face in his parking lot. So we piled in the Honda and took off.

I know, I can't believe this fucking story isn't over yet either.

We were on our way to an abandoned hospital by the name of Jefferson Davis that was supposed to be haunted. I love the supernatural so I was completely okay with being shitface drunk in some old abandoned building that could possibly collapse at any time. I was such a rebel. On the way there I really had to piss so I begged the driver to stop somewhere. To this day, I'm still not sure why we didn't stop at a store. May have had something to do with the car full of drunk people or something. We stopped at an abandoned garage and my friend and I got out and walked a little ways, dropped our panties and started going. About that a time, a light beamed right into my face. I threw my hand up and yelled "You get that fucking light out of my fucking face or so help me motherfucker when I get up you won't have a fucking hand to hold your dick with." I heard a lady say "Pardon me?" and considering my friend and I were the only two ladies in the group, if you'd so like to call us that, I became confused and aggravated. Like a redneck when Dale Jr doesn't win that circular race thingy they watch every so often. Being confused isn't something I'm good at and I often hide it with my aggression so I said "Yeah, you fucking heard me. No hand for your dick are you deaf?" At that point my friend was standing beside me pants up telling me it was a cop. I was still peeing. I looked up at my friend and said "Cop or not, I came here to piss and that's what I intend on doing."

Light beaming down upon me in mid piss, I finished what I came to do. Stood up, pulled my panties up, pulled my pants up and did a little jig that involved me dancing in circle around my friend.

Somehow, my friend managed to talk the cop out of arresting me even though I was way beyond the legal limit and public urination is illegal. We went on to Jefferson Davis where I twisted my ankle coming out. I was convinced until I woke up sober that a ghost pushed me down for being an asshole to that lady cop.

I laugh every time I hear "Mrs. Officer" by Lil Wayne and I often wonder if she would have let me have sex with her in the back of her cop car in front of my friends while holding her light on me.

That, my friends, is my only regret.

Semper My Thigh

2011-07-26T23:48:00.000-04:00

It was the uniform. It's always been an object of my lust. Army, Navy, state police, if it had a vertical button line, I was in need of fresh panties.

But the U.S. Marine dress uniform brings my clit to attention.

So, I was helpless against it's power when it's host brought out his camera for some show-and-tell. I smile, with no intention of the photos being taken. Then a glass of white.
I really enjoy wine.
Two, three, and soon the second bottle is uncorked.
We're listening to Tool and having a very deep conversation about the apartheid and anal stimulation. I'm feeling a little silly and I grab his dress jacket off of the recliner and slip into it.
I pose on the ottoman, kicking my bare feet up.
"Stay right there," he fumbles for his camera.
I sit up and grab for the camera. "I want to take a picture of your nuts wearing a hat."
"OK. But then you."
"I don't have nuts," I laugh as I flash him my left breast. It was on.
There was so much heavy petting going on, his dog was getting jealous.
I had no resistance. I would be forever captured on film in campaign destroying glory. There were photos of positions that the Kama Sutra is trying to buy rights to. Shit, I was in my early 20's, flexible, and had no scruples.
We used props for some of our photo shoots. Toys, a small, leather cat-o-nine, and a variety of vibrators make special guest appearances. Handcuffs were a favorite of his, and he enjoyed restraining me and snapping away. Eventually, there were dozens of pictures, as proof of the sultry deeds we shared.
A year later he was out of the Marines, and we were both working as Correctional Officers for state penitentiaries. Still with the uniform, I could handle the jump to fucking a civilian.
We worked at two different facilities, but we each were members of the Correctional Emergency Response Team (CERT) at our own prison and occasionally our two teams would meet for joint weapons or restraints training.
The men in CERT are extremely tough on the women that join, so I enjoyed fucking with them. Big, muscle bound, morons getting off to shot gun blasts and OC bursts to the face. But I was stuck with them, and after all we were a team.
Restraint training generally consisted of drills that showed your skill at shackling an "inmate". We would take turns playing the inmate, offer a bit of resistance for a true to life feel. My turn to be the convict. I go down easily (that's what she said) wiggling a little, but eventually I am subdued by the officer. As soon as his hands leave the cuffs, I slip one wrist through the grips and then the second. I dangle the empty shackles above my head.
The guys gathered in a circle and laugh at my former captor. He turns around, grabs my arm and swings me around. I pitch forward as his knee quickly jabs the back of my leg. He takes me to the ground in a practically effortless movement, and cuffs my ankle. Before I could fight back, he has the second clasp around my wrist, hogtied, so to speak.
Breathing heavily, the winner leans down and puts his lips to my ear.
"I know how much you like cuffs, Kodak."

Virginity: Give It Away, Give It Away, Give It Away Now

2011-07-26T11:09:00.006-04:00

I lost my virginity at the tender age of 16 because the douchebag I was dating wouldn't stop hounding me so one night I finally yelled "Just fucking take it already!" Losing my virginity was nothing like it is in the movies. It was just some young guy humping away the last of my innocence and completely erasing it when he came and fell flat on my chest. Taking a woman's virginity seems to be something really special to men, okay not special, just something they can brag about to their friends. What about all the sexually experienced women who have taken a man's virginity? You don't hear a lot of those stories and that's why I'm sharing mine with you.

I was probably 20 at the time and my friend Nick called me up one afternoon and told me that he'd like for me to take his virginity. The thought of turning him down didn't even cross my mind because for years I had a crush on the guy. He was Italian, olive complected, pale ice blue eyes, tall with dark hair. I wanted him so bad. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to jump his bones. I was living with my friend Tony at the time and I was completely alone so I invited him over. When he finally got there we didn't waste any time on greeting one another. He came in, grabbed me and began slowly kissing me. We made our way to my bedroom, still kissing. He undressed me, laid me on the bed and undressed himself but not before pulling a condom out of his back pocket.

This is where the story goes awry.

He was hard as he opened the condom with his teeth and for some reason watching him tear into that packet as a vulture would the carrion of his latest victim, really excited me. He pulled the condom out, wait for it, and completely unraveled it. I'm sure the look on my face was that of a person watching an accident in slow motion. As he struggled with the condom, still hard may I add, I asked him if he had another. He said he did, grabbed it and gave it to me. I showed him how to use a condom properly that day. He crawls on top of me and began kissing me again, my excitement levels were at an all time high. I gasped a little as he entered me. He grabbed both of my shoulders from beneath me and began pumping like a Jack Rabbit on Crystal Meth. I felt as though we were fucking right atop the San Andreas Fault Line. He then began yelling "Do you feel it? Do you feel it? CAN YOU FEEL IT?" I'm not sure I said anything at all due to the fact that I was choking back laughter when I should've been choking back something else. A few seconds later he started yelling "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum! Can you feel it, baby? Tell me you can feel it!" At that point I burst out laughing while screaming "I can feel it!" A few more pumps and he was done. He collapsed on my chest and as we lay there, breathing in unison I couldn't help but think "Are you fucking serious? Did that REALLY just happen?" I rolled him off of me, tossed him his clothes and told him I had a few things to do that afternoon so he'd have to leave. We smoked a cigarette, stared at each other and said our goodbyes.

That was the last time Nick and I ever spoke.

I suppose in a way we used each other. He wanted to lose his virginity and I wanted to take it. Every time I tell this story I laugh until I cry. It's one of my favorite stories to tell, complete with hand gestures and air humping. Maybe one day, if I meet any more of you I'll tell it in person.

I suppose to some people, virginity is a very serious issue but to me it will always be a laughing matter.

You always hurt the ones you love

2011-07-26T00:17:00.000-04:00

There I sat staring at it.

It wobbled a little back and forth throughout it's gelatinous, molded shape.
"What in the hell is that thing?" I ask him.
"What do you think it is?" he laughs.
I knew exactly what it was, my question really meant, where in the hell to you think you'll be putting that thing. I assume up your own ass.
My secret birthday present had been revealed. It was even wrapped.
But now the monster stood there, intimidating me. "No way. Nooo way."
"It's OK, it's fine. You don't have to. I thought you'd want to. It would feel good," he says in his most convincing voice.
"It would dislocate my vagina. You're a fucking weirdo."
"You're so funny." he taps the thing on my leg, "he just wants to say hi."
"Get it off me. Away from me," I toss it across the den and it hits the wall with a loud thud.
"Don't break it. It wasn't cheap, and I doubt I can return it." He picks the colossus up at stands it up on the coffee table again."It has a suction cup."
"I feel like you're trying to sell me a used car." I
"Just once. With lots of lube. If it hurts I'll stop."

Three weeks I endured sly innuendos about the massive thing. It lived in the bedside drawer, rolling around every time he reached in to grab his reading glasses. It sounded like a severed arm, sliding back and forth, hitting the dovetailed wood. It mocked me.

One day I was cleaning up the bedroom, and thought about the plastic menace and peaked in the drawer. The smell of rubber wafted up to my nose. I picked it up. It seemed heavier than before.
You could knock a man out with this, I think, while giving it a baseball bat swing.
As I followed through on my home run hit, the slippery surface of the rubber made my fingers begin to slip. As if in slow motion, the dildo left my grasp as the bedroom door opened. He stood there with a confused look on his face as the 3 pound projectile hurtled towards his face.
THUD!
I watch in horror as this porn star plaything slams my boyfriend right in the nose. Blood gushes everywhere.
"Why the fuck did you throw that at me?!"
"It slipped. I was pretending it was a baseball bat. I'm so sorry. Is it broken?"
"Yes it's fucking broken," he fires back.
"Let me look," I peer at the bloody mess. His nose was clearly bent to the left. "It's broken."
"Pop it back where it goes," he squints his eyes, bracing for adjustment.
I gingerly grasp the bridge of his nose and quickly pop it towards it's home. He screams, and then sighs with relief.
"If it hurts, I'll stop.".
And that is the story of why I walked funny for several days in May 1999.

I WONDER...

2011-07-23T02:14:00.002-04:00

You know when you pull up to a stop sign and you and the car across from you both go, then stop, then go again because neither of you know who has the right of way…

I wonder if that’s ever happened at a glory hole.

Posted by getoffendedBone

English Motherfucker, Y U No Speak It?

2011-07-22T18:07:00.005-04:00

A friend of mine called me this afternoon and asked if I'd like to come get a pedicure with her on her dime. Being the awesome friend that I am I told her I would love to get a pedicure with her. Being from a small town there are 3 places nearby to get your nails done. One being ran by Americans that costs a small fortune, one that you have to make an appointment a least a week in advance and the one we chose to go to. The service there isn't bad and I've been going there for years so they all know me by name. They all have their English names, Lisa, Tammy, and Dan. It's so cute to see them embrace American names so we don't have to learn to pronounce names like Pho-Shong and Tan-Mai-Ling.

I'm going to be honest, it's been a long time since anyone but me gave me a pedicure and by the look on Tammy's face when she saw my feet she thougt the same thing. She immediately began talking in Vietnamese and giggling to Lisa, which by my point of view meant that she was talking shit about me. Now Tammy can't speak any English or so they say but I know she speaks enough English to understand what I said to her next. I leaned in close to Tammy and I said "Listen honey, if you want make fun of people in Vietnamese you should do it on your own fucking time because at this very moment you're on my friend's. She's paying you to do this and I expect to give us respect while you're doing it. OK, doll?' I watched the disgust slowly spread across her face and as she went to say something in her native tongue I placed my index finger over my lips and quietly shushed her.

Tammy didn't say another word to me the entire time which was totally okay because I can never understand anything she says, mostly because it's never directed at me and it's always in Vietnamese. I know I'm not the only woman who has ever experienced this but I'm one of the few who will stand up and politely ask them to shut the fuck up. It's disrespectful and even if she weren't talking about (which obviously she was or I would've been kicked out for being a complete cunt) she have to common decency to speak English in front of her customers.

I'm just saying.
It's fucking rude.

V-Rex

The Greatest Ringtone EVER

2011-07-21T11:32:00.003-04:00

This was originally posted at http://getoffendedbone.tumblr.com

GREATEST RINGTONE EVER

The other night, the topic of the greatest ringtones of all time came up. I have it. I have stories because of it.

A little background, I have an unhealthy obsession with people getting sick. Nothing sexual about it so don’t even go there. For me, the sound of someone wretching or gagging is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Even if it’s me doing it. FYI, if you’re hanging your head over a toilet yakking up a bottle of wine or a six pack of PBR, I may help keep your hair out of the toilet, but I’ll likely be dying on the inside or, if shared the consumption, uncontrollably guffawing over your shoulder.

In 1999, Bloodhound Gang released Hooray for Boobies. On this disc was a song titled “Yummy Down on This” which included a 20 second clip of a mythical deep throated blowjob complete with gagging, wretching and chokes. For about a year, this was my ringtone. I am that fucking awesome.

Best story that goes with this occurred standing in line at the bank. I was busy explaining to the teller the requested denomination for my withdrawal when my phone started ringing. At this time, I was completely desensitized to the ring and just let it go. The middle aged woman in line behind me was not.

“Sir. Sir. Sir… can you please get your phone? Sir… sir.. gugh.. sir.. gggaghgh… sir.. could you.. ughgh… please get… rroorrrk.. phone?”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my ringtone actually made her gag to the point where she got pissed and left the line because I was too busy laughing my ass off to answer the damn phone before it went to voicemail. I am that fucking awesome.

Enjoy.

Peaches & Screams

2011-07-20T11:35:00.003-04:00

After a 15 hour car ride with a fussy toddler I finally made it back to Georgia last night. I have a long list of things to get done and I started earcly this morning. Mostly because my son was up at the crack of dawn and the idea of watching "Fresh Beat Band" didn't enetertain me much. I'm staying with my parents for the time being which is a good thing and a bad thing. My step-father and I have never really gotten along and he makes it hard on me by reminding me that I'm a failure. Every single day. The tension is so thick this morning you'd need a fat man in a bikini with a jackhammer to cut through it. I've added the bikini for dramatic effects during the slow motion scene. I love Houston and eventually when I'm ready I'll make my way back. For now, I'm happy that the water here doesn't taste like ass, I get to finish school, go to the lake and get drunk with rednecks. It doesn't sound fun but most rednecks are harmless unless you touch their wives, their beer or their dog without permission. I'm glad to look out my window and see the mountains once again because I was getting tired of watching that fat Mexican chick attempt to do the P90x workout. Although it did make for some hilarious entertainment when I was drunk. There is a lesson to be learned from all of this, if you're not ready to do something wait until you are. If you don't you might end up in a bad situation like tied to a pole with ice cream on your gentials being licked cleaned by a donkey named Thunder. God, I miss that donkey.

Seriously, when it comes to you and what's best for your life don't let anyone else make your decisions. You decide your life.

I haven't told a story in a while...

2011-07-19T11:24:00.001-04:00

Not necessarily a good story, but it’s a story…

I went to the University of Cincinnati and lived with one of my closest friends from High School. When they pick your dorm assignments for Freshman year, you are put into a lottery. By some stroke of luck we were chosen to live in one of the sophomore dorms. Then, because I must have done something right over the years, we were drawn to live in a converted lounge for 3 people. THEN, because in a previous life I must have taken a bullet for a pregnant nun or something, we were given the opportunity to buy out the 3rd roommate. Since I went to UC on scholarships, I was able to do so out of pocket. This meant that we had a huge, carpeted, air conditioned, end of the hallway room all to ourselves.

The way our dorm was setup, each floor was shaped like a large + with four suites, one in each of the hallways. Each suite contained 4 rooms of 3-4 people each and a lounge. The suites were co-ed, but each room bedroom in the suite had a locking door. We lived in the lounge. There were 16 of us total in our suite and we became a little family. I still talk to about half of those people on a yearly basis at least.

Since we lived in the lounge room, our room was sort of the hang out mecca. Also, since I have insomnia and never slept, our door stayed open. It was sort of the community room. The 16 of us would end up crashing wherever within our suite. Often there were 1 or 2 people passed out on my floor or in my bed. Like I said, one big happy family.

This was 1994. Back in 1994, you couldn’t buy laser pointers. A laser was only available on high powered military rifles and in the movies. Except we had one. It was about 18” x 4” x 6” and had a huge power adapter that plugged into the wall. It would start up and hum like the Hedron Collider. It was “borrowed” from our high school science lab… uh hum…. “borrowed”.

Across the campus was an all girl’s dorm. Believe it or not, they NEVER closed their curtains. Never.

We had a laser pointer. They had open windows. Let the games begin.

A high powered laser can shine about 1/2 a mile before degradation begins… imagine a room full of girls trying to figure out what the fuck that red dot is on the wall that keeps running from them. Like kittens. I have never laughed so hard… until.

Until we discovered the joy of chasing pizza delivery guys across the parking lot. Yes, back then, if you saw a red dot on your chest, you assumed you were about to be assassinated. I’m surprised we never gave anyone a heart attack.

One night, at about 10:00, we decided to play “Chase the Pizza guy”. However, we decided to play “Chase the Drug Dealer”. This did not go over well. At first two of the entourage dove to the ground, yelling “Sniper!” and “Five-Oh! Five-Oh!”… but the third… apparently the brains of the bunch… looked up at our window… and drew a pistol.

I think the only thing we all said was “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” as we shut the window, put away the laser and ran to the room next door to see where they were going.

In the front door they came.

We were on the 4th floor which was actually the 5th floor because dorms are stupid. They had counted windows and knew exactly where to find us. We figured we’d just shut the door and go to a different room to watch the show. About 10 minutes later, three of the scariest dudes I’ve ever seen come stalking down the hallway, banging on our door.

“Open up mother fucker! You gonna shoot me mother fucker?” They didn’t sound like they got the joke.

After this went on for a while and they started in with the “We just gonna wait out here until you mother fuckers come out!” we decided it was time to get them to leave. A friend walked out and told them we left a long time ago. That they needed to leave before the Resident Advisor called campus security on them. They sat down in the hallway. “Nah, we’ll wait!”

My roommate and I came up with a plan.

I walked out and asked what room they were looking for, they told me the end room on the fifth floor.

I showed them their mistake, this was the FOURTH floor. They needed to go up one more floor. As soon as they left, we called the front desk and told them that 3 guys were on our floor waving a gun around. We called from the hall phone, then hung up. About 10 minutes later, campus security was there.

This is where the story goes bad. As the three guys are getting put into a campus security vehicle, we decided to hang out the window and get them with the laser again. In hindsight it wasn’t the smartest idea. Funny? yes. Smart? no.

Did you know that in 1994, using a high powered laser in a malicious manner was considered a misdemeanor? Me neither.

It's True What They Say

2011-07-18T17:37:00.002-04:00

Everything really is bigger in Texas. Except, that mostly pertains to our egos as opposed to anything else. This is my second time leaving the state that I grew up in and to be honest I'm a little sad about it. Nevertheless, I got to spend times with some of my closest friends as well as make a few new ones. So this is for @msbettyblack, @Mac_Encheeze, @TonyMaintaina, and @Lotocoti. It was awesome to meet you guys and become such really good friends my life is going to be seriously boring with out you assholes. I'll be back as soon as possible.

For everyone who helped me out yesterday, a HUGE thank you goes out to each and every one of you. We'll be leaving late tonight and as long as I'm not driving, I'll be tweeting. I'll also post pictures and videos so that you guys can see our progress. Again, for most of you to be complete strangers to me, I feel lucky to know you all.

Wish me luck.

V-Rex

A Confession...

2011-07-18T11:08:00.003-04:00

I have a confession to make. Everything I’ve said, tweeted & posted has been leading up to this single blog entry. One of you is going to read this and it will redefine everything you thought you knew about me, about yourself. If you’re not the person this post is intended for, you can either stop now or read on and enjoy the show.

The rest of this confession can be found here... http://getoffendedbone.tumblr.com

Seize the Jello

2011-07-17T19:10:00.005-04:00

I had a great time Jello Wrestling last night. Yes that's right, I am a pro jello wrestler, for reals. It all started when the Seattle burlesque troupe that I ran sound for decided that they were going on a hiatus. Gregory Baxely is the manager of the The Urban Bombshells and with those ladies taking a break from the stage he contacted me with a new idea.

When he asked if I would want to be in a jello wrestling show I had one answer for him. Fuck YES! As a child if you gave me a million dollars the first thing that I would have done is fill a swimming pool full of jello just because I thought it would be the coolest thing to swim in. This was on my fuckin' bucket list, how could I say no?

That is how it all began. We have come a long way from our first show over a year ago. We didn't even use and padding under the pool. I was so bruised from that first match, but I was in love with Lady Jello.

There is many perks to jello wrestling but the one that stands out the most would have to be the naked ladies and getting to wrestle them. I have met so many lovely ladies and taken their clothes off in that kiddie pool I have lost count. It is a beautiful thing. I love it.

Last night was our tenth show and the last one in The JewelBox Theater. We are trying to grow and spread the fun out to a larger crowd. The owners suggested that we move on to one of their larger venues. So instead of the little crowd of 80 people, we'll be performing for a group two to three times that size. This excites me.

Out of our ten shows I have been in 8 of them. I have taken home zero championships. It's funny to me because no one has wrestled as much as I have. I have made it to the final round quite a few times, but still I have no title. Winners are decided by audience applause. My best friend in and out of the pool is Lady Sample and she has won it three times. However last night was my victory and I beat her in our first match. I made it to the final round after tossing Alaura Bee around, it was so hot we went twice over the normal time.

The next contender was the stunning Domino. She is a tall glass of water that you could drink in all day. She was a first timer too. Virgins are my favorite. The whole audience was chanting her name her name after the 6 girl tag team match. She had to go on to the final round. That is what a fuckin' hot ass trouper this girl was. During our match she had taken all of my clothes off, except of course my GetOffeneded.com panties! I would much rather see a virgin jello wrestler win the title over me. It means she has to come back and we'll get to do it again. Not sure when our next date will be, but until then I have a lot to look forward to.

I would like to thank everyone who came and cheered on theses lovely ladies and I also want to say sorry to the guy who bet ten bucks on me. Then a super big huge jello-y hug to Travis for providing my GetOfeneded.com wardrobe that I wore for most of the show. Nothing inspires self confidence like wearin' I Taste Good across your chest.

Another thank you is in order as well for letting me share here. You lost one girl, who will be missed, but gained three. I think you came out ahead.

Little Fat Lies

2011-07-14T13:10:00.004-04:00

If that guy walked around a gym in Beverly Hills with a piece of cake, I guarantee he'd come away a man. There's too much pressure placed on people nowadays to look perfect. So much so, that people are going to ridiculous lengths just to be beautiful. No one looks inside anymore, it's all aesthetics. To be honest, I'm not a skinny woman and I'm very happy with who I am. Besides, I get to eat cake which is (let's be honest) so fucking delicious. If people were less concerned with how skinny they are or how pretty they are, life would be less stressful. I'm not superficial and the neatest thing in this world are the connections I've made with the people in my life. So, get over yourselves. You don't have to be perfect, be yourself.

Also, eat some fucking cake. Enjoy life. That's what it's for.

My Zombie Wedding Cake

2011-07-14T08:49:00.002-04:00

I'm not engaged nor am I dating anyone but I have every detail of my zombie themed wedding planned in my head. I found this cake while I was looking for zombie pictures to download and it's the closest thing to the cake I've been picturing in my head. I fell in love with it. Most people, and by people I mean women, think I'm odd for wanting to have a zombie themed wedding. Nuts to them because during the Zombpocalypse while they're crying and screaming, I'll be blowin' heads off with a Desert Eagle .50 and deciding which prissy ass chick I want to eat for dinner. So don't judge my choice of wedding theme, just start running.

A Conversation Overheard Between My Sons...

2011-07-13T21:33:00.002-04:00

Logan (5 yo): “Knock, Knock.”

Andrew (10 yo): “Hi Logan.”
Logan: “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there’.”
Andrew: “I don’t need to. I had a peephole put in.”
Logan: “…….”
Andrew: “I can see you through the peephole. No need to ask who’s there.”
Logan: “When did you put that peephole in?”
Andrew: “When you started telling Knock, Knock jokes.”
Logan: “Knock, Knock.”
Andrew: “Ok, who’s there?”
Logan: “You’re stupid.”

Originally posted at http://www.getoffendedbone.tumblr.com

Taking Over

2011-07-13T11:45:00.002-04:00

As Ang goes on her journey, I suppose I'm sort of taking over the GetOffended blog. Not only is this a huge honor but it's just one more outlet for my comedy, sarcasm and cunty ways. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to use this blog but I'm certain it'll be used for comedy purposes only. I have a personal blog you guys can continue reading so don't fret, I'll still be posting there as well. I wanted to say thank you to Bone for letting me write for this blog, it means a lot to me. Ok, enough of this sappy shit. It's grossing me out.

Say hello to Colleen...

2011-07-12T23:07:00.003-04:00

I just wanted to take a minute and welcome Colleen to my account. After more than 200 submissions for my account from twitter and tumblr, I made the final decision to hand my account over to @artismyporn tonight at midnight.

Colleen is a tremendously funny lady with a sense of humor that I personally have admired since I first started on twitter. I think she'll do my account proud and I'm certain that you'll all fall madly and deeply in love with her.

I want to take a minute to give a big thank you to @getoffendedBone. When I told him I was leaving, I first wanted him to just tweet tit and vag jokes from my account. With 5,000 followers, I figured he could use it to his advantage. He refused. Then I asked him to just shut his account down and move to mine and tweet his own stuff there. With 5,000 followers, why let it go to waste. He refused. I didn't want to just twittercide... Travis refused to take over my account... we came up with a plan.

I think that plan was successful today. We (I say "we" loosely as Travis pulled the "it's all your decision" card and made me do this on my own) are handing my account over to someone I feel will do it justice and hopefully get a lot of joy out of it in return.

Take note people, when someone leaves twitter, they don't all just vanish for no reason or go down in a hate fueled rage of "fuck you and fuck you too and you're shits not funny". I'm going out with a smile, a wave and a kiss goodbye. I love you all and thank you for the laughs, the joy, the fun and the friendships.

A few thank you's before I go:
@getoffendedBone @_Vaginasaurus @Love_Gunn @pixiebelz @snowness @2ndcitysaint @ronniewk @im_tricia @theblessmess @PortlandiaGirl @idstandonthat @lastpodstanding @EasilyTempted @badadvicenurse @thethryll @poppa_steve @thebestmonkey @funsizdprincess @tamytoo2 @islander_DI @slashleen @angrylittlebee @freckless @ trialfemme @travelmonkey @redwithevny @eviloi @slyoung5 @dietredbull @ragekat @BohoPoetGirl @PlatinumShower @Cherhole @shariv67 @goldengateblond @littleharmonica @momfia @sugartits84 @billmc7 @mrfornicator @molly_kats @vagstar @UNTRESSOR @StellaRtwot @schwat @HairyJew4Life @rodney_at_large @cfishing @outofgrips @hannahantics @dumbnotdeaf @relocatable @happyhourjack @yolanda5angels @llvvzz @hoochified @filthyrichmond @tweetlebee @kervinf @wittyclitty @redicupidity @tylr1717 @Coy0teUgly @heyitslori @therealladyluck @ticking_tocking @pyrbliss @beingtheo @CroweJam @HaHaWhitePPL @lunchyprices @dannydogmouth @PaulyPeligroso @crocpunch @Paxochka @DrTwittenheimer @shelbyfero

Who wants my account?

2011-07-11T01:13:00.004-04:00

After talking to @getoffendedBone yesterday, we decided that the coolest thing we could do is give my account away to someone who could use the account and it's 5,000+ followers to bring more smiles and laughs and help them get their voice heard. I want to pay this forward.

Here's what we're thinking. We'd like someone willing to move their account to this one, keep the laughs going and enjoy the opportunity to make people smile. The only thing we ask is the person who takes it over, from time to time, gives credit to GetOffended.com for the account as well as leaves GetOffended.com in the bio. You'd need to leave the account named "@getoffendedcom" for at least 30 days too, just to make sure people know who it is. You can change the avi immediately however.

That's it. Account is yours. Just asking for a little credit. It's the least I can do for the company that gave me a decade of joy. This is gonna be a "in good faith" transaction. No contracts or anything, just a jizz covered handshake.

If after the person who gets the account has it awhile and, for whatever reason, they are done and want to move on, we ask that they turn the account back over to GetOffended.com or do the same. Pay it forward.

I'm not sure if this has ever been done before or if it's a good idea, but god damn it, I want to try it.

If you're interested, send an email to submissions@getoffended.com. Include your twitter account name and a short note on why you want my account. We'll be looking for someone whose timeline is humorous, dirty, funny, fucked up and entertaining. We'll also be looking for someone with a follower account high enough to prove that you're serious and not gonna flake out after a month, but low enough that this is an opportunity that you deserve.

I think that's it. If you have any questions, send them to submissions@getoffended.com. One of us will check the account and reply accordingly. We're hoping to give this thing over by next weekend.

C'mon people, this is gonna be fun!

Love,
Angie

Where did Angie go?

2011-07-10T09:58:00.002-04:00

The few people that I talk to outside of twitter know that on May 30th, I left the US for the summer traveling abroad. My tweeting has been spotty at best. I'd attempted to setup a few guest tweeters but both fell through. I've tried my best to stay up on twitter and the blog but real life has shoved it's foot in the door.

I left the US as I do every summer for a retreat from reality. This year, however, I had ulterior motives. Real Life was getting a little too much to take on a daily basis. It was time to pull up stakes and make some huge changes. I'd been in a rut for more than a decade, unable to move past a few simple truths.

Life has been good. Work has been great. I'm a lucky girl. I have friends that care about me and family that looks out for my best interests. I'm blessed in those regards, but I was still not happy.

I was tired of being single. I have a bad habit of wanting what everyone else has. This doesn't work out so well for the single girl. Especially when those you pine over are worth the pining over in the first place then, in second place, are never going to be the type of person to forget that they are the worth the pining over type person and be the shitty person I want them to be for just a second and break someone else's heart just to be the worth pining over person I know they are, for me. Yeah, time to rethink things. And breathe.

I picked up stakes, sold my house, and quit my day job to take a traveling sales position that is based in Helsinki but works out of Kowloon. I was going to continue to work with GetOffended.com but I've decided things will be better for me if I just avoid social media all together for a while. For other reasons all together.

The girl I played on twitter was not me. Sorta. She was a character I thought was interesting. I'm not the sexually flirtatious, over the top, alcoholic I portrayed. BUT, I was slowly turning into her. When your virtual life starts to dictate your real life antics, things need to change.

Change I did. As of now, I'm effectively stepping away from everything I've known and opening a new door. To all the friends I've made in real life and online, thank you for always being there. To the few people I've had the joy of meeting in real life in Chicago and Orlando, I had more fun than you'll ever know. To the few people who I let into my inner sanctum via Skype, I'm sorry my living room was always full of laundry baskets and dogs. ;) And to the few people I'm leaving behind in real life, I love you all. I'd have never made it this far without you. I mean that. You're the reason I'm as strong as I am and the reason I've finally decided to step up and put myself first. I love you now and I always will.

What does this all mean?

It means that @getoffendedcom is an open account. I'm not tweeting from it anymore. I'm only going to log in when I'm done with this letter and direct you to the blog to read it. Right now it's 4:40pm here so I'm about to go out for my last night in town before picking up and getting on another plane again tomorrow. Since the account is in the name of GetOffended.com which I've been a part of for more than a decade, I'm giving it back in hopes that they'll use it for the company or find someone else to take it over rather than just shutting it down. I'm not the twittercide type.

Don't be sad for me. I'm moving upward and onward. I may be back in time. I just need the space to make the hard choices.

I want to take this last second to thank a few people who I can't bring myself to do so face to face. You can stop reading here, this may get a little girly.

Thanks Dad, sorry I missed Father's Day. Life wouldn't be what it is without you.
Thanks Mom, sorry I missed Father's Day. Take care of Dad. (j/k, love you too)
Thanks Sis, I know we don't get along, but you're a big influence and someone I've always looked up to.
Thanks Craig for being the best boss a girl could ever have. Letting me take time away from work for play, soccer, GetOffended, traveling, alcoholic binging in Florida and traveling for the summer. WIthout you, I'd have been stuck in insurance for decades.
Thanks Annie for being my rock. And by rock, I mean the rock holding my extra bed to the ground for years. I love you more than you'll ever know and I miss you already.
Thanks Kristin for always forcing me to see on the bright side of life. Your smile I'll miss most.
Thanks Mike for being my knight in shining armor on many occasions.
Thanks Travis for taking me under your wing and helping me get to where I am. Thanks for being there when I needed you and not leaving me alone when I wanted you to. You're the friend every girl needs but hates having. You were always the one who wanted me to think for myself and put me first, I'm finally doing it. ;D
Thanks to all my closest online friends for being my go-to happy people. The love I've received through twitter over the last year has been overwhelming to say the least. It's what has given me the strength and determination to put one foot in front of the other and make the hard choices.
Thanks to GetOffended.com for giving me a voice and putting money in my pocket when I needed it most. I hate leaving, this has been the best family of friends since I can't remember when. I'll always be available to you and if you ever need anything, please let me know.

And with that, I'm out. Be nice to my people. Buy some shirts from GetOffended.com and be good to whoever takes over my account. Don't forget, I may still write in the blog here from time to time and check out Bone's Tumbler too.

And with that, the alcohol beckons.

Love always,
Angie

An ode to "Hey, how's your week?" Friends

2011-07-06T02:09:00.001-04:00

You know what the best part about social media is? The free psychotherapy. Hear me out. Most of the time, when you’re depressed, worried or confused you just need someone to clarify what’s important and give you a moment to think it through for yourself. Sometimes this is harder face to face. Sometimes this is impossible with someone you can’t hide from. Enter social media.

If you’re on twitter for discounts, news and the latest gossip concerning what celeb is eating where and when she’s having her poodle manicured, then you’re missing out on the friendships and communities that thrive in this world.

It’s great for laughs, flirting and killing time, but if you’re lucky, you can actually make a friend or two. If you’re really lucky, you can even fall in love. Don’t laugh, I’ve seen it. I’ve watched people start out in @ replies and end up relocating across the country.

I’ve seen it go horribly wrong too. Someone shuts down their account unexpectedly and leaves the rest of their friends here asking, “What happened?”

Social media can become more than “hey, look at me!” and turn into “hey, how’s your week?” Instead of talking to everyone, you start talking to someone. Many someones. You’ve established “hey, how’s your week?” friends. These can be incredibly strong bonds too. You’ll see people who’ve never met face to face, throw down online to defend someone’s honor. They’ll morn their losses. They’ll rejoice in their triumphs.

“Hey, how’s your week?” friends are the greatest thing to have in your corner when you’re just fighting to make it out of the round. These friends will go out of their way to cheer you up and give you a virtual shoulder to cry on. It’s easy to confide in someone and lend support when you can choose your words before clicking send.

There’s enough trust to feel confident and just enough anonymity to be brave.

Sometimes, putting your problems in front of you is enough. Writing it out to read back and try to look at it from a different angle. Other times it feels good to just share your problems. Blogs can be therapeutic both for the writer and the reader.

“There, I got that out. I feel better.” vs “I didn’t know anyone else felt the same way I do.”

I was dealing with a lot of shit a few weeks back. Without twitter and the blog, I’d have went nuts. Thanks to those of you who read what I wrote, let me vent and offered support. I appreciate it more than you’ll know.

Don’t discredit social media and the online friends you can make or the benefits they offer. Take the time to ask for help. Take the time to offer it.

Stripping Rule #1 - Stretching is NOT optional

2011-06-23T20:59:00.002-04:00

In 1996, a good friend got married. Me, being the best man, was entitled to throw a Bachelor Party. I’ve been the best man six times since this wedding so throwing a Bachelor Party is kind of a no-brainer. Now. Back then, not so much.

There were 12 of us. Some under 21, some over 30. This is where the problems started. What do you do where the underaged can have as much fun as the middle aged? Going to a dry, 18 and up topless bar is not the answer. After 2 hours and untold amounts of singles given watching backwoods midwestern girls spin their pasties, we decided to look for greener pastures.

The obvious choice was to hire a stripper.

A little background is needed here. In 1996, the internet was around, but it was basically AOL, dial up and chat rooms. You still had phonebooks and cell phones were of the 2 lb flip variety. In order to hire a stripper, we had to drive 40 miles to my empty house and start perusing the phone book. Strippers, under “S” right?

The drunken late night phone conversations that followed in an attempt to hire a stripper were hilarious in and of themselves. Who knew finding a stripper would be so difficult. Hair color, eye color, race, age, 1 girl or 2, do you want them to “entertain themselves” why we watch, etc, etc, etc… We ended up settling for “We’ve got just the girl for you. She’s blonde, young and ready to party.”

From here, the party split, half cleaning the house, half making a liquor run. After about an hour, the liquor search party stomps back in with, no lie, “someone in your neighborhood is dating a hooker…” What? Just then there’s a knock at the door.

What my friend mistook for a hooker walking down our sidewalk was in fact, our stripper… accompanied by the biggest, baddest, blackest bouncer I’ve ever seen. Think Grape Ape but not purple. And instead of being on top of a van he was in my doorway, towering over a tiny blonde holding a boombox, asking “did you order a girl?”

Yes, sir, we most certainly did.

We had cleared my living room out so that there were seats around the perimeter and an area suitable for whatever she was planning on doing. Also, I need to point out that not a single one of us had ever seen a stripper. We were basing everything solely on the movies we’d seen involving this scenario and the many many “Dear Penthouse, you’re not gonna believe this…” letters we’d read over our misspent youths. The girl introduced herself as Annie and she directed us to take our seats, she’d take care of the rest. She pointed to Grape Ape and told us to say hi to Cocoa.

“K. O. K. O. like the gorilla,” he said. Apparently there was going to be a spelling exam later in the evening. (Grape Ape doesn’t sound so racist now, does it?).

“Hi Koko.”

Annie, turned on her tape deck to Motley Crue’s “Smokin’ in the Boys Room” and she went right into her dance in the middle of the room. Before the end of the song, it became obvious she should have limbered up. Whenever she twisted sexily or bent over, her joints sounded like they were filled with bubble wrap. It was so bad, I was getting concerned.

Finally she starts to make her way toward me because I’m the only one holding any cash.

Let me pause and explain a little further. It was decided that instead of all of us spending our dollars on this girl, we’d pool all of our cash and just give it to her when she got there and just let her have fun and do her thing. We thought that was the honorable thing to do. Annie wasn’t having it. She took her agreed upon fee then told us we were to only give her tips if she deserved it. I was left holding the wad of $300 - $400 in 5’s and 1’s. What we ended up doing was just passing the wad around, Annie following it like a puppy after a laser pointer. Dance, Dance, Pass.

Anyway, here comes Annie with a lapdance. We’re a very tame crew so it was nearly silent at this point. A few giggles and cat calls for the lap dancee’s benefit, but for the most part, we were being very well behaved. This was obviously what prompted Annie’s next move.

She leans into my ear and whispers in a sexy raspy voice, “I want you to go get me a glass of water, sugar. And take Koko with you. Make him stay in the kitchen. I want some alone time with you boys.”

Up I go, heading to the kitchen, taking a detour in Koko’s direction. “Mr Koko, Annie said to ask you to go to the kitchen.” If I remember correctly, I had to look up at Koko to give this request, regardless of the fact that he was sitting in a folding chair.

Koko follows me to the kitchen where he takes a seat at the kitchen table and pulls a book out of his back pocket. “No worries. That just means she feels safe with you guys.” Koko could apparently read my apprehension to asking him to stay in the kitchen.

I reached into the sink and grabbed a cup. Not a normal cup, mind you, because I’m a jackass. No, I grabbed a plastic Kool-Aid Man cup received as a prize for collecting Kool-Aid points throughout college. It was the only clean cup in the strainer. Don’t judge me. Thinking Annie wanted the water to hydrate, I grabbed ice water from the fridge and filled it up.

Back in the living room, Annie was completely naked at this point with one foot on top of the back of my couch and the other on the arm, her hands on the head of the best man… grinding herself as close to his face as possible. Everyone else is in total silence. Not a word spoken or uttered. It was surreal to say the least. Annie sees me approaching and hops down. Snap, crackle, pop.

“Do you need to stretch out or something?”

“Thanks for the water, now sit back down and relax”… Annie stands up on my coffee table and slowly begins to pour the ice water down her chest. The sheer shock of the subzero beverage coupled with her overactive synovial fluid sends her foot off the coffee table, falling face first into the crotch of one of my friends who jumps up quickly, grabbing his balls, in turn sending Annie flipping over again, spilling the remainder of the cup’s contents all over herself and the best man.

The book must have had Koko’s full attention because the chaos only prompted a “You okay?” from his direction.

“Yep, I meant to do that.” And with that she was up and continued with her lapdance.

After a while, Annie suggests that we take turns laying on our backs with a bill over our face which she’ll pick up strategically, hands free. Ok? I’m confused at this point. (It was 1996 and we were young remember).

My brother sits on the ground in front of me, $20 on his face from chin to forehead. Here comes Annie, eyes locked on me, straddling my brother. She starts to squat over his face,… the snapping, crackling and popping get louder. And louder. Slowly she sways her ass from side to side as enticingly as possible…. until…. her fucking knee gives out. She goes to grab for me to steady herself, but seeing her hand coming at my junk, I jump back and out of the way (damn relfexes). Nothing to steady herself on, Annie crumples like a beer can at a frat party, planting her lady parts square on my brother’s face.

Annie’s legs are at odd angles so as she struggles to get up, she’s pulling herself back and forth, burying herself deeper on his face. Finally, she falls forward, completely nude save the $20 bill sticking out of her ass. My brother jumps up and runs to the bathroom.

Dead silence.

Annie rolls over and goes, “Fuck, you guys know how to party!”

From here, Annie did a few more dances, then ended up hanging out with us for about 3 hours while we just shot the shit and finished the beer and liquor. Even Koko came out of the kitchen and had a few. All in all, the Bachelor Party was a success.

EPILOGUE: My brother finally came out of the bathroom with the story that he was scrubbing his face just in case he got home and his wife could smell stripper on his breath. About a year later, I ran into “Annie” (it was not her real name I came to find out) at the University of Cincinnati in an Art History lecture class of 500+ people. I recognized her, but assumed she had no clue who I was. Leaving the class one day, we walked out together by coincidence. I said hi, she said hi. Ten steps into the courtyard, she turns to me and says, “Kool-Aid cup? Really?” laughed and walked away.

BASEBALL RULES - according to the Glossary of Perversion

2011-06-23T20:55:00.002-04:00

I hate baseball. These are the rules of baseball as it pertains to sex and dating…

Baseball Rules - Dating status of (by popular recognition) a couple where their level of success on each date is based on Baseball’s succession of the bases. The rules are as follows:
1) First Base - The couple have partaken in making out, and possibly light petting. In some areas, visual confirmation of boobs is also included in a single to “First Base”.
2) Second Base - The couple have partaken in making out, playing with boobs and heavy petting including but not limited to fingering the girl, and stroking the guy. No orgasms generally happen at “Second Base”.
3) Leading Off Second - The couple have partaken in making out, playing with boobs and heavy petting including but not limited to fingering the girl, and stroking the guy. One (or both) of the couple have reached orgasm directly due to the heavy petting of “Second Base”.
4) Third Base - The couple have partaken in making out, playing with boobs, heavy petting including but not limited to fingering of the girl, and the stroking of the guy, and oral stimulation of one or both of the couple. No orgasms generally occur because of the activity occurring at “Third Base”.
5) Rounding Third - The couple have partaken in making out, playing with boobs, heavy petting including but not limited to fingering of the girl, and the stroking of the guy, and oral stimulation of one or both of the couple. One (or both) of the couple have reached orgasm directly due to the Oral Sex of “Third Base”.
6) Reaching Home - The couple have partaken in making out, playing with boobs, heavy petting including but not limited to fingering of the girl & the stroking of the guy, Oral stimulation of one or both of the couple (orgasm optional), and penetration. In other words, they did it all, ending in sex. All acts have to take place in the same date for it to be considered “Reaching Home”.
7) Home Run - The couple have partaken in fucking without effort (without foreplay) on a date. This is considered a “Home Run” because they didn’t have to worry about getting from “First Base” to “Second” and from “Second” to “Third” and so on. They stepped to the plate and pretty much scored.

Source: GlossaryOfPerversion.com

Our version of the "Flash Mob", the "Flashing Mob"

2011-06-23T20:53:00.001-04:00

After having a little one-on-one with @OMGnakie tonight in regards to a stunt I’ve wanted to pull off for about 10 years, I think now is the time to make this happen.

Among my friends, there has been a long standing joke about how we want to hire a few strippers willing to do a public striptease in an inopportune place at an inopportune time.

Here is what I am proposing: 3-5 experienced and willing strippers (age, race, hair color non-specific), ready to strip down to the barest of legal attire (ie. bikini bottoms and duct tape ala Maya Von Doll), one portable radio with a copy of Motley Crue’s “Girls Girls Girls” (I know this is beyond cheesey, but that’s kind of the point), a covert camera operator to catch it on film, a spotter (ready to press play on the stereo), a getaway vehicle with a skilled wheel man and a location sure to bring about chaos and mayhem.

I should also point out that being arrested is a total possibility if the proper precautions and necessary escape routes aren’t in place. Being privy to Base jumping in Cincy, Ohio an escape plan is doable and executable. Avoiding arrest shouldn’t be hard if properly planned ahead of time taking into consideration the allotted time for police to arrive and an escape vehicle waiting, out of sight, but in the wings.

As far as a proper (improper) place for this “Flashing Dance”, we’ve considered everything from Best Buy the day after Christmas to The Creation Museum in Northern Kentucky. A few other possibilities are Bob Evans on a Sunday morning at 10:00am, Labor Day sale at Bed Bath & Beyond and in line the night of the sneak peak for “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2”.

The key to making this work is the crowd and speed. Getting the stripping going and done before the song ends and the cops arrive is monumental.

I am completely willing to help fund the first “Flash Dance” as long as GetOffended.com gets credit when the video goes viral. And believe me, it fucking will.

Assholes to Assholes

2011-06-23T20:52:00.002-04:00

This is why I should never be allowed to make a present for anyone… With GetOffended.com, I have various resources at hand as well as the lack of cooth necessary to take a child’s game and have an entirely new experience created. What you see is “Assholes to Assholes”, the X-Rated adult version of ”Apples to Apples”, made primarily to enhance an evening of alcohol consumption between friends with a complete disregard for good taste.

Before you ask, yes, every card is real. Hundreds of cards… all sick, all twisted. No, the game is not for sale. Although I’d love to offer it mass retail, even I know when taking something to the lawyer is gonna be a waste of the $200/hour consultation to hear, “are you fucking kidding me?”

Misery loves company

2011-06-18T11:18:00.003-04:00

I wear many different hats. I put them on and take them off so frequently and with such smooth transitions that, at times, I don't know which hat I have on. I have the boss hat, the parent hat, the coach hat. There's the husband, son, the brother, the lover, the fighter, mentor, friend and drunk. Plus I can't forget the insomniac, the clown, the director, writer or the artist either. So many hats.

Of all the hats, there's one that I wish I wore more. Once upon a time, I was an artist. No, really. I was a commissioned, payed to create, professional artist. I have the college degree to prove it (or disprove it depending on your stance). Somewhere along the way, I went from the artist, to the teacher, then to The Man. I still work in a creative capacity, but I spend more time directing people to create for me than I do involved in the process myself. I went to college to be a fine artist and a fiction writer. After 7 years, I graduated at age 23 with the degree I now use, a BSA in Industrial Design. Basically I became an inventor.

I like what I do, and being an insomniac and a workaholic I get my hands in nearly everything, but it's unsatisfying at times. Watching someone else create something based on your idea and concept blurs the line of who the outcome belongs to intellectually. Is it mine because I had the vision and approved the result or is it the artist who brought the creation to fruition? I tend to give all the credit to the artist.

Here's where I am going to start rambling…

Doing what I do, I end up surrounded by artists. Both in my professional life and in my personal life. If you are truly surrounded by artists you'll understand this. If not, I'm going to lose you. Also, friends that play musical instruments, graphic artists and the friend who makes jewelry are not necessarily artists. They CAN be, but not necessarily and definitely not usually. The artist is the person whose life revolves around their creativity. Every moment of every day is leading toward their next moment of creative genius. They are usually single, because no one can put up with them and their obsession. They are usually addicted to multiple things which may or may not include drugs, alcohol and sex. They usually have obsessive personalities and a total disregard for anything, everything and everyone besides their own passions. Many are black holes of despair and self destruction, one bad night away from death or rock bottom. But they can all do beautiful things.

Suicide is also a likely outcome when someone lives for their own creativity. I've seen more death and suicide than I care to talk about. Everything from self inflicted gunshots to driving their car at top speed into the propane tank on the back of the movie theater we all used to work at. I've seen overdoses and car crashes and even an alcohol induced coma. But they all did beautiful things.

Recently I had a very close friend experience rock bottom. I unfortunately laid witness to her collapse as she fell from the top branch of her tree, limb by limb, to the rocky ground below. The fall took years, and she would fall 2 branches, climb up 1, fall 3, climb up 2, over and over until she was finally standing on the lowest branch. She asked for support in all directions, but by then there was none to give. She had to fall. It was inevitable. I know this now, but coming to this conclusion has been very difficult to say the least. I've seen her do beautiful things.

Surrounding yourself with these kinds of people can be wonderful and horrible all at the same time. Having that artist hat in my closet, I have more sympathy and understanding for their plights than most. When I'm at my lowest, my creativity is at it's highest. Feeling the pain of life lets you tap into the raw root of everything that is holy to the creative soul. Happiness begets greeting cards. Despair opens doors to the art the world will remember centuries from now.

I personally hate watching someone fail, but I'm also the guy who gets more entertainment from the human condition than most. That includes people's failures and successes. For some reason though, the failures are more intriguing. Especially when you get to witness the recovery as well. Think about your favorite movie or book. I can almost guarantee there is a point in there where the main character feels a crushing blow, devastating destruction or loss... Now, what's your favorite part? Is it the falling down or the getting back up? Or both?

Misery loves company, happiness is infectious and the world would be a boring fucking place without beautiful things.

For Kay.

Gather round for an epic campfire story....

2011-06-14T17:49:00.004-04:00

The following was originally posted in several parts on Twitter. Because it seemed to be enjoyed, I'm reposting here. It's gathered in 140 character tweets so just excuse the format....

By request, and because @getoffendedcom isn't around today, I'm about to post an epic story for twitter which is 100% true. I'll change

some of the names to protect the innocent, but other than that I'll depict it in it's glorious fashion.

Circa 1994, Country Concert in Ohio. Kinda like Coachella for drunken inbred rednecks. Those that know me, know I have only 2 allergies...

Penicillin and Country music... but since Country Concert is a weekend excuse for alcohol & sex away from home, it's a big summer thing even

for those not going for the music. A group of bout 20 of us from our HS went up for 4th of July weekend. Day one was normal, drinking galore

and the promise of a few precursory hook ups for Saturday night. Everyone woke up Saturday morning in the heat & started pounding beer early

too early. Way too early. Being 16, 17 & 18, those kinds of decisions aren't made with the clarity of past experience. By mid afternoon...

people were already hurling behind trailers and sleeping it off in tents. Things turned from alcohol to liquor late in the afternoon when...

the girls started to put their whore hats on and began suggesting moonlight rendezvous with their guy(s) (or girl) of choice. With alcohol

in the air and the sun going down, things started to take a twist for the worst. One chick in particular started to make her rounds. First

with one guy, then about an hour later with a second, then a third... she was out of hand. I also need to point out that her hame was "Tera"

This will come into play a little later. At this point, the music is done and things are in full party mode among all the campsites. Tera...

makes her way over to my campfire and in a drunken slur asks who is next. One of my friends jumps up and grabs her by the hand to lead her

into his tent much to the dismay of the rest of us. Sloppy 4ths at this point (or so our drunken logic had surmised) wasn't the most...

appealing to say the least, but "C" (we'll just call him C) took her up on her offer anyway. After 5 minutes we hear screaming coming from

the tent. Then a series of "what the fucks" and "are you fucking kidding me?" then shrieking. The tent is going apeshit at this point...

pulling the stakes out of the ground and making it's way toward the creek. We all jump up to see what the fuck is going down when C crawls

out from one side of the tent in his boxers and Tera rolls out from the other side with her shirt in her hands and runs off between the

other tents. C just stands there panting, then turns to us before he starts laughing his ass off screaming "holy fucking shit! You're never

gonna believe this!" He sits back down at the fire, putting his jeans back on and this is the story he told...

C got her in the tent and she pulled her skirt up and was ready, drunk but ready. He told her that after all the guys before him he wanted

her ass or she wasn't get anything. LOTS of alcohol on both their part at this point I have to add to be fair. She obliged and got up on all

fours... BY THE WAY... it's obviously gonna get pretty NSFW from here. Take action accordingly. yeah right.

C spits on her ass, but he's so cotton mouthed at this point, he can't spit, so he decides to take a drink of his beer and spit that on her

ass instead. She'll never know right? Well he proceeds to rub his dick in the PBR and then shove in as best as his alcohol filled dick will

allow. Which, I am assuming wasn't very much. Tera starts to get concerned at what is going on and according to C, she turns around over her

shoulder and says, "here let me help". Whatever drunken logic went through her head, who knows, but as best we can figure, she attempted to

"loosen her ass up" by relaxing to let him in. Unbeknownst to C, she had so much beer in her system and hadn't shit all day that this simple

act of relaxation "let open the cage door" for what she'd been holding all day.

At this point in C's story, the rest of us are literally rolling on the ground pissing ourselves laughing by firelight to the point we were

being told to keep it down by other campsites. Back to his story. C says at that moment, while he's pressing against her ass & she's trying

to let him in the backdoor, the dog snuck out.

And by "dog" I mean a turd about the size of a Robusto Cigar. This is when the screaming had started. Tera had no idea that she had even

done it, so as C yelled, she started yelling. When he showed her what she did, she thought it was a snake and tried to get out of the tent

C was yelling at her that she shit on him, then under flashlight inspection, confirming it was in fact feces and not a snake, Tera takes the

"high road" and starts the "that's not mine, it's yours" argument. In embarassment, she snuck out from under the tent and ran back to her

own campsite. At this point, the rest of us are picking up the tent, looking for the incredulous piece of excrement.

Upon finding said piece of poo, we laughed even harder. "SEE I FUCKING TOLD YOU!" was all C could repeat for the next 30 minutes.

A few of our group left to try to track down the missing people from our HS and to check on Tera to make sure she got back to her tent ok...

The rest is kind of a blur, but by the next morning, C was asleep face down next to the firepit, his tent in the creek, the turd gone...

along with Tera who had packed her shit up (all but the piece in C's tent...) and drove home, probably sobered from the experience, in the

middle of the night. Sunday was basically an excuse to tell the story over and over and over again. The rest of the summer the story had to

be repeated at least a dozen times by our group. The best part is, that at some point, Tera took on the nickname "Tera the Turd" which, to

this day, she is still referred to by our clique of friends. This took place July of 1994 right after we graduated from High School.

18 years later, and we're still telling the epic campfire tale of "Tera the Turd".

I am addicted to people

2011-06-14T13:46:00.004-04:00

I am a chronic insomniac. It takes its toll, but I see it as glass half full, so you'll never hear me complain about not getting any or enough sleep. I generally enjoy life and relish spending 85% of it awake. I do not have OCD. I am not a hoarder. I am not manic and I don't suffer from depression. I do not have ADD or ADHD. I am pretty fucked up in other ways though, this I admit.

I collect. I collect a lot. It's not hoarding though because it's organized to a level of obsession. Take my DVD collection for example. I have at current count 11,571 DVDs. How do I know that? I keep them cataloged in spreadsheet format and cased into 31 DVD books each holding 200 or more DVDs plus stacks and stacks of spindles that have not yet found their way into a final resting place. I have more tupperware containers than I know what to do with containing t-shirts. This I have never organized so I can't begin to guess how many shirts I have. We won't even get into video games, comic books, books, music, photos, trading cards, movie scripts, posters, toys or shoes. Don't ask about the shoes. It's an addiction. Once I start collecting something, I just can't stop. I can't quit. Anything.

That gets me to my next issue. I can't quit anything. Something else has to step in and execute the execution of my involvement, for me, in order to quit. This goes hand in hand with the collecting, my sleep habits, my work habits and my friendships.

Friendships. This is where it gets difficult. I'm addicted to people. I fall head over heels in absolute love with people and all of their flaws and inconsistencies. Not run away to Cabo in love, but oh my god this is the best pizza I've ever had and I must eat it every day for the rest of my life in love with people. Couple that with my inability to quit and you end up with a group of friends that can make your day or rip your life to shreds.

Not all of my friends fall into the rip my life to shreds category. I have a handful of close acquaintances that I've been friends with for nearly 3 decades. They are my rocks. Yes, there are a few that I have had to distance myself from in order to keep my own sanity, but in a pinch, I'm there if they truly need me.

Other friends are helpless black holes of despair and self destruction. I also collect these. I befriend them. I take them in. I hire them. I help them to the best of my ability get back on their feet if I can. Unfortunately, these are the same people who often end up taking advantage of me because that's what they do. That's what I do. I let them.

Before you ask, or accuse, I'm not an enabler. I'm not patronizing and I don't interfere. I just observe and suffer silently. Adults make their own decisions. You can't make them for them. You can't even really lead them in the right direction in my opinion. They need to make their own mistakes and learn from them. That's life. A series of decisions. You revel in the good and learn from the bad. Repeat as necessary. I just enjoy watching other people go through those choices. Life is my soap opera.

Twitter has quadrupled this by exposing me to new people, all with their own fucked up lives. From what I've discovered, twitter has an entire community of raging alcoholics, sex addicts and tragically single and depressed. It's no wonder it only took a couple months for me to get sucked in like a pedophile in a daycare. I should quit. I should pay someone to take over my account and promote our sites for me like I originally wanted. I should do a lot of things. I should quit it all, move into a shit hotel and finish my epic novel before I die. But no. I'm like a recovering heroin addict hanging out at the methadone clinic because I like the water cooler conversation. Not everyone on twitter is fucked up. I've made a lot of friends, some have even made my life better. I wouldn't change meeting any of them for the world. Even the fucked up ones.

But I digress.

Watching and observing without interfering has its perks but it also has it obvious drawbacks. Sometimes, I think if I interfered, things would be easier… for me at least. But, if you're going to believe in something (ie adults make their own decisions), you need to stick with it. I do not deviate. I prefer to suffer silently.

Well, not "silently" per say… there may be some intense eye rolling and "hmphs" and groans from the peanut gallery… maybe even throw in a look of disgust or two, but mostly silent. Mostly.

Every once in a while, witnessing this spiral into the abyss becomes too much for even me to bare. I lose my jovial good humor and lust for life in a cloud of what the fuck. I wish I could just rip em off like a band-aid but that's not me. What makes it worse is the guilt of feeling like I had a part in the spiral by watching and not stepping in. But, alas, I do not deviate. I prefer to suffer silently.

Mostly.

How long can I drag this death rattle out?

2011-06-13T17:44:00.002-04:00

Imagine you have a friend who is a raging alcoholic. You invite them to parties and stuff because they're the fun drunk. This goes on for a few years, then one day, they do something that makes you realize under that alcoholic haze is a brilliant mind. You ignore it... go on like you didn't see it. Drunk drunk drunk, party party party... brilliant mind. Just for a second. Wait, did I just see that again? Drunk drunk drunk, party party party... brilliant mind. Can't ignore it at this point. Now the drunk drunk drunk, party party party is making me want to vomit. Like watching a sex tape with your sister on it. You just can't look away, but the thought of it makes you want to gouge your eyes out and put a .38 to your temple. How's your Monday going?

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp

2011-06-13T04:06:00.002-04:00

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp. I didn't mean to or want to, it just happened.

About 10 years ago I was traveling for work and ran into a girl I had went to college with. She's a fellow Designer and we've always been really close, especially in taste. We had lunch and ended up discussing movies (always ends up there with me) and music, and eventually books. I read a lot. I'll read anything too. Everything from "Water for Elephants" to "World War Z" to H.P. Lovecraft to the Bible (I also watch Fox News… can't argue if you don't understand both sides of the argument right?). She had just finished "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire and was pretty adamant that I read it. In fact, she left lunch, bought a copy of the book and tracked me down to give it to me before I left town.

That was it, I was obligated to read it. I started the book on the plane, but it put me right to sleep. Slow as dirt and I just couldn't get into the characters. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm cursed with the inability to quit. Anything. I can't quit. Fucking anything. With that spelled out, I had to finish the book. After a week at home, I picked the book back up. I reluctantly finished it within the week.

After getting through it, for some reason, I got a little depressed. I kept going back to specific parts of the book in my head. Trying to remember exactly what happened and why. I found myself asking people who had read it if they remembered, but no one could answer my specific inquiries. I couldn't let it rest, so I picked it back up and started reading it a second time.

This time I couldn't put it down. Could not. Would not.

I finished it a second time over the weekend. Insomnia has it's perks. This time, I read it thoroughly, paying attention to the characters, the nuances of the plot and the development of the story as it paralleled The Wizard of Oz.

And Elphaba.

Up until this point, I'd never been so invested in a single character in any book I'd ever read that I felt that if I read it again, maybe something would change. Maybe I missed something and there was a happy story there that I just wasn't able to pull out. Within 6 months, I ended up reading the entire book four full times. Each and every time, I fell a little more in love with Elphaba.

I'm drawn to tragic, fucked up souls. Broken, downtrodden, in need of fixing kind of people. The emotionally destroyed or handicapped… this is my crowd. I'm also an emotional sponge of sorts, sucking up their sorrow and eating it as if it's my own. It's taxing… it's exhausting, but it's what I am and at this point in my life, it's easier to run with it than it is to avoid it. Elphaba is the perfect metaphor for this attraction. A horribly disturbing childhood complete with a drug addicted adulteress mother who came from wealth only to end up in squalor. The father, blinded by religion and disgust for the daughter he feels is the manifestation of the punishment for all his sins as a man of faith. The siblings who she must both take care of and hide within their shadows. Oh, and she's fucking green.

The story takes her from birth through death and all the train wreck that lies between. Love, life and the complete disregard for her own happiness. Despite all this, I fell in love.

Skip to 2011, and I've read the book at least 15 times. At any given moment, about six months pass, and I'm like a secret CIA assassin reaching for his copy of "Catcher in the Rye". I'm a total fanboy. I've bought the book at least a dozen times for friends and relatives.

No one ever reads it on my recommendation.

My sister did get to see it in New York in the Musical form and she fell in love with it on the stage. She agreed to read the book if I went with her to see the play. I go to a reasonable amount of plays and musicals as well, so this wasn't out of the question. Last year, my sister seized the opportunity and took my mother and I to see "Wicked".

I was kind of excited. One of my favorite books in live form? Awesome right? Donna Vivino was playing Elphaba and from what I had read prior to the performance, she was stellar in her portrayal. Color me double pumped.

Finally, the day arrived. My excitement was at its peak... it was also short lived.

By the end of the first act, I was nauseous. It was NOT tragic. It was NOT heart breaking. It WAS fucking "Grease". I felt betrayed. I found myself sitting through intermission trying to pull myself together. It's just a musical. Get a grip.

By the beginning of the second act, I was full on crying. By the end of the performance, I felt like I was drawing a crowd. I'm a little bitch when it comes to stuff like this so fuck you for judging me. When I get involved in something, I give everything. I hold nothing back. If you're one of those people who suppress your emotions because you're afraid of what someone else might say or think, you're doing life wrong. Seriously. What's the point?

Back to my tears… I'm talking 5 year old girl watching her pet bunny get torn to shreds by the neighbor's Rottweiler crylng. Donna Vivino was amazing. Her vocal performance was breathtaking. I tried to enjoy it, I really did. I promise.

But alas, I'd rather've been ass-raped with a bowling pin, lube-free, than sit through the entire musical. Seeing as I was with my sister who really wanted me to see it and enjoy it as she had, I stomached the monstrosity to the best of my ability.

I left the theater physically ill. Physically fucking ill.

Total truth, sitting through that musical is one of the worst moments of my life. If I could take it back, I would. For three hours I watched an entire audience blindly enjoy my beloved Elphaba turned into a comedic circus monkey, organ grinder in hand, tipping her fez for treats, coming of age and cracking quips about being green. Fuck you. Fuck every single one of you who enjoyed that horrible piece of shit.

FUCK. YOU.

If I'd have known what they were doing to my Elphaba, I would have stayed home. I'd have kept my love affair tragic, dark and full of despair with a heavy dose of heartbreak.

I'd also like to point out this was the last Musical I have ever attended. Will ever attend. AND, given the opportunity, I'd unleash ebola on the set of "Glee" out of pure principle.

EPILOGUE:
If you've seen the Musical "Wicked", but never read the book "Wicked", don't. And don't ever speak to me about it. Ever. Just don't.
If you've read the book, but never seen the Musical, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE.

It's Just Us...

2011-05-26T08:25:00.002-04:00

This post comes courtesy of a wonderful writer and perversely fucked up friend of GetOffended, @2ndcitysaint and her blog, The Blog of Shame. Here is the story in it's entirety.

Last year, for my birthday, we decided to go to the strip club!

Surprisingly, prior to this, I had never been to a strip club. I was pretty excited to go! So, my best friend and I and a couple of people from work, end up at the club, and we’re all hanging out by the bar… because, y’know, only the perverts go and sit down by the stage.

It’s my birthday so everyone’s buying me drinks/shots and I get drunk enough that by the time they are announcing “last call for stage tips,” my best friend is able to convince me to go do one. Now, for those of you who don’t know what a stage tip is… it’s when you go up on stage and roll up a $5 (usually) bill in your mouth and the stripper takes it from you, in some way. Usually she’ll grind on your junk or your face, and she’ll take the money with either her mouth, her tits, or in some special cases, her pussy. If you’re a particularly lucky dude, the DJ might order you over the mic to take off your belt, at which time the stripper will then pull your pants down and spank you with it. We saw that happen to one dude, who was celebrating his 19th birthday. I didn’t have to deal with that, thank goodness.

So, I take the $5, and head up to the stage, and lay down with it in my mouth. A couple of other people are on stage, so I have to wait my turn. Some of the people I was with from work came down right next to the stage and started yelling “it’s her birthday!” when it came to be my turn. One girl even tried to take a picture! At which point the bouncer snatched her phone and started to cuss her out. Apparently, it wasn’t quite obvious to her that you don’t bust out phones in a club with strippers!

So, it’s finally my turn, the stripper, Jade, wants me to show her my tits. NOW… despite me flaunting them all over Twitter, I’m actually pretty shy in person, and the fact that I was on a stage in front of like, 100 men kinda freaked me out. So, she starts to pull up my shirt, and I push it down all “no, no, no.” So, she leans in, starts nibbling on my ear and whispers, “it’s just us.” I was putty in her hands after that. I totally fell for the line. So, she proceeds to stick her head under my shirt, and lifts up my bra. As far as I know, she was the only one who saw anything, thank goodness. She nods in approval and then starts doing her dance on me. I don’t even remember how she took my money. It definitely wasn’t with her vag, and I assume I’d remember if she did it with her tits, so I can only imagine that she took it with her mouth, and I was just too dumbfounded by the ear-nibble-line-combo to notice.

Also, there was a sort of “special feature” stripper there who was doing a show every night that week when we went. She’s some pro-stripper or something, so she was selling posters. My best friend bought me one as a birthday present. It’s autographed, and says “Breast Wishes.” I put it on my “wall of shame” which is my sleazy bathroom door.

Don't miss @2ndCitySaint's weekly podcast, The Podcast of Shame either. We love this girl.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

2011-05-18T10:08:00.003-04:00

Insomnia. Chronic Insomnia. I'm not going to lie, sometimes it's a lifesaver. I work so much and am involved in so many different things that the lack of sleep, or requirement there of, makes getting everything done doable. Other times, it's horrific.

I hear "I have insomnia" tossed around a lot nowadays. Let's get the facts straight first. There are 3 different kinds of insomnia. 1) Transient, 2) Acute, 3) Chronic.

Transient is short term. Usually caused by a change in your life or stress. Have a big decision to make or change jobs? Hard time getting to sleep for a week? That's Transient Insomnia (T.I.).

Acute is Transient taken to the next level. If the insomnia persists (usually because the stresser persists) then T.I. can turn to A.I.

Chronic is the mother of all Insomnia. When A.I. starts lasting for months, and you start re-evaluating what caused it in the first place, your A.I. has turned to C.I.

I have Apeirophobia. It's the fear of infinity. It sounds stupid, but to me it's anything but. The concept of infinite nothingness has kept me up, deep in thought, for 25 years. One fateful night, when I was 9 years old, the James Bond movie, "You Only Live Twice" triggered it. I know, I know… James Bond? There was one scene in particular that caused an entire summer of diagnosed A.I. The simple scene was of a black spaceship "swallowing" another craft. During this maneuver, there was an astronaut in the middle of a space-walk. When the ship "swallows" the other ship, the astronaut is cut free and floats away to his death. The implications of this caused a series of unanswered questions about our existence and the concept of infinite space. After 3 months of laying on the couch, watching European Soccer on ESPN throughout the night (this was long before the MLS or even professional soccer in the US), I was diagnosed with Acute Insomnia. It subsided, but the fears did not. What started out as a phase because a norm. My body's sleep requirements dropped to 3-4 hours per day. I was a high functioning insomniac throughout the rest of my childhood.

Once I went to college, the 3-4 hours per night became 8-10 hours per week. I would stay up for 40 - 60 hours at a time without question. I would power nap as required, mostly to keep from hurting myself behind the wheel or in the shop using power tools. Over 10 years, my body had begun to feel rested on just a few hours of sleep.

That's when the health problems started to kick in. First it was recurrent Walking Pneumonia, then it was the ulcers, then it was the bi-weekly flu. Being in college, I didn't have proper health care and insurance so I was forced to see campus clinics. Everything was treated as a one-shot deal and the issues persisted. It wasn't until my senior year that my ulcers got out of hand, and it came to screeching halt. It was then that my sleeping habits were brought into light when I went home to see my childhood Pediatrician.

Fast forward 10 years. The sleep hasn't changed. I refuse any and all forms of narcotics or drugs stronger than Advil so sleep aids are not even an option. I drink caffeine but not in excess. I exercise, run and take extremely good care of my body. I just don't sleep like a normal person. My average night consists of 2 hours of sleep. 3 hours if I'm lucky. Usually 1 or 2 nights a week, I forego sleeping all together. Sometimes it's a choice, sometimes it's not.

Biggest problem with this is the type of sleep I'm getting is a deep stage 4 sleep, without dreams, without enough physical recovery. I supplement with Protein, Vitamin C and Nitrogen Monoxide but sometimes it isn't enough.

What this means is eventually my body takes over when the mind is unable to do its job. This first comes by way of active functioning sleep dreaming. Insomniacs can go on about their activities in a state of stupor, then have no recollection of the events that have occurred. Have you ever driven a very long distance, reached your destination, then can't remember doing the drive? You kind of zone out? It's sort of like that. I can look at a clock and all of a sudden not remember any conversation or action I've performed for the last 30 minutes. Sometimes even the last few hours. Often times it involves monotonous activity or conversations with friends. People who know me, find it entertaining. People who don't, find it annoying as fuck.

When this stage occurs, I know it's my bodies way of sounding the warning siren. Sleep is coming whether I like it or not. Actually, "passing out" is a better description of what is about to occur. I've been known to sleep upward of 24 hours during this stage of recovery. It usually depends on my responsibilities and obligations. After the recovery sleep, the body continues with an all out evacuation of toxins. Usually in the form of a mild flu. Basically I feel like shit for the whole next day and throw up as soon as I get to my feet.

Is there a solution? I've been told that because of the nature of my fear and the near impossible task of meeting it head on (how do you "face the fear" of infinity?) the best course of action is to change my lifestyle, change jobs to a less stressful one and medicate heavily. I refuse medication, I love my job(s) and the lack of sleep lets me take advantage of a 22 hour day and actually accomplish things I wouldn't be able to otherwise. I am a smart guy, I know it's not the smartest course of action. It's going to lead to an early grave. BUT, the way I look at it, I'll have experienced more lucid time in my life by the time I'm 50 than most will if they live to be 80. Now I just need to make it to 50.

With that said, hold your personal opinions. I could give a flying fuck what any of you have to say in regards to your personal diagnosis and tips for falling asleep. I don't mean to sound like a dick, but after spending 25 years with something, it becomes your own personal friend, passenger and nightmare. It's my precious and I'm not sharing.

If you are one of the unlucky few who get to witness me when the warning sirens are sounding, I'm apologizing in advance. It's annoying and not pretty at all. Especially if I get belligerent when you try to get me to lay down. (Ever try to take the car keys away from a drunk? Yeah, it's like that).

No worries folks. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Tigger and the Comforter

2011-05-15T04:33:00.003-04:00

The year was 1996. I was living in a 2 bedroom apartment in Cincinnati with my wife when she was still my girlfriend. We lived in a good area but the laundry facilities were shit, so i saved every penny I had and bought a portable washer and dryer. You actually wheeled it into the kitchen and hooked it up to the sink. It worked great but only did very small loads. We also had a miniature pinscher named Tigger. She was our baby, both in age and in love for the only "child" of the house, sense of the word. I was in college and working full time as a Designer. She worked 2nd shift and went to school full time as well. We never saw each other (much like now) so all of our interactions involved us passing through an open apartment door.

Because we were so broke, buying a birthday present for her was quite difficult especially after dropping everything on the puppy and the washer and dryer. It was decided that we needed a new comforter for the water bed (yes, I said water bed… don't judge me) so I dropped our last $75 on a new King Size Comforter. Fast forward a couple of weeks. Still broke. New puppy, new washer & dryer, new comforter, no money. It was college at it's finest.

She was working a double that day so I slept in. About 11am, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed. Tigger was hiding under the covers per her usual routine. I decided she needed to play so I got a firm grip on the comforter and in one foul swoop, ripped it off the bed like a magician removing the cloth from a loaded table. Problem is, not only did the comforter come flying off the bed, but a barrage of shit did as well. Spraying the wall behind me like blood splatter at a crime scene. Worst part was, I was also in the direction of the flying excrement. It was a few seconds before the gravity of the situation kicked in and I realized what had happened. Then and only then did I realize that the warm feeling on my face and in my mouth was also part of the same cavalcade of crap.

I immediately ran to the bathroom to vomit. This normal reaction was followed by the distinctive sound of my dog shitting all over the wall. Again. It was then that I came to the conclusion that today was going to suck ass.

The next 6 hours involved cleaning up shit, cleaning up more shit and cleaning up the shit I missed the first 2 times.

With all the shit cleaned off the walls, the floor, me, the bed and inside Tigger's cage, it was time to start laundry. First my clothes, then the sheets. All going well. Now the new comforter. Realizing that it's too large for the apartment size washing machine, I walk to the laundry facilities. EVERY single washer full and a line of quarters at each. Back to the apartment I go, with the shit covered comforter uncomfortably in my arms.

Even though I've cleaned the comforter in the sink to the best of my ability, the smell is starting to get out of control. I make an executive decision and shove the comforter into the apartment sized washer and hope for the best.

Three hours later. I've washed the comforter 4 times and somehow it's actually worse than when I put it in the first time. What used to be a huge shit stain is now a $75 comforter covered in hardened dingleberry dog turds. As I pull the comforter out, my girlfriend walks in from the worst day of work at the nursing home she's ever had.

"I've had the worst day of work at the nursing home I've ever had" she says (see, I told you) as she comes into the kitchen seeing me struggling with the comforter.

"No, I've had the worst fucking day ever" I retort. Apparently a little more aggravated than I had intended.

"Mrs Jenkins decided to shit herself, roll it into little balls, line it up on her bed rail and flip them at us every time we came into the room. Fuck you and your worst day ever" she says obviously unimpressed.

"I ate Tigger's diarrhea. Now help me with this comforter." She just stood there. Apparently I won.

After trying to wash the comforter a 5th time unsuccessfully, at the laundromat, I decided to cut our losses and dry it, baking the dingleberries into the comforter. Realization of the loss of the comforter and our current state of being broke beyond belief brought my girl to tears. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't stand people around me upset. The wheels started turning, I developed a plan.

First, I called around to see if our Wal-Mart had another one of our exact comforter. They did not, which actually worked out. Modifying the plan, I drove to the next town, about an hour round trip, and bought another comforter on a credit card. I brought it back to the car, pulled the comforter out and put our shit stained one into the bag. I should point out that it's about 2:00am at this point, in Cincinnati. The vampires are the only ones at Wal-Mart at this point.

Next, I drove back to my Wal-Mart and proceeded to walk in and bee-line it to the customer service desk. "I need to see a manager immediately." I said in the most pissed at the world tone I could muster.

I spent the next 15 minutes explaining to the manager that I just bought this comforter at the Wal-Mart up the road and showed them that it appears someone used the comforter, stained it and tried to return it. Here, I just bought it and almost put it onto our bed. I wanted a replacement immediately. Since I already knew they did not have a replacement, I opted for credit back on my credit card or cash. To get me out of the store, because I was apparently making a scene, they opted for the faster, cash option.

Moral of the story, when in doubt, Wal-Mart will let you return anything, even a dog shit covered comforter,.

What? What? In the butt!

2011-04-28T10:52:00.003-04:00

This post comes courtesy of a wonderful writer and perversely fucked up friend of GetOffended, @2ndcitysaint and her blog, The Blog of Shame

Run away now, boys. This is a story about pegging. Oh? You don’t know what pegging is?

My favourite definition comes from urbandictionary.com:

“When the tables are voluntarily turned on heterosexual anal intercourse and the female servicee becomes the servicer for the man. Because most women don’t have penises, a strap-on dildo is necessary.”

So, you’re probably wondering: DEAR GOD WHAT TYPE OF MAN WOULD WANT THAT!? Well, some guys are curious. And it’s completely normal and not gay at all. Yep, not gay at all… even if my ex had sucked one of his friends’ dicks before. Plus, it’s not like a girl’s gonna go all out on you and use her 12” double-wide on you. No, she saves that for herself and no amount of begging could possibly make her want to put it in your asshole. Fun part of this story: the strap-on was HIS, not mine.

Moving on. Andrew, the ex in question, was the first guy I ever slept with on a first date. He bought me a $120 dinner at a fine dining restaurant here in town… how could I not? (To be honest, I fucked him because I wanted to, not because he bought me an expensive dinner, although I realise it seems that way). After that, our entire relationship was doomed destined to be extremely sexual in nature. It was to the point that he’d pick me up for dates, and we’d go back to his house and fuck before we even went on our date. And, then we’d come back from our date and fuck again until he bitched about it being 4AM and he had to work at 9. And then I’d wake him up again around 5AM for another round. Get the picture?

The chronology of when exactly the pegging happened is fuzzy in my mind. But we had discussed things like it right from the beginning of our relationship. I believe it first came up on our second date. I had gone to his house to cook him dinner, and we ended up making out on the couch while our dinner was in the oven. He was sitting and I was straddling him, rocking my hips against him. I guess the thrusting was pretty satisfying because it prompted him to say something like, “the way you move your hips, I bet you’d be great with a strap on.” So, I continued to tease him like that until the smoke alarm started going off and his dog started going crazy. After that, our attention shifted more toward dinner and less toward sex, for that night.

After a couple more dates, we were fucking and he decided he wanted a blowjob. My head was propped up by a few pillows, and he straddled my chest. THIS! This is a great position if you want to do the finger-in-the-ass trick because his legs are already spread, so you don’t have to try and spread them under other pretenses just so you can sneak a finger in there! So, I started with the usual shaft-stroking during the BJ… then moved my hand to his balls… then to his taint… and then I circled my finger around his asshole and gently pressed (after all of this happened, we actually randomly got stuck watching a pegging instructional video with the MOST ADORABLE woman who described this pressing the asshole as “ringing the doorbell.”) So, I rung his doorbell and he seemed to enjoy it… enough that he passed me the lube from his night stand. I lubed up, and in went the finger. He really enjoyed this, so after awhile he hopped off the bed and went rummaging through his drawers for his strap-on. Once again, I don’t know why he even owned one in the first place, but he did. Fun story: IF a guy owns a toy, it’s more than likely GUARANTEED to be smaller than his own cock. And, this was, in fact, smaller… which made me giggle a little. But, like a good, obedient girlfriend, I strapped on. Apparently, it was quite the site. He enjoyed it and just kinda stared at me for a bit, and I knelt there on the bed feeling slightly awkward, and also slightly powerful (kinda like a really nerdy guy with a really big [ok, less than average] sword).

So, we started out with him on all fours, which we quickly learned is not a great position. Thrusting something that you can’t feel because it isn’t attached to you… not as easy as you might think! But, we quickly found a great position: me on my back. He was able to be in control of the thrusts (because I was apparently a little too rough when we were trying it with him on all fours), he could play with my tits, and I was able to give him a handjob. After while, he started to get really into it, which quickly degenerated back to him being on all fours, so that I could spread his ass cheeks and pour more lube in there. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that guys’ assholes are fucking DRY (and hairy).

By this time, I had finally figured out how to properly thrust something that wasn’t physically attached to me. We continued until after he came. Of course, neither of us realised that he came at first. I didn’t realise it, and he didn’t notice that he had until he started going soft and he saw the wet spot on his sheets (that, for once, wasn’t my fault). I didn’t get anything out of it, to be entirely honest. He came, so he obviously enjoyed it in some sense, and he told me he enjoyed it. I didn’t get anything out of it. But, for about 20 minutes after the fact, he got really awkward about it. Then after the 20-minutes-of-awkward phase was over, I felt really awkward; we were on the couch, and he got really cuddly… and then he decided it was an OK time to gingerly let out multiple farts… while we were still cuddling.

My Son, the Handful

2011-04-19T14:10:00.004-04:00

I have two boys. One is 9 and the other 5. Both of them are incredibly intelligent. I know every parent thinks and says that, but I have a little more than parent awe as proof. My 9 year old has cognitive capabilities that test off the chart. He's in gifted programs and started school early blah blah blah. Point is, he's smart. Now, along comes my 5 year old. Smart as a whip, but evil. Not kill the neighborhood cats evil, but what can I do to push this situation over the edge of a cliff evil. He's a ladies man to boot. At 4 years old, he announced his favorite restaurant was Hooter's, but he only wants hugs from the blonde waitresses. Apparently he's picky too. My 9 year old is a living monument to an adolescent Divinci's David. He's average height, average weight, cute and incredibly muscular for his age due to his massive regiment of year round soccer. My 5 year old is 10th percentile in height. He can still pass for 2-3 years old. BUT, his head, chest and shoulders are larger than my 9 year old's. Sounds strange, but it's not like he's a dwarf or anything. He's just proportioned like a very thick mean little linebacker. He's strong as hell too. I refer to it as "tard strength". I know that's not very PC, but fuck it. There are big differences in the two boys obviously. Where my 9 year old worries about why Wayne Rooney would curse into a camera if he knew it would get him suspended from his next two games, my 5 year old asks questions like "How long before I die?" Are you starting to see a pattern here?

Now that you have a little background on the situation I'm dealing with, let's go back to last July when he was still 4 years old. We decided to have him tested for admission to kindergarten this year and follow in his brother's footsteps. He was already reading, could add and subtract as well as showed signs of the same intellect that his brother has. We drop him off with the other 5 year olds and he goes through the hour test. Upon picking him back up, we're told we need to have a conversation with the coordinator in charge. We wait around until everyone leaves. Good news? Is he smart?

We sit down with the teachers putting the test on and the coordinator. Here is how the conversation went:

---------------

"How did he do?" - Me

"Have you had him tested before?" - Coordinator

"No, we just assumed since his brother did so well, we'd give him the same opportunity." - Me

"I really don't know how to put this… he didn't pass." - Coordinator

"Excuse me?" - Me

"Honestly, we couldn't even register him. Based on the type of evaluation we use, we didn't know how to score him at all. We can tell he's smart, but it was as if he found joy in frustrating us." - Teacher 1

"I'm really confused here. What the heck happened?" - Me

"He refused to answer our questions honestly to begin with. Here let me show you. When asked what animal barks, he replied 'a frog'. When asked how many days were in a week, he answered 'all of them'. It goes on like that for all of them." - Coordinator

"Some of his answers we don't even know where he came up with them. For example, we asked what is shiny that a woman puts on her finger, his answer 'a band-aid' which is a creative answer, but not the one we were looking for. After prompting him for a better answer, he said 'nail polish'. It was if he wanted to give us every answer but the right one." - Teacher 2

"We asked him what holds cereal and he answered "milk". We were looking for bowl. We asked him if he could tell us his address and he said 'No, because you're a stranger'. We could not convince him otherwise." - Teacher 1

"I really don't know what to say. Do you want us to ask him the questions? I'm sure he'll answer for me." - Me

"His dexterity was excellent and he passed everything else, but when it came to the cognitive questions, he scored a zero. When we asked if he could count to ten, he refused." - Coordinator

"He said he didn't know how?" - Me

"Yes. Well, he actually said, 'Yes'. But he wouldn't count. We asked him if he could, he said yes. We asked him if he would and he said he didn't feel like it right then." - Coordinator

"What does this all mean?" - Me

"We feel sorry for the teacher that gets him in the fall. He's a handful, but we're going to go ahead and pass him." - Coordinator

"Thank you?" - Me

---------------

That night, we asked him what happened at the testing. His reply, "Those teachers were stupid. They asked me dumb questions. I figured if they didn't know the answers, I wasn't gonna tell em… Dad, they didn't know that dog's barked. What are they gonna teach me? I'm not going to school."

My son, the handful.

Vibrators Valtrex and Infections Oh MY!

2011-04-06T00:35:00.005-04:00

As promised, one of my favorite twitter conversations of late. Follow @WhoreNextDoor45 if you aren't already too. Do it! NOW! Then read on.

@WhoreNextDoor45 - C Batteries…… A woman's best friend when it's time to get her buzz on.

@getoffendedcom - C Batteries? I thought you were a kick-start Diesel kinda girl... like me.

@WhoreNextDoor45 - I'm trying to go green these days. I've also switched to those new biodegradable condoms.

@getoffendedcom - Green? Is it infected? Oh my gosh, DM that to me next time instead of tweeting it. :)

@WhoreNextDoor45 - The Valtrex they prescribed me should have it cleared up in about a week or so. I caught something when I came home to Ohio.

@getoffendedcom - I love Valtrex! If you crush it up & stick it up your ass the hallucinations are biblical. I think it was Valtrex...

@WhoreNextDoor45 - I need to try that. I recommend you try snorting some crushed Stool Softener, it made me see the Virgin Mary in a White Castle once

@getoffendedcom - I normally delete my @ reply conversations, but this one's a keeper. I love you & your water slide vagina!

@WhoreNextDoor45 - Those catching @getoffendedcom and my conversation, White Castle is a burger joint that gives you the screaming shits for a month after one burger

Thanks Dixie Swallows for clearing that up - I need a bath now.

Storytime with Angie

2011-03-31T00:59:00.002-04:00

The following was originally posted in several parts on Twitter. Because of it's original media, it may be a little disjointed. Give me a break and enjoy.

Because @getoffendedBone is out with his family tonight and not reading I'm gonna tell a little story... gather round & enjoy...

We were fresh out of college so this is more than a decade ago. We were at a local bar. There was lots of drinking going on. Lots.

Bone goes to the bathroom, wobbling the whole way, running into everyone he passes. It was an Irish Car Bomb night & he's a light weight.

A few minutes pass & he comes out of the bathroom with an older black guy (early 60's) and brings him to the table.

"This is Jimmy, my new best friend" he says as he gives the guy a huge hug. Guy sits down with us and pours himself a beer out of our pitcher.

Nobody says anything for a few minutes... dead silence...then all of a sudden Bone blurts out "Jimmy said I have a nice penis." DEAD SILENCE.

Jimmy adds "Yo friend pissed on my mother fuckin' shoes. Lil bitch owes me a beer."... still DEAD SILENCE...

Again, Bone says, "Jimmy said I have a big... penis..." Jimmy turns to Bone, knocks him off his stool and starts yelling...

...Jimmy yells, "MOTHER FUCKER I SAID YOU WAS A BIG FUCKING DICK! NOT YOU HAD A BIG DICK!" Bone scrambles to his feet & says...

"I'll take it!" then proceeds to whip it out in the middle of the bar & piss on the guy, again! Still DEAD SILENCE from the rest of us.

Jimmy drops the pitcher & literally runs out of the bar yelling "MOTHER FUCKER GONNA DIE!" At this point, the rest of us recover from shock.

The soberest of us grab the rest and rush out of the Emergency door in the back, alarm goes off, we run to the cars and get in as quick as possible.

At this point, I'm genuinely fearing for my own safety. Bone is falling down trying to zip up, laughing his fucking ass off.

About the time we get into the car and get it started, Jimmy comes around the corner with three other people... this is where it gets really fucked up...

Apparently, Jimmy was there with his parents. One has a walker. One has an oxygen tank. The only spry one of the bunch was a morbidly obese woman.

The morbidly obese one starts throwing stuff at our car, but they're too far away to hit us with anything. We all just sit there watching in awe.

They start slowing down as the 100 yard distance to our cars shortens. The fat one ends up sitting down on the curb to catch her breath.

Bone gets out of the car followed by another from our entourage. Bone unzips and starts mooning them, smackin his own ass in the process... taunting them. Not smart.

Jimmy gets a second wind, hoofs it the last 20 feet and kicks Bone square in the taint as hard as his retired ass could.

Bone goes face first into a bush in a parking lot island... Then Jimmy starts unbuckling HIS pants.

Jimmy starts yelling, "I'M GONNA PISS ON THIS MOTHER FUCKER RIGHT HERE!" and he's looking back at his three cohorts still resting on the curb.

We get Bone up, stuff him into the car, apologize profusely to Jimmy and back away as they continue to scream at us.

We get into the car and pull out, Bone yelling about how bad his ass and balls hurt. We get down the road and pull into a Meijer parking lot.

Bone gets out and we all start screaming at him! What the fuck! Seriously, what were you thinking? Bone says, "Did you get my wallet back?"

We all look at each other, "What?" Bone starts yelling at us again, "I pissed on that dude because he pick pocketed me in the bathroom!"

"Asshole refused to give it back! I know he did it so I peed on his shoes 'cuz he's too old to hit! Thought I'd get it back at the table!"

"We gotta go back! He's got my wallet!" At this point the rest of us, who were also quite drunk, were rolling.

Epilogue - Bone never did recover his wallet or the money in it. To this day, whenever we see an elderly black man, someone laughs at Bone.

I'm sure when @getoffendedBone gets on here tonight or tomorrow, he'll have a few things to say... But in my defense...

After St. Paddy's day and my infamous drunken tweet spree culminating in a blurry nipple pic posted to twitter, he blew it up poster size

and hung it up in my office with a post-it that said, "have you seen me?" Paybacks a bitch.

Yep, that's a penis alright

2011-03-28T02:36:00.004-04:00

Oooh, another message with a picture of a penis in the mirror… How original.

What makes you fellas think that this sort of thing does anything for us? I can't speak for all the ladies out there, but for me in particular, a picture of your member does very little for my libido. If I were to make an educated guess, I'd have to say that most of the pleasure was derived when you took the picture thinking about the receiver of your message looking at you holding your dick in the mirror. I hope it was good for you.

I do want to honestly confess that every once in a while I'll open one up and have to give it a double-take… either because of girth, length or "is that infected?". I should also point out that those pics get immediately forwarded on to everyone I work with so we can all share the experience.

I guess I bring these on myself with my boobs prominently displayed in my avi, but that doesn't mean I don't get to complain about them anyway. My vagina pretty much guarantees it. It's not that the dick pics bother me as much as it's that I'm still waiting for the boob and hoo hoo pics to start pouring in… ladies?

Guys, you really want to get us girls hot, send pics of your girlfriend sleeping. Nudity isn't required but it's definitely a plus. Better yet, get your girl to send her pics herself. Then we'll tell you how much fun it was while you're in the bathroom taking more pictures of your junk to send to someone else.

P.S. How many of you are just sending your pics to each other unknowingly anyway? I assume someone somewhere has sent one to someone he thought was a chick, but was in reality a 25 year old dude in his mom's basement, who in turn saved the pic then turned around and sent it back to the same dude 3 weeks later while the original photographer was on his new account where he was pretending to be a 19 year old girl with an unsatisfiable desire for anal sex. Yeah, that happens all the time I'm sure.

My friend Nate

2011-03-19T00:46:00.002-04:00

I have a friend who suffers from Cerebral palsy. He's had a rough way to go his whole life because of it. He's my age, in a wheelchair and barely functional on his own. Barely functional yet he has one of the strongest wills and maybe the bravest man I know. He requires round the clock care because of his seizures and physical disabilities that go along with the Cerebral palsy, but that doesn't bring him down at all. He actually eats up the attention.

The point is, he's a helluva dude. He's also one of the funniest individuals I know. If he had the ability to tweet, his stuff would be biblical. Because he isn't physically able to, I'm taking this opportunity to post some of his best one-liners:

Note: he's in a wheelchair, he has seizures, his speech is really hard to understand, and his favorite t-shirt says "That's How I Roll" with a handicap symbol on it... There's the visual. Enjoy

"If you like to eat vegetables, make sure you lock their wheelchairs first."

"I'm about to have a seizure… quick! Get on."

"Once you go gimp, you'll walk with a limp"

"The best thing about having Cerebral palsy is all the sympathy pussy I'll get real soon, someday"

"First time I got fucked, it was by the genetic lottery"

"I'm only doing this for the attention"

"Somebody peed in my gene pool"

It takes a truly amazing soul to find humor and joy in the most horrible situation like he does every day. Thank you Nate for being an inspiration to me.

Look, Dad, it's a Homo!

2011-03-13T11:27:00.004-04:00

The following will explain what it's like growing up in rural Ohio, millions of miles away from the real world. Leaving the local Sports Bar on a Saturday night and a young black dude with an afro and oversized clothes casually crosses the street in front of me. This is the conversation between that ensued.

Son, 9: "Look, Dad, it's a Homo!"

Wife: "What did you say?!"

Me: "That's not something we say! Where did you hear that?"

Son: "I thought that was what they were called? Don't you call them that?"

Wife: "We most certainly do not! Many of my friends are gay and I would never refer to them as Homo's."

Son: "Wait… what's a Homo?"

Me: "It's a derogatory term for a homosexual."

Son: "Oh, no, wait… I meant a Hobo. There was a Hobo, right?"

Wife: [confused] "What the hell are you talking about?"

Son: "A Hobo, isn't that what you call them when someone lives in the street?"

Me: "No, those are just homeless people."

Son: "Homeless? Oh, ok."

A few minutes later…
Son: "I get it now! That guy was homeless and Grandma and Grandpa were Hobos, right?"

Wife: "He's all yours. I give up."

Me: "That guy was just a young guy with baggy clothes. Probably not homeless..."

Son: [interrupting] "He sure looked homeless…"

Me: "He probably wasn't. A Homo is a word we don't use and a Hobo is someone who used to migrate around the US, jumping train cars and looking for work during the Great Depression. Your grandparents were NOT Hobos. Make sense?"

Son: "Yeah, thanks. I think I got it."

About 10 minutes pass…
Son: "I know! Grandma and Grandpa were HIPPIES!"

Wife: [shaking her head] "Yes, I think you finally have it."

Son: "So that guy wasn't a Hobo, or homeless, he was just a Hippie. I understand."

Wife and I look at each other in outright confusion…
Me: "Why do you think he was a Hippie?"

Son: "Because he had an afro."

Welcome to rural Ohio folks.

Favstar - what's the big deal?

2011-02-25T04:36:00.004-05:00

It's late, I'm tired, dozing in and out of sleep and I'm a little drunk so this isn't going to be the most coherent post. Fuck it. Enjoy.

"Look at me! Look at me!" pretty much sums up twitter. It's the perfect enabler for the those of us who must be the center of attention, at all times. Whether it's because you grew up with neglectful parents who never showed you the love you deserved or your spouse ignores you because the relationship is dead and neither of you can admit it or you have low self esteem and crave any and all types of personal validation you can get or you're a Comedian or you think you're a Comedian… twitter is perfect for you.

Twitter allows you to run into a crowded party, scream something profound and then wait for everyone to turn around and acknowledge you for saying it. "Look at me! Look at me!" and then watch the attention shift in your direction. Do it a few times and the rush can be addicting. How do you know that people are acknowledging what you're saying?

1) Favorite - The most obvious form of acknowledgment comes in the form of the "favorite" selection. Often called a "star", favoriting someones tweet shows them that you acknowledged it and you thought it was funny or you agree. It lets them know that you read it and approve.

2) Retweets - This is the twitter equivalent of, "Did you hear what John just said?" Telling a joke, that someone thinks is funny enough that they repeat it to their other friends is powerful. It creates the chain letter effect. Retweets are unfairly underrated yet may be the most effective form of twitter validation… which is why they get me so excited I actually pee a little.

3) @replies - Replying to someone's tweet lets them know personally that you read their tweet and have something to say about it. These little conversations can end there or sometimes may lead to friendships... or all out @reply "fuck you" wars. NOTE: As a rule of etiquette though, if you agree or find something entertaining or funny, it's nice to "favorite" the tweet BEFORE an @reply.

4) Follower count - This is the final say in acknowledgment. Everything you say can lose or gain you followers for whatever reason. Piss someone off and they'll unfollow. If you're not consistent in your posts and they'll unfollow. Don't follow them back (this is a whole other topic all together) and some people will unfollow. BUT if you say something that gets people to retweet or star it, it can lead to new and interesting people. It's like a real life version of the "Sims". Sort of. Not that I've ever played the "Sims"...

This brings me to favstar. I've been asked quite a few times, "What's the big deal with favstar anyway?" Favstar is the means to which people's acknowledgments of your tweets are collected, evaluated and rated. It's the talent show. It's the prom. It's the popularity contest that drives us to say the shit we do. Favstar is crack to the twitter junkie.

Say something, people retweet it, favstar records it. Say something, people star it, favstar reports it. Get 50 or 100 stars and favstar acknowledges it. If someone thinks it's funny enough and they're addicted enough to have purchased the favstar bonus features (which I'm not even going to attempt to get into here), they can crown it "Tweet of the Day". If getting a star or a retweet is like a mini orgasm, then a "Tweet of the Day" trophy is like being invited to an all out Orgy. Plus, give someone a "TotD" and you're almost certainly offered thanks in the form of sexual favors. Not really, but wouldn't that be great?

Favstar also has a Leaderboard where the most active accounts are collected along with the Tweet of the Day trophy winners and recent up and coming tweets. Getting on the Leaderboard is like making the prom court. It's also a great place to go to find some really funny and/or fucked up people to follow.

A lot of times, you'll hear people talk about "starbanging" or "star fucking" someone. This is when they visit your favstar page or your timeline and go through your tweets, starring and retweeting the shit out of your account. This is like walking into an office full of long stem roses... or in my case, the closest thing to sex I've seen in a long time. Getting star fucked will actually bring a tear to my eye and some moisture to the nether regions. "They like me, they really like me". Excuse me, I need a tissue.

The best followers are those that acknowledge they're following you. Their stars, retweets and conversations let all of us twitter junkies know that people are listening and that we're entertaining, disturbing or turning them on. In any case, it fuels the fire. The best way to keep someone talking and taking things to the next level is egging them on. Encouraging the behavior if you will.

I'm a star whore. I love getting them as much as I love giving them. I pass em out like a Pharmaceutical Rep with Viagra pens. Make me giggle, you get a star. Make me gag, you get a star. Make me blush, you get a star. Make me cum, you get a star. I've even got a sheet of stickers in my purse. Not really, but wouldn't that be great?

In conclusion… Star, Retweet, Reply. In that order. Let em know you're listening and you're enjoying.

- Angie @getoffendedcom

I'm Losing my Best Friend...

2011-02-24T03:23:00.002-05:00

I bought my house when I was still in college. It's a three bedroom two-story, so back then a single girl and her dog didn't need all that space let alone have enough furniture to fill it. I lived here for three years all by my lonesome and I hated it. Then, by a twist of fate, by bestie broke up with her boyfriend of nearly a decade when she found out he'd been cheating on her for years, the piece of shit. She moved out of his place and needed a place to stay. What started out as a "sleepover girl night" became "let's buy a bed for the other bedroom." She's been here seven years now and is my closest friend and like a sister to me. She's been here in the next room so long that I just assumed it would always be this way. About a week ago, she told me that she was planning on moving out. She felt it was time to "grow up, join the rest of the adults, and buy her own house". I figured in this market, she'd be here for a while and I'd deal with it when the time came… She closes on her new house Friday. We've done everything together for so long that I really don't know what I'll do without her. She's my constant, my rock. I love her and I'll be lost in this house all by myself. Does she care? Yes she does, which is why it's going to hurt so much and why I'd do anything for her. She's only going to be a couple of miles away, but it may as well be half way around the world when I need someone to curl up on the couch with and make fun of cable till 3am. The saddest part is I truly think she feels the same way. It's been Angie and Annie against the world as far back as I can remember. Her boxes are packed and the U-Haul will be here in 2 days. I plan on spending as much time with her as I can. I keep joking that if I'd agree to sleep with her she'd stay and we could rent out her new house. I'm not gay, but at this point, I'd be willing to take a few for the team to keep her close. Could this get more depressing? I bought another dog today. He's a lab mix and we (yep, "we") named him Toby. Before you know it, I'll be crazy dog lady. I love you Annie and I'm proud of you. I'll miss you but I know you need this. One last non-lesbian-platonic-scissor before you go? Thought so.

- Angie @getoffendedcom

Twitter: Why I'm Sleep Deprived

2011-02-03T04:18:00.008-05:00

When I was approached to run our Twitter account at GetOffended, at first I was hesitant. I don't even have a facebook account. I honestly hate the new media stuff and have always preferred to interact with other people over a pint of Guinness. Now don't get me wrong, I use email, love my cell phone and have even been known to Skype while I'm traveling, but it's more productive than social. I'm the bubbly chick with the loud mouth and the comments that most people would filter before saying not the texting twit you see at the traffic light with her latte. It took some convincing but I finally agreed but only if two other people here at work helped out.

I had no idea what Twitter was less than two months ago. I'd heard about it, mostly from Tosh.0, but that was the extent of it. A co-worker, Travis, set up the account under the pretense that three of us would tweet on it including me, a single, snarky 33 year old girl in an adult's body. It literally took two weeks before we were able to rack up 100 followers, 90 of which were bots.

I think I should put a little background in here, just so you can understand why we did this. I work for GetOffended.com. It's a website that's been around for more than a decade which deals primarily in offensive t-shirts and stickers. The website is actually an off-shoot of the original venture, "The Glossary of Perversion". As the story goes, in the mid eighties, a group of friends made it a normal drinking game to sit around, describe and make up disturbing sex terms... the "Angry Dragon", the "Cincinnati Taco Chop", the "Sunny Side Up", the "Donkey Punch", etc, etc. These disturbing and disgusting terms started to take on a life of their own. Then one day, while sitting at an Applebee's in Cincinnati, Ohio in the mid 1990's, they heard a table behind them mention a "Donkey Punch" and start laughing. What the fuck? A couple years later, one of the group heard a "Cleveland Steamer" mentioned at a frat party in Tennessee when he was visiting his girlfriend... What the fuck? The terms had somehow made their way out of their basement and into the world. Seven degrees of Kevin Bacon? Apparently. The "Glossary of Perversion" was born. This dictionary of sex terms was started back in 1994 by our owner and his college roommates. This was years before the Urban Dictionary and the various other knock offs that are all across the web now. Remember, this was all years BEFORE the internet. Back then, the only way to spread stuff like this was through underground magazines and word of mouth. They printed up their Glossary and sold it for beer money.

Get Offended.com was started by the same group of guys, tired of the same old everyday t-shirts. Someone said, "Man wouldn't it be funny if we had t-shirts that said 'Donkey Punch'?" Every time we said it, people replied "I want one if you make'em". Well, that's all it took. We decided to bring it to the masses. The site went live in 2001 with a select group of 10 terms we were especially proud of.

Within two years it exploded. 2003 was marked, "The Year of the Dirty Words". Not only did every one of our made up major terms get mentioned on Howard Stern but the terms "Dirty Sanchez" and "Donkey Punch" were both mentioned on the MTV Music Awards! We like to think we had a part in that as well. We also were doing a lot of radio interviews and sponsorships... We were heard on the air in Ohio, New York, Florida, Texas, Tennessee, California, and Illinois.

Over the last eight years we've seen highs and we've seen lows. We've stuck it out, fought tooth and nail for the little corner of fucked-up-dom that we maintain. But, alas, we had fallen prey to a market that was moving in a new direction. New media is now ruling the web. If you don't have a facebook page and a twitter account, you're not seen as relevant. Henceforth, "Next item of business… Angie, you're going to run our twitter account."

Back to the year 2010. In order to help our Christmas sales, and increase site traffic, we opened a facebook page and the twitter account. My "boss", Travis set up the profiles and all settings for the accounts while I spent hours online researching how to bolster a following and increase traffic. We tried everything from buying traffic to followback promotions. All the ideas resulted in temporary followers… none of which were in our target market. We were actually tweeting promotions and ads for our stuff. Looking back, there's no wonder it was failing.

For some reason Travis started using the Twitter account to follow some of his favorite boxers because it wasn't working for anything else. (Side note, we're all big boxing fans here at the office. Even those who don't like sports have gotten into it over the years, for the drinking during fight night if nothing else). Tweeting with other boxing fans and a few boxers started generating followers. Then we added in some soccer clubs (I loves me some soccer). Twitter was getting fun, but still not adding any traffic to our site.

I believe it was the week before Christmas, when I stumbled across Jenny Johnson (@JennyJohnsonHi5) on twitter. Three of us spent a couple of hours going through her timeline of past tweets... giggling, laughing and losing it. This chick was the funniest shit we'd seen in years. This took us in a different direction. From here we started following some of our favorite comedians which included Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt), Marc Maron (@marcmaron), Lisa Lampenelli (@lisalampenelli), Morgan Murphy (@morgan_murphy), Sarah Silverman (@sarahksilverman) Louis C.K. (@louisck) and Bo Burnham (@boburnham). Then we started posting the most disturbing, funny and raunchy shit we could come up with. This was when the addiction started to kick in.

I started spending all day with the twitter feed running in the background. Working on other stuff and twitter at the same time. We started to get real followers, not just people following just to get us to follow them back… get your free iPad stuff. The first person who I think actually laughed at one of our tweets and helped us break through was Bad Advice Nurse (@BadAdviceNurse). Thank you Bad Advice Nurse, if it weren't for you, we may have walked away from all of this after Christmas.

When we started to get a few people that were following us and retweeting our stuff on a regular basis, we broke the account into two separate accounts. @getoffendedcom run by me and @getoffendedBone run by Travis. Our other cohort decided she would spend her time in Facebook. This made things less confusing and allowed the two of us to try to divide and conquer.

Christmas came and went. I started spending nearly eight hours of my work day on twitter reading posts and tweeting every little thing that popped into my head. I tried to be funny and witty but felt like I was failing miserably. Then I started tweeting about my frustrated sex life and my love for my Rabbit Vibrator. Fuck it, I figured I'd use it like my personal soapbox. Air my frustrations to the world and rationalize my libido and lack of dates as twitter fodder… it was ok because it was for work.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but around the first of the year, I became full blown addicted. Not since the late nineties when I would spend all hours of the night in chat rooms like Bianca's Smut Shack have I been this enthralled in the internet. The difference is, this time I'm sort of being paid to live this life. Lucky me.

Through the month of January, I let loose. I started tweeting everything, holding nothing back. No filter, no worries… it is liberating to say the least. Also, somewhere along the line, I've been making friends. There's a handful of people that I socialize with on the side. We send direct messages back and forth, just chat about dating and what's going on. They've become my twitter family.

Beyond the social, there's a larger community of people that make up the heart of my twitter. These are the funniest, most entertaining souls I've been privy to since college. They inspire me. They encourage me. They keep me honest. They keep me sane. All of this since December of 2010. Addicted? Yes. Romanticizing? Maybe.

Did I mention favstar? Favstar is the best and worst part of my twitter. When you tweet something that others like, they can "star" it, which in essence is like the new media version of a "laugh" from someone. They can also Retweet it which is the new media version of "did you hear what Angie said?" Add in "Tweet of the Day" picks and 50/100 "Favstar" mentions and it's a little like a High School lunchroom. But, like High School, it's hard not to get sucked into this popularity contest.

I'm going to try to keep posting about my Twitter experiences here. It's hard to express how much I enjoy it when you are required to keep your thoughts coherent 140 characters at a time. There's so much more that I'd love to get into… Follow Friday, Trending, Hashtags, Favstar, Followback, etc. We'll save that for another day.

I want to end with a few mentions… and I know now that I'm not going to even attempt to mention everyone, but here are a few that I can't forget.

Thank you for being there since the beginning: @BadAdviceNurse @java_chris @F00tballSux @willoffendyou and @getoffendedBone

Thank you for keeping me sane & giggling (you should be following): @hotmommabits @funsizdprincess @0214inFL @slyoung5 @zip_it_zippy @SugarTits84

Thank you for keeping the funny going (are you already following?): @JennyJohnsonHi5 @BadAdviceNurse @ShittingtonUK @amyschumer @colinkane @YeahImAshley @willoffendyou @moshekasher @BoobsRadley @kellyoxford @TheThryll @meganamram @RobSprance @shelbyfero @kammygibbler @Slashleen @YUCKYBOT @momfia @andreaseigel @rodney_at_large @tackie_jackie @dietredbull @UNTRESOR @lunchyprices @LittleHarmonica @robdelaney @ChelseaVPeretti and @nirvana68

AND, I can't forget the following (You should be following them too!): @thebestmonkey @JillMorris @MrsVitch @MisterPrankster @Cacheinhand @knotta_tardfan @sheepie91 @violetsiva @BillMc7 @SedateMeNow @angrylittlebee @CelticWombat @tamytoo2 @Cocaine_Dealer @PlatinumShower @ArtIsMyPorn @minionzero @cant_win @lifeinsandbox @BohoPoetGirl @Cherhole @Molly_Kats and @vagstar

It's all Angie's Fault...

2011-02-01T01:24:00.002-05:00

We drew straws here at the office and it's Angie's turn to write in the Blog. We've been so busy since Christmas prepping things for 2011, that we've let the blog slide. Since she's the quietest here at the office, we're blaming it on her...

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer = Most offensive Holiday Special Ever

2010-12-10T13:38:00.003-05:00

I watched "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" the other night with my two boys. It's a holiday tradition at my house. Every year, the film grows more and more disturbing. I don't know if it's just because I've seen it so many fucking times… It was made in 1964, but it may as well have been made in Berlin in 1940 as part of the Third Reich's propaganda campaign against the west…. that is until the last 5 minutes when everything is made wonderful again…

I suggest you watch it again, but consider the following.

1) Hermey is obviously a gay elf with an unhealthy oral fixation. He's kicked out because he makes the other elves nervous. Apparently they are all homophobes?

2) Rudolph is a metaphor for being black in 1960's America. He's the most athletic (first young reindeer able to fly?) and when Clarice takes a liking to him, what happens? His father comes over and says, "no Doe of mine is going to be seen with the likes of you"…

3) Yukon Cornelius is apparently a dead-beat dad running from child support payments or maybe even gambling debts? Whatever the reason, he's traveled all the way to the North Pole in search of silver and gold. Is it me or is an undertone of "bestiality" played out in the interaction between Yukon and Rudolph, Yukon and his dogs and Yukon and the Abominable Snowman?

4) The Abominable Snowman is political satire for how we cast out and feared the mentally handicapped in the 60s. Sad really.

5) Clarice was a doe-eyed doe with stripper eyelashes and a come-hither walk. Reindeer on the verge of the sexual revolution. Also, consider that her father was worried enough about appearances that he didn't want her seen with Rudolph but he could give a shit less when she wondered off into the blizzard with Rudolph's mom and was about to be eating by the retarded snow monster!

6) Donner, Rudolph's dad, showed such great shame at his son's deformity that he tried to cover it with black soot. Apparently, Rudolph's mom had been stepping out on Donner with another "red-nosed" woodland creature… oh the humanity! Also, when Santa tells Donner, "you should be ashamed! Too bad too, he had a nice liftoff" Donner just bows his head and walks off. No family pride? What a coward.

7) That brings us to Santa. What a bitch! He was a racist anorexic who hated non-conformists. When the elves practice their song, he acts as if his head is about to explode. Withdrawals possibly?

8) Mrs Claus was an enabler who possibly suffered from "Munchausen By Proxy" which would explain Santa's yo-yoing diet.

9) The Island of Misfit Toys was where all of the Bohemians were exiled to and King Moonracer was the Jack Kerouac of the North Pole.

10) The misfit toys themselves were portrayed as being drug-addled unintelligent toys. Why didn't Charlie just change his name? You can't sand those wheels down on the train or swap the jelly with water in the squirtgun? There wasn't anything wrong with Dollie either. I'm guessing she was a "fag-hag"? Not that there's anything wrong with that.

As messed up as all of this is, for a children's Christmas special, everything comes full circle and Rudolph is recognized as the savior, leading Santa around the world to save Christmas. Now that I think about it, maybe it's prophetic… Rudolph = Barack Obama?

I think this needs to be on a t-shirt...

2010-11-10T12:31:00.004-05:00

Keep an eye on GetOffended.com, I think there'll be a shirt on there soon with the following line from a police report filed in West Virginia. Apparently, a couple of weeks ago in Jackson County, West Virginia, a lovely woman named Melissa Lee Williams had had-it-up-to-here with her love life and decided to go down four doors at the 177 Motor Inn to where her estranged husband was living (four doors down.... really? Is that even estranged?) and demand that he (or his cohort) perform oral sex on her. Right there. Oh, she also had a knife. Forgot to mention that part... The police report that was filed actually has the following line:

Melissa Williams then produced the said knife and pointed it towards Danny Williams and stated '...somebodyis going to eat my pussy or I'm going to cut your fucking throat...'"

The funniest part about the whole situation is that one of the guys, James Adam Watson (not her husband mind you) actually agreed to go down on this trailer park beauty queen.... but as the police report states:

As Watson approached Melissa Williams, he became overwhelmed by horrible vaginal odor emitting from Melissa Williams. Watson then declined to proceed any further because of the strong vaginal odor and ceased his involvement with her.

No wonder her husband had moved half way around the world... or at least four doors down. I'll bet any amount of money his new apartment was at least up wind. source - TheSmokingGun.com

It's a Black Ops world....

2010-11-09T22:04:00.003-05:00

Ok, so it's November 9th... why am I wasting a few minutes typing here instead of pounding Diet Mountain Dew, calling in Care Packages and spending pointless hours building a one-of-a-kind-OCD-oh-my-God-he-has-WAY-too-much-time-on-his-hands Players Card tattoo? Because my thumbs are going to fall off and the PS3 in the office is about to melt through the entertainment center. Just a head's up to all of our loyal customers, if you have shirts on the way... it may be a couple days late... We need to make sure we all reach at least level 30 before we get back to any kind of work here at GetOffended.com... joking of course.

All joking aside, if you see "[.com]getoffended" on Black Ops in the middle of the night, just show your support and bend over in front of us... we need the headshots. Free stickers to anyone who sends us a message with their address and let's us take a few potshots at em in Free For All. Kristy sucks and she needs all the help she can get behind the Dual Shock.

Back to Mercenary Death Match...

Best Damn Butterbeer Recipe on the internet...

2010-10-27T03:35:00.003-04:00

Well I finally got off my dead ass and posted the recipe for the best damn butterbeer possible without a trip to Universal Studios or a hallucinogen enriched trip to the "Three Broomsticks"... So unpack the mini van and sell your mescaline, here's the link to buttery bliss:

"Hi, My Name is Travis and I'm Addicted to Butterbeer"

Enjoy.

Butterbeer is the Devil

2010-10-09T00:06:00.004-04:00

Recently, we visited Universal Studios in Orlando. We took our kids because we're all huge Harry Potter fans. Yep, I don't give a shit how sad that sounds... it's true.

The Harry Potter portion of the park was flat out awesome. We spent an entire day in a portion of the park about the size of a couple football fields. There's only a few rides and only a few things to do, but what they did offer was an overwhelming feeling of being right in the middle of the books... er I mean, 'movies'. Either way, it worked.

Anyway, we get there and are ooohhhing and aaahhhing everything when all of a sudden I spot a very large wooden keg / cart selling "Butterbeer". Those of you who are not in the know on Butterbeer... it's an alcoholic brew that is sold to minors in the Harry Potter series. Sounds awesome right? In the books it's described as tasting like shortbread cookies and ale. I HAVE to try this.

I stepped into line and ten minutes later asked for four Butterbeers. "Do you want those in souvenier mugs?" I was asked. Well hell's yeah. $42 later, I was sitting down outside the "Three Broomsticks" getting my first taste of the newest narcotic to be introduced to western civilization.

Butterbeer is better than crack. That says it all. At any given moment you could listen to conversations around the park, "What's in it?"... "I think we can make this at home."... "I taste butterscotch, what do you think?".... It was amazing, but at the same time verging on ridiculous.

After leaving the park, we spent about an hour online on our cell phones looking for the latest recipes to grace the web. Everything from mixing Butterscotch Schnapps to IBC Cream Soda to boiling sugar, whipping cream, and being 2 ingredients short of homemade nitroglycerin.

We traveled to Wal-Mart to get ingredients. First of all, not a single Wal-Mart within 10 miles of Universal had a single bottle of IBC Cream Soda... it's that addicting.

It's now been more than a month and we've been making it at least once a week... attempting to perfect our home brew. We've tried it all.... and.... we've done it. In our opinion, we've taken the best of everything and gotten as close as possible. Gordon Ramsey would be proud.

I'm getting the instructions together and will be unveiling it soon. STAY TUNED.

In summary, Butterbeer is the Devil.

I-75 Sucks Ass

2010-09-28T22:05:00.002-04:00

I drive up and down I-75 everyday... through construction, around orange barrels, past "Terminator Jesus" (the artist formerly known as "Big Butter Jesus"), through construction, more construction, along side concrete dividers, through construction zones, past cows, avoiding broken down minivans, through more construction, breaking by Sheriffs, avoiding State Highway Patrols, fuck... more construction, honking at roadside-sheriff monitored-county inmate work crews, and through more fucking construction... are we seeing a pattern here?

At what point are we going to just chalk it all up and become agoraphobics or lose it and start road raging west-coast style with a .38?

I just recently returned from a trip farther south than I'm used to... Why is it, when you cross into Tennessee, Georgia and Florida, you can't drive 15 miles without being assaulted with a billboard advertising a "truck-stop" with strippers and a "spa-style massage"? Who are they kidding? The billboards should just say, "Nasty lot-lizards, sweaty trucker sex, and missing teeth, Right at Exit 98"...

And when did Georgia become the armpit of America? Besides the fact that it's the longest, most boring stretch of interstate, if you do have to stop for gas or food, be prepared to have your IQ sucked from your brain via osmosis by whatever inbred sap attempts to turn on your pump and sell you Peaches or Pecans. I'm not even going to get into the fact that the only dinner option for hundreds of miles centers around "Denny's" or "Waffle House" with the occasional "Huddle House" for good measure.

I hate Interstate 75.

Flowers...

2010-09-08T09:03:00.002-04:00

Two friends, a blonde and a redhead, are walking down the street and pass a flower shop where the redhead happens to see her boyfriend buying flowers. She sighs and says, "Oh, crap, my boyfriend is buying me flowers again." The blonde looks quizzically at her and says," You don't like getting flowers?" The redhead says, "I love getting flowers, but he always has expectations after giving me flowers, and I just don't feel like spending the next three days on my back with my legs in the air." The blonde says, "Don't you have a vase?"

Remembering "Evil Dead"

2010-08-19T00:34:00.003-04:00

I watched "Evil Dead" again the other night. I just happened to come across the DVD while moving offices. I thought I remembered the film, but I think the overall luster of the movie had worn off after the last 15 or 20 years since I'd last seen it.

A quintessential element in horror cinema (as is it's "sequel" Evil Dead II). Established both Bruce Campbell and Sam Riami as cult icons in the realm of 80's horror. Yes, the special effects are a bit cheesy, but considering the budget and the date, they are surprisingly well done. The story was fresh. The humor was off key and right on target for Bruce Campbell (who is "Ash" every single day of his life). The acting far exceeds expectations considering the film was funded by local investors (ie Dentists, and Lawyers) as well does the directing and cinematography. The sound is somewhat sub-par, but only because of the budget and date of production. The 5.1 Digital DVD release is a bump in the right direction, but the overall sound is still dated. But, this just adds to the overall charm of this vintage horror gem. If you have only seen Evil Dead II, don't miss the original. If you haven't seen either, rent them both tonight.

Adventures with Trash

2010-07-31T13:40:00.002-04:00

I have to tell this story because it's so surreal and too funny not to pass along.

Yesterday I am at the office and I get a phone call from my wife. She is obviously upset and in need of assistance, whether it be emotional or physical is yet to be determined. Here is how the conversation began…

I answered the phone with, "Hello."

"I hope you are having a good day because mine is shit…" she says.

See, I could tell she was upset right away. "What happened?"

This is where the conversation took a very weird turn… "You know that TV you sat out with the trash, well a lady pulled up in her car today and went to take it. I hate people taking stuff from our trash, but I figured it was 'trash' after all, so what the hell. I yelled to her as I was walking next door, "Go ahead, you can take it. It still works."

"Ok," I replied, "so what's wrong?"

I think I should explain a little here. I am in the middle of a summer remodeling project and had accumulated a large amount of trash this week which included and old 27" console television. Yesterday was trash pick up day so our front sidewalk was covered in a couple dozen extra large sized lawn trash bags, cardboard and, of course, the 27" television.

"She looks up at me," my wife continued, "and she was obviously off her rocker." Apparently, she had a crazy eye or something which frightened my wife. "She puts the TV in her trunk then turns around and tells me that her daughter just left her because she had a baby and she is now all alone and doesn't have any money. The closer I got, I could tell she was either drunk or stoned out of her gourd. I'm thinking, 'Holy shit, this lady is fucking nuts.' Then as I get closer I notice she has a bunch of trash bags in her backseat so I get a little closer to investigate. Sure enough she has three of our trash bags in our backseat. What the fuck?"

At this point, I have a pretty vivid picture in my mind's eye of the situation, but I keep my mouth shut in fear of giggling into the phone. "Go on," I urge my wife.

"Well, I turn around and say, 'What the hell lady?' when I realize she is now ripping out the trash bags in the yard and going through them." My wife was getting pretty excited in her recounting of the events…

"I screamed, 'Jesus fucking christ lady, what the hell do you think you are doing?' At this point, she turns around and starts screaming back that she was going through my garage sale stuff… I told her we didn't have a garage sale! She says that there are prices on stuff and shows me a sheet of price stickers that you threw away. I think they were for work. I don't know so I grabbed them out of her hands and started pulling the trash bags out of her car…"

"Were you polite or pissed?" I asked without thinking.

"Polite?! Hell no, this crazy bitch was drunk and God knows what she was doing with our trash.. did you have any sensitive material in there? That's it, we're getting a shredder for the house today. Anyway, the neighbor comes out because of all of the screaming and tells me that I shouldn't talk to this lady that way because she was obviously a fry short of a happy meal. That pissed me off and I told him that it was 'nunya" and to get his ass back in his house. He said he called the cops already. Just then the trash truck comes around the corner and the biggest, scariest black man I've ever seen gets out of the garbage truck and says in the deepest voice I've ever heard, 'Miss, do you know this lady?' Then he points at the crazy lady ripping open the rest of the trash bags."

At this point I had to cover the mouth piece on the phone… no way around it, I was losing it.
"'No!' I screamed then realized that he was trying to help. I politely apologized to him and told him she was stealing my trash. He didn't say a word, just stood there taking it all in."

"I turned around and told the lady that the police were coming and that she needed to pick up the mess she was making because it wasn't fair to the garbage man, who was now leaning against the back of his truck enjoying the show. She drops all the trash in the yard, then starts yelling at me about being a bitch and that I can't pick and choose who comes to my garage sale. That's discrimination! This is when the garbage man starts crackin' up and tells the lady that she needs to leave before the police come and take her away in a padded van."

Then my wife went silent on the phone. "Honey, are you ok?" I asked.

"That crazy bitch just stands there for a minute, then calmly walks over to her trunk, reaches in, grabs the TV, lifts it up as high as she could then looks at me and says, 'You can keep your TV.'" My wife held for a dramatic pause… "Then she dropped it right there in the middle of the cul-de-sac. The TV literally exploded and glass went everywhere. I just watched as she shut her trunk then pulled away. Everyone was speechless."

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. This was priceless. I wish I'd have been there.

"I spent the next hour, first helping the garbage man load everything up. He was so sweet.. I think I am going to write a letter to his boss. Anyway, then I was out in the street for what felt like forever picking up and sweeping up glass, plastic and TV shrapnel. I mean it EXPLODED!" Then she just sighed.

After a few moments of silence, I said, "I told you you should have tried to the sell that TV on Craig's List."

She hung up on me.

Little Johnny's big story

2010-07-26T23:52:00.000-04:00

Little Johnny (this little shit's in every story it seems) was at the playground with his new baby sitter. He looked over his shoulder and saw his Daddy's station wagon pull into the parking lot across the street. Curious, he snuck out of the playground and ran over to where his Daddy's car was now pulling into the access road next to the woods where the creepy men pay homeless guys to spit shine their zippers (at least that's what he had heard his Daddy tell his uncle Bill). He followed the station wagon into the woods where he say his Aunt Jane get out of the car too! Little Johnny watched his Daddy and Aunt Jane in a passionate embrace. After a few minutes, Little Johnny was so excited that he ran straight home to tell his Mommy what he had seen.

"Mommy, I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and he was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, and then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off, then Aunt Jane...'

At this point Little Johnny's Mommy cut him off and said, 'Johnny, this is such an interesting story, let's save the rest until Daddy gets home and we are eating supper. I want to see the look on Daddy's face when you tell him all about it tonight..'

At the dinner table that evening, Mommy asked Little Johnny to tell his story. Little Johnny started his story, "Ok, here's what I was telling Mommy earlier. Today I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and Daddy was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, then he helped her take off her shirt. Then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off. Then Aunt Jane and Daddy started doing the same thing that Mommy and Uncle Bill used to do when Daddy was at work and they thought I was outside playing in the sandbox…"

Just then Mommy fainted and Daddy started choking on his meatloaf.

The Hippie and the Nun - a love story...

2010-07-20T14:16:00.001-04:00

Every day this hippie gets on the bus at his normal stop and sits directly behind the bus driver. He plays with his hackie sack and rides quietly to the downtown stop where he gets off and hangs with his other hippie friends. He never says anything…

One day a young nun gets on the bus and sits in the seat opposite the hippie. She bows her head and rides quietly as well. She then gets off at the stop just before the hippie. This occurrence repeats every day from this day forth.

Before long, the hippie starts to take notice of the nun. She was really quite pretty and very innocent looking. The hippie's fascination grew until it was obvious how much he admired her.

One day, as soon as the nun exits, the bus driver looks up in the rear view mirror and says, "Hey buddy, she's pretty cute huh?"

"Huh?" replies the hippie.

"That pretty little nun, she's cute huh? I've been noticing you watchin' her for a while."

"Yeah, she's pretty." The hippie just looked at his hackie sack.

"Why donchya talk to her then?" asked the bus driver.

"She wouldn't want to tal k to me," said the hippie as he got off at his stop.

The next day, the bus driver watched the hippie when he got on the bus. "Ask her out on a date today. Do it, seriously," he said as he looked up in the rear view.

"Honestly dude, it's not like I wanna go out for cheese and wine or anything. It's, I don't know, a little more 'carnal' than that if you know what I mean? She gets my motor running for some reason. Kinda weird huh? Must be the habit." The hippie must have been a little stoned that day.

The bus driver smiled and just nodded.

After the nun and come and gone, the bus driver turned around in his seat and looked at the hippie. "Buddy, here's what you do. You wanna get in her pants right?" The hippie nodded emphatically. "Every Friday night, that pretty little nun goes up to the cemetery on the hill and prays to the statue of Jesus on the cross for a few hours… if you were to go up there and come out all dressed up like Jesus…" The bus driver flipped the hippie's long dirty locks. "I betya she'd do just about anything…" The bus driver winked at the hippie.

The hippie didn't say anything. He just sat there and thought about the possibilities.

That Friday night, the hippie sat down his one-hitter and resolved to take the bus driver's advice. What did he have to lose? He got all Jesus'd up and headed for the cemetery on the hill.

When he got there, sure enough, the nun was kneeling in front of the statue. He took a deep breathe and walked out with his arms spread wide. He was dressed in ripped khakis and an old white tee, complete with his Birkenstocks and the hackie sack in his pocket. "Uh, hello my child. I am Jesus and I have been watching you for, um, quite some time now, my child," he said in a glorious fashion.

The nun looked up at the hippie and raised her hands to the sky, "Oh thank you Lord! My prayers have been answered! What would my savior wish of me? I am here to humbly serve in his name." She bowed at the hippie's sandals.

"Rise, uh, up, my child. I wish to pass along my good will through another messiah. I want you to have my baby." He grabbed her shoulders and raised her to her feet.

"A miracle baby? That is so wonderful. Am I pregnant? Is it another miracle conception?" she asked.

"No, only my father can, um, do it that way. Me, since I'm only Jesus, I have to do it old fashioned like. Missionary, [he chuckled] style. Get it?" The hippie brought the nun in for an embrace.

"This is wonderful! I am so excited," she gushed. Then she looked up at Jesus. "But that means I won't be a virgin anymore. Can we do it a different way so I could still be a virgin? Maybe anally?"

The hippie nearly shit a brick right there. "Hell yeah! Er, I mean, yes, my child. We can do that."

The nun simply turned around and lifted her skirt up. In the moonlight, the hippie knelt behind the nun and spent the next 20 minutes "taking care of business".

When they were done, they fell in a heap on the grass. The hippie waited a few moments and then turned to the nun, "I have a confession, my child. I'm not Jesus… I'm the hippie!"

The nun turned to the hippie and said, "I have a confession too!" She pulled her mask off and said, "Ha ha! I'm the bus driver!"

Basketball is NOT a sport

2010-07-18T15:58:00.002-04:00

I hate basketball. In fact, with the sole exception of soccer, I hate team sports in general. But (and that's a big BUT), my disgust for basketball far surpasses all other US based popular team sports combined. Baseball is the most boring, unintelligent sport there is. No wonder it's America's pastime. Football (not to be confused with soccer in the US) is a pathetic waste of time. Football is ilke driving in rush hour traffic. Hurry and then wait. Hurry and then wait. The clock stops every few minutes. Everyone on the field is so pumped full of steroids and hyped up on endorsements and their contracts that the game is considered secondary to the theatrics. Oh and they are so caked with padding and protective gear that they could go into Iraq in search of WMDs right after the game.

I hate basketball. Basketball is a team sport that is so biased toward genetics that it shouldn't even be a sport, it should be a circus act. At the height of the hoop, only athletes with a vertical jump, no weight and freakish height are able to play at a professional level. Of course there are a few exceptions to this rule, but they're even more freakish in my opinion. The point is, most athletes can bulk up in a gym or take enough supplements to be able to play football. Anyone can play baseball and even break records with a little help (McGwire…), but to be able to compete at a professional level in basketball you'd have to have your bones stretched or government genetic experimentation a'la the Halo Spartan program.

The next time you find yourself catching a game at the bar in T.G.I.Friday's, think about this… is it a game or a freak show?

I'll stick with soccer thank you very much.

The Diet Starts Today

2010-07-16T10:29:00.002-04:00

I don't believe in fate and I don't believe in God. Life is a series of choices. We have to take responsibility for our own actions and decisions. For every choice we make, there are consequences and long reaching effects. In essence, my only belief lies in "Chaos Theory".

That said, I'm now blaming my being fat… on "Chaos Theory".

Life is a series of choices. I have been choosing not to diet. I have been choosing not to run. I have been choosing not to lift weights. This "chaotic behavior", starting with small differences in my initial routine, has ultimately led to long-term and widespread consequences… a gut I can't get rid of and eating habits that would kill a fourteen year old boy.

It's a cycle of events that spiral out of control with the accuracy and determination of the 17-year Cicadas. It begins with a look in the mirror which leads to depression, realization, motivation, success, reward, relaxation, apathy, failure then another look in the mirror… the cycle starts right up again.

Life is a series of choices.

Life is a choice.

I just looked in the mirror and now I'm choosing to make better choices. The diet begins this morning. The lifting resumes today. The running starts now.

Where are my running shoes? It kinda looks like rain…

The diet starts tomorrow. Today I want hot wings.

I'm "Anti-Pro-Life" and Proud

2010-07-13T22:43:00.001-04:00

You know who really sucks ass? Every asshole that passes me on the interstate with a "Pro Life" bumper sticker… Especially those stickers with the half-assed hand drawn fetus. I know you've seen 'em.

Ever pay attention to the drivers of the cars? They all look like they're missing a chromosome or two. Yep, that's who I want making decisions for me and my vagina…

You know what really chaps my ass about the whole thing? "Pro-Life". They're not "Pro Life", they're "Anti-Choice". You can't be in favor of "life". We're all in favor of life… that is unless you have a razor in your hand or a gun in your mouth I guess. They are against women making their own choice. Nothing more. It's about time these self righteous pricks were sat down and explained the ridiculousness of their reasoning.

Now that I think about it, I don't think I'm Pro Choice. I'm too apathetic to care. Also, I'm probably too lazy and cheap to even have an abortion. It'd be easier to just have the kid. There's a tax break right?

I'm Anti-Pro-Life and proud of it.

Maybe this'll be the last time I'm made to write in the Blog? :)

Sincerely,
Angie
"Queen Bee"

If you need assistance, then it's not "Self Help"

2010-07-12T22:39:00.001-04:00

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 3

2010-07-09T01:27:00.002-04:00

And now the conclusion....

My first son was born on July 9th, 2001. It was the proudest moment of my life. My wife and I spent the night in the hospital, all the family patiently waiting for the new arrival. It was truly a joyous occasion, but I couldn't help counting down the clock until I could get my chance. I'd run out for food soon. "Gran Turismo 3: A-Spec" was being released the very next day and I decided I was getting a Playstation 2 and GT3 to help pass the time while taking an extended vacation to enjoy the first few weeks of the birth of my first born son. That and GT3. This was truly going to be a great summer!

Like a moth to the flame, as it always does, the cycle repeated and this time my falling off of the wagon was harder on everyone around me. It was so bad at one point, I resorted to wrapping a rubber band around a PS2 controller to hold the steering stick against the wall on the Speed track. Added a second rubber band to hold the "X" down and set up the Escudo Pikes Peak to run endless laps while I wasn't home. The money kept coming in and the cars were building up, but I was shutting down. Taking a step closer to the bottom of that downward spiral all over again. This time, seeing my pain, a friend stepped in and "borrowed" the game while I was working out of town. I returned home needing a fix only to find an empty amray case and a dusty PS2. Outrage turned to remorse... turned to guilt. How had I let myself fall so far? For a third time no less?

The years flew by and all was right in the world. My addiction was in check, my urges suppressed and my calluses smoothed from inactivity. Then I saw the poster at the department store, "Gran Turismo 4 - The Real Driving Simulator". I ignored it as best I could, relentless as it was. It seemed I couldn't avoid it. Everywhere I turned there was mention of the game. I resorted to bottling up my emotions deep inside and dwelling in my own private nightmare.

Apparently, I succeeded in hiding my dismay and anxiety so well that on Valentine's Day, 2005, my wife surprised me with a gift. A pre-ordered "Gran Turismo 4" and a brand new Driving Force Pro Steering Wheel and Pedal Set complete wiith Lap Block and Table Lock. At first I was afraid. I was petrified. I could smell the fabric softener percolating down the hall from the warm blanket in the dryer. I could hear the pot on the stove whistling with hot water ready to drown the cocoa into a steaming cup of sunshine... What the hell? You only live once, right?

By this time, my wife was pregnant with our second child, another boy. My oldest was now three and very much interested in cars and video games. Although not able to fully enjoy himself, he did admire from the passenger's seat. I spent the next six months trying to distance myself from the game and the accompanying accouterments. I would play with friends and to appease my toddler, but I refrained from experiencing the full rush for myself. Eventually the game stayed on the shelf and the Steering Wheel rested in the cabinet, deep in hibernation.

November rolled around and winter hit. It was the worst winter southern Ohio had seen in years. By the first weekend in December, we were snowed in. A brand new baby boy, a four year old monster on the loose, an exhausted wife and I, the patriarch and protector of the house... stuck behind closed doors for nearly two weeks.

By day three, the PS2 was humming along at breakneck speed. The Driving Force Pro Steering Wheel was receiving textbook damage assessments from a top level consumer. My Nissan GT-R Proto was nearing it's 100,000 mile service and the Blastolene Special was looking spiffy resting in the corner of my garage.

Apparently the birth of my children had finally tamed my tunnel vision. I was determined to make it through the holidays, successfully juggling family, friends, work, sleep and virtual racing in the world of GT. I was able to teach my oldest (the previously mentioned monster on the loose) how to handle a few cars and was even able to coach him through a few victories over his mother. I'd finally conquered the addiction and made it my bitch! The overwhelming feeling of satisfaction was heartwarming to say the least. The game quickly became a family favorite and I was able to enjoy racing GT while spending time with those I loved most.

Over the next two years, "Gran Turismo 4" made weekly appearances, first in the PS2, then later in the PS3. Unfortunately, during a power outage three days before Christmas 2007, the PS3 went down for the count. This was actually our second PS3, the previous system fell casualty to a botched load of "Warhawk" soon after purchase. Replacing the PS3 wasn't the problem. The issue was that the new system was no longer backward compatible. Much to our disappointment, "Gran Turismo" could no longer grace our LCD.

We were only without for a couple of months it seemed. By spring, "Gran Turismo 5 Prologue" had a new permanent resting place snuggled between the plastic casing and optical lens of our PS3. My son (now seven years old) and I were deep into stage two of the Gran Turismo cycle ("obsession" for those keeping track). This time however, there were two of us fighting over TV time. The arguments didn't last long because I was kept in check by watching my son slowly slide over the line into dependency. Parenting instincts kicked in. I'd seen my own addiction and the problems it had caused... I would not allow my son to travel down the same dangerous road. After a family meeting, we were able to establish an appropriate schedule for homework, family time and game play. Life returned to normal... for my son.

It's been over two years and "GT5 Prologue" still spends fair time vying for the attention of both of my boys and their father. We've all been able to maintain our composure and keep the monkey off of our backs. Knowing that the addiction is hereditary, and in essence, a "disease" allows us to make the most of the time we spend in the driver's seat. Right now my PSP lives in my back pocket ready to be busted loose when the bathroom stall door closes or the wife gives me a second of peace while she leaves me in the car with the windows cracked... Every day is a struggle. Every day another small victory. We're taking it one lap at a time…. until November 2nd, 2010 when the gates of hell open up once again and invite me to a lap around the High Speed Ring spiraling into my own personal abyss.

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 2

2010-07-08T01:21:00.002-04:00

I'm 33 years old and I am an addict. I have been suffering from my dependency to "Gran Turismo" since my first encounter with it at a party in college. It was 1997 at the University of Cincinnati. My fellow classmates and I were blowing off steam after studio at a friend's pad. He had a new game called "Gran Turismo" that he wanted us to check out. Being gear heads at heart, we would surely fall in love with the game as much as he had. Looking back now, I think he was in the second stage at that point; obsession. All I got was a taste that day, but it was enough. I distinctly remember the drive back to my own apartment. It was very difficult to maintain my speed and resist the urge to weave in and out of the two-way traffic congesting the long winding hill down River Road. As one can guess, it took less than a week before I had my own copy of "Gran Turismo" and the sinister cycle began.

At first I played in the evening, when my wife was fast asleep. I'd pretend to pass out first, wait until she was busy sawing her own logs, then slowly sneak into the living room and dive into my own little world of racing. The headphones hid the noise and the discretely suggested, newly organized, living room kept the glow of the 27" television from flooding the hallway and giving light to my late night escape. Soon, this wasn't enough, I began showing up late to studio. Just one more race in the morning, became, "Sorry I'm late. Another flat tire on Route 4. Yep, second one this week. They need to get that pothole fixed soon by golly!"

My wife began to suspect something was going on. Sleep deprivation between a full time job, full time studies and full time racing was taking it's toll. I was finally brave enough to admit I had fallen. With her love and support I was slowly able to leave the game in the entertainment cabinet for days at a time. The addiction faded and slowly disappeared.

Graduation came in June of 1999 from the Industrial Design program. I had been working for the same firm since 1996 as a design co-op and full time Junior Designer. I was hired on as a Product Designer, then quickly promoted to Director. My wife and I bought our first house... I was on top of my game... on top of the world. Then Christmas grew near and I discovered "Gran Turismo 2" was being released soon. I told my wife I'd rather have a new tool chest for the garage. Sure I'd secretly love to have GT2, but it was so addicting and I didn't want to go back to that... dark place. Things were going so well.

As the holiday grew nearer, I started to second guess myself and my rash decision. I was more mature now than back in college. I was an adult with responsibilities and I should be able to unwind with a video game without it taking over my entire existence. My mind was made up, I was buying GT2 if I didn't get it on the 25th. Counting the days down until Christmas reminded me of being a kid again. Then my wife, being the angel that she is, surprised me with the tool chest AND "Gran Turismo 2". She felt I had been working so hard, I deserved a break.

By mid January I had fallen back into my old cycle. I had to play it constantly. I needed more races, more wins, more money, more cars. It was never enough. I couldn't satisfy the need with just "one more fix". The days all ran together until pulling myself out of GT2 is kind of a blur. I remember making the decision to buy another house (due to the constant urging of my wife, now in her last year of college). We packed everything up during the move and I had to stop cold-turkey. The withdrawals were hell at first, but eventually Gran Turismo was locked away into the recesses of my mind once again.

Coming Soon Part 3 of 3

How Gran Turismo ruined my life - Part 1

2010-07-07T02:24:00.001-04:00

"Love" is like wrapping a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, around your body and snuggling up with a cup of hot cocoa. It makes you feel toasty inside, ready to take on the world. It's infectious, those around you feel the warmth and bask in your dedication. It radiates... brings smiles and giggles of joy. You can't help but ooze happiness.

Alas, "Love" can slowly creep across the threshold into the realm of "Obsession" without you ever knowing it. One day those around you feel your joy and reciprocate it ten-fold, the next they'll blow off your happiness as delirium and shed pity on you for your lack of the world as a whole. "He's obsessed, it's so sad" there eyes seem to say. No more the celebration of excitement for your passion. Now, those around you become apathetic to your rants about the compulsion. They no longer care, but as the fixation gets its claws buried deeper, you begin to recede. Who cares? It's mine. My private escape. That warm blanket and cup of hot cocoa are still wrapped tight, but obsession wraps it tighter and keeps the cups coming. And coming. You can't imagine taking the blanket off or running out of cocoa. In fact, let's mix some Red Bull in with the chocolate so you can stay awake and enjoy more time... in the blanket...

"Obsession" begot "Addiction". Slowly (but surely), the obsession will once again evolve into the the next step in the downward spiral. The next thing you know, the blanket is so tight and hot, your feverish and can barely breathe. The cups of hot cocoa gave way black coffee and cigarettes. There's a voice in your head, contemplating life without the blanket... without the coffee. As certain as the sun will rise and set, so shall you die without your fix. You can't admit it, but no matter what you do to break away, you MUST return. You've reached rock bottom.

There's no where to go but up. It's a good thing too, because at this point you've conquered every course, bought every car you want or need and have dominated the game to a point where playing has become mind-numbing... second nature. The challenge is lost. Boredom creeps in and your playing time slowly heeds to a return of daily living. That is until you catch wind of the new release coming soon. "In the spring you say? New cars and courses? Better game play and improved handling? I can't wait!" You go back to the closet in your mind and dig out your old blanket. It's so warm and a cup of cocoa sure sounds good right about now...

Coming Soon - Part 2 of 3

Dexter's Ass - Episode 1

2010-07-05T10:28:00.003-04:00

A paw gets wrapped around my shoulder every night (morning rather) when I finally make it into the confines of the bedroom. Being spooned by a one hundred pound Weimaraner on a daily basis brings you close. He's my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without him. I love this dog more than I ever thought possible.

Dexter is more than 10 years old now. He's getting grayer in places he shouldn't be. Running in the yard and playing with the frisbee is now a game of fetch rather than catch. He spends more time on his side asleep than he does on his feet awake. Point is, he's getting old and I'm having a hard time dealing with it.

We've established that I love this dog and he's cool and all, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.

As far back as I can remember, Dexter has had a fascination with trashcans. Licking them, knocking them over and eating out of them. Apparently used tissues are a delicacy. Snot must smell like steak to a dog. Gradually over the years, he's moved on from the occasional Kleenex to an all out fetish for Q-Tips… Snot and earwax in all of it's glory.

It's become a ritual to empty bathroom trashcans before I sit down for the night. Otherwise, when I walk through the house in the morning, there will be the inevitable trail of wet, discarded toiletries from the bathroom to the family room. All of which are chewed, wet and covered in dog slobber.

Two weeks ago, my roommate points out that the dog is dragging his ass on the carpet and through the grass in the backyard. Not the way you want to start your week. Worms? Ass itch? Athlete's butt? Bug bite? I work my way through the possible scenarios without success. Time to make an appointment with the vet.

Last night I am sitting in my chair, laptop at the ready, deep in the abyss that is my work when all of a sudden I hear a crunching noise coming from the family room. This is a noise that I hear almost every night. For some reason, this time I decided to investigate.

What I assumed was the sound of a crunching dog bone or a chew toy was, in fact, the sound of my dog chewing up and and swallowing a Q-Tip. Yep, apparently the nightly ritual of trashcan emptying has been forgotten or neglected due to my mass overload of work. Dexter has been delighting in his delicacy on a regular basis.

Dragging his butt on the carpet… I'm now pretty sure he has a Q-Tip shoved up his ass sideways. This is going to be an interesting trip to the vet.

God damn dog.

A discussion about Motivation

2010-07-03T11:47:00.000-04:00

I want to take this opportunity to discuss my relationship with "motivation". It's a love-hate thing. We hate each other and love it that way.

Motivation's cousin, Procrastination, and I still talk. She and I get along pretty well in fact. However, Procrastination and Motivation are like oil and water. When I'm with Motivation, all we do is bitch about Procrastination… When I'm with Procrastination, all we do is badmouth Motivation… It's actually a viscous circle.

Every now and again, Motivation and I get together, we have a good time and vow to keep our friendship on the up and up. We'll even go out with Motivation's step-son (Responsibility) for a few beers. Now, I want to explain something about Responsibility. He's a nice kid and all, but he's a know-it-all to the tenth degree. I can only take that self-righteous bullshit for so long.

Then I'll get a late-night booty-call from Procrastination. What am I supposed to do? Send her away?

Anyway, she was here yesterday. We had a great time. Spent all day in bed together and never got around to posting on the Blog. She's an annoying bitch, but what can I say, I love her.

Back from the Dead...

2010-07-01T13:35:00.003-04:00

Oh my God I suck. That's about all I can say.

I set this blog up with the honest intent of posting daily (or at least weekly), not yearly as it turns out. I intended to do such as a means to vent my insufferable bitching. Everyone here at the GetOffended.com offices hates me. They hate the soap boxes I have tied to the bottom of my Sha Sha's. They hate that I'm always right… or at least it feels that way. They hate me.

"You need a hobby!"

"Isn't it about time for a mid-life crisis?"

"Seriously, don't you have anything better to do than complain all the time?"

That's what I hear on a daily basis. The hopes centered around this Blog being an outlet for this very such aggression toward my fellow man. I think it would have worked, but when you only post once a year, it's kind of pointless.

Solution: get off my ass, shut off "Modern Warfare 2" here at the office, and actually start posting again. If that doesn't work….

Alternate Solution: force everyone here at the office to put there share in as well. I can do that ya know. I'm the "boss".

So as it progresses, I'll be making contributions daily (weekly at worst case). Everyone else will pull there weight as well. If the post sucks, that's because I didn't do it. No proofreading, no rough drafts and revisions, just the cold hard facts, spit out onto the screen as we type. Post it and move on. If it gets really bad, maybe we'll rethink it, but for now, that's the direction we're taking…

I promise I'll get back to my previous posts, and continue where I left off, but for now, let's move on to more pressing subject matter.

The World Cup!

We're huge soccer fans here at GetOffended. Where else can you enjoy a pint of Guinness and watch a real sport without huddles, without breaks in the game, without stopping clocks for injuries (even through all of that padding and protective gear) and without the feeling of "Oh my God, I'm such a redneck for watching this" (a'la NASCAR, Football and Baseball). Plus, with Soccer, anyone can play. You can teach yourself how to play. There are no physical prerequisites that have to be met like in Basketball and Horse Racing… I'm short, sue me. Just competitive sport in the purest of form. Gotta love it.

Congrats to the US team. We held our own through this whole thing. Thanks to Rob Green for making it so.

I'm also personally following Germany (have to route for your heritage) and England (I'm a Barclay's fan). Plus, the following: Spain (love Torres), Argentina and Portugal (hate Ronaldo and Messi) and Japan (Tulio Tanaka must be seen to appreciate, plus I love Endo… is it just me or does he look like he just came off of a bender…).

US is out. Japan is out. Portugal is out. England is out. I guess it's up to Spain and Germany now. Don't let me down.

Ok, that's enough for now, to at least get the ball rolling. I'll be back tomorrow, I promise.

7 Deadly ReaSins - #1 Guilt

2009-06-30T23:10:00.001-04:00

To recap, we are exploring my compiled list of the seven reasons for each and every person's acceptance of religion into their lives and subsequent dismissal of science and reason. Trust me, everyone around you with a belief in 'a God' can be put into one (at least one) of these categories. Today we are discussing number one the list: Guilt.

This, in my opinion, is the most obvious reason. This can be something as simple as a personal pact made between the individual and God in a time of extreme desperation. ie. "God, if you get me out of this situation, I'll devote my life to serving in your image." This can also be something as deep seeded as a peace offering made between someone and "their maker" over something that they did or happened to them. For example, a child who accidently caused the demise of a sibling (or just feels responsible for their siblings passing), holds that guilt for their entire life, turning to religion to fill the void.

I believe most of the priests with pedophile tendencies or behavior most likely fall into this category as well. They have lived with the knowledge that their desires are wrong, so in a valiant effort to mask or subdue the behavior, they turn their sights on God. The problem with this scenario is too often the distraction of religion only leads them to a more accessible batch of impressionable victims. At least they turned to religion with good intentions right?

Another common example of "guilt" as a trigger for religion is in the form of infidelity. A spouse cheats and doesn't get caught. Most of the time, getting caught is the point or the exciter. When they don't get caught, the guilt of the situation eats at them until they turn to the shoulder of religion to wipe the slate clean.

If "guilt" is a trigger, why do so many people stick with it once the guilt subsides? This is what bothers me more than anything. In some circumstances, the guilt may never fade. In others, it should fade quickly for most people able to participate in the act that caused the guilt in the first place. Some people who are able to use religion to overcome the guilt may like the results and decide to stay in order to use it for future use? Honestly, I am unable to fathom this, but it does seem viable.

Next up on the list is "Redemption". Stay tuned, I will hopefully elaborate sooner rather than later.

"Why do they believe in God?" - An Introduction

2009-06-09T03:06:00.000-04:00

"The 7 Deadly ReaSins"

Let me start this off with my religious background. I was raised by a close-lipped agnostic father (who kept his opinion to himself at all costs) and an openly religious mother. Although she did not attend church, her faith was sealed at a young age when she "allowed the 'holy spirit' to enter her body" when she welcomed Christ into her life. The feeling had moved her and she was often very vocal about the experience during my childhood. I, on the other hand, was questioning the existence of God at an early age. I was even asked not to return to my neighbor's Sunday School in the summer between first and second grade. True story. My mother was told I wouldn't quit disrupting class with my constant questions and insistent allegations to the validity of what was being taught. That being said, my lack of faith eventually blossomed into teen angst sprinkled with a downright disposition to all aspects of religion and the church in general.

As I grew older, my feelings of anger tapered to apathy. If it didn't affect me, I didn't really put much thought into it either way. I am, for all intents and purposes, an atheist and I have, to a large degree, a higher than average knowledge base and education in all aspects of most of the world's religions. I don' think you can possibly argue against or for something unless you have a true understanding of both sides of the fence.

Why am I an atheist? I could go on for days about the obvious flaws and holes in religion (which I will, no doubt, eventually do given the life of this blog), but instead I'll hit the few main points. First up, there are so many religious belief systems, often contradicting each other. This means that most of them are based on false information and inconsistencies passed down and distorted over centuries of bastardized word of mouth and poorly recorded history. Everyone can't be right. Next, most religions are based on rhetoric that is centuries old at the very least. When these religions were established our basic understanding of the world around us was skewed by our inability to see the bigger picture. Now, we know the earth is round, we are not the center of the universe and most miracles are explained through science rather than divine intervention. Last religion can be broken down to it's basic purpose - control. It controls what you do, say, feel, and in some cases eat. Control is always a tool for a means to power. Power gives way to Corruption. Giving yourself over to a power structure where you are the bottom of the barrel just seems unintelligent to me. Color me crazy, but I'd rather keep my options open. Why can't people see that religion was initially created to answer the unexplainable questions about the world around us (now explained in every seventh graders Earth Science textbook) and later harnessed to keep the peasants and slaves from rising up and destroying the class structure.

Besides the obvious problems with the validity of religion, my main question seems to be, "why do people buy into the hype?" I have over the years narrowed the possible reasons to a list I like to refer to as the "7 Deadly ReaSins".

Guilt
Redemption
Proximity
Social
Marriage
Heritage
Self Esteem

Over the next week or so, I'm going to explore each of these "7 Deadly ReaSins". Stay tuned and see what develops. I'm sure the sparks are gonna fly.

Why is Prostitution illegal?

2009-06-04T03:30:00.004-04:00

Someone needs to explain to me why prostitution is illegal. I mean, I understand that the letter of the law states that it IS illegal throughout the United States (parts of Nevada being the exception). The question is, "why?" The economy sucks ass and we really should look into this as a possible income for the states at the very least.

The textbook definition of prostitution is "the act or practice of engaging in sexual acts for money." That sounds a lot like "dating" to me. It all boils down to semantics. In fact, if you think about it, it's possibly more about property values than moral values.

If someone decides to stroll the shady back alleys looking for a good time, what happens if they approach the ladies of the night with the following line? "Yes, I'm looking for a date. I don't want to pay you for sex, but I'm willing to pay you for your time to sit and talk. Then after we get to know each other, if you decide I'm a nice guy and you would like to have casual sex, I would be willing to give it a shot. But I am ONLY paying you for your time to sit and talk." Just a thought.

Or, what if you videotape the sex? You can pay someone to star in a porn film without being arrested for prostitution, so what's the difference? I am sure this has more to do with licensing and zoning for filming. But there is definite gray area here. Can I get away with prostitution as long as I have a camera phone, a business card and I get the hooker to sign a waiver?

What if you approach an employee, with the following: "Whadya say we go to the utility closet and have some sex?" If you proceed to follow through on the deal, can you be arrested as the employer for paying your employee while you both engaged in a "sexual act"? Jesus, this is getting very bizarre. What if you're married to the employee? Or just dating? It's all very subjective.

Last scenario. You go to a massage parlor. A reputable massage parlor. You tell the therapist that you have a lot of stress in your groin muscle and it needs to be worked out. She (or he) proceeds with a deep tissue massage on your nether regions. One of the side-effects of this type of massage is an expulsion of "stress", built up in the form of ejaculate. A necessary evil in relieving the stress and pressure in this region of the body. Which, I might add, can very easily be argued as directly relieving pressure causing you stress and pain. Which is why you went to the massage parlor in the first place! Is this a sexual act or an alternative medical procedure? You decide.

When any man asks a woman to dinner, he's hoping for sex. Ugly I know, but it's nearly the truth. Many women feel obligated to satisfy their date's sexual needs to some extent after a good time and an expensive dinner. Ugly, I know, but it's nearly the truth. This might be a kiss goodnight, a little heavy petting or even a blow job... Is this prostitution? Aren't we trying to pay our dates in the form of surf 'n' turf and a movie for some after hours nookie? Semantics.

I think most liberal minded people aren't that bothered by legal prostitution in Nevada, or the production of porn in California... because they don't live in Vegas or the San Fernando Valley. I believe people are more worried about prostitution disturbing their property value than the moral implications. If people are allowed to stroll the corners near your home or your child's school, that's gonna cause a shit storm, but what about designated areas miles away from residences? Regulated by the state, receiving a fair tax on the deal and highly maintained and overseen for the transmission of sexual diseases and it could be very profitable. C'mon Obama, forget about the assholes in Detroit and let's focus on making hooking legal, for the economy's sake... "Yes, we can".

Now that I have you thinking, what exactly is a "sexual act"? The law defines a "sexual act" as "contact between the penis and the vulva or the penis and the anus, and for purposes of the subparagraph contact involving the penis occurs upon penetration, however slight; contact between the mouth and the penis, the mouth and the vulva, or the mouth and the anus; or the penetration, however slight, of the anal or genital opening of another by a hand or finger or by any object, with an intent to abuse, humiliate, harass, degrade, or arouse or gratify the sexual desire of any person."

Let's break down the definition a little farther. "Money" is defined as "any article, substance or circulating medium of exchange, measure of wealth, or means of payment, including but not limited to, coins, paper money or demand deposits such as checks."

Taking the above definitions into consideration, we can now redefine Prostitution as follows:

Prostitution - The act or practice of engaging in contact between the penis and the vulva or the penis and the anus, and for purposes of the subparagraph contact involving the penis occurs upon penetration, however slight; contact between the mouth and the penis, the mouth and the vulva, or the mouth and the anus; or the penetration, however slight, of the anal or genital opening of another by a hand or finger or by any object, with an intent to abuse, humiliate, harass, degrade, or arouse or gratify the sexual desire of any person for any article, substance or circulating medium of exchange, measure of wealth, or means of payment, including but not limited to, coins, paper money or demand deposits such as checks.

Holy shit. Breaking that down, I think I can get away with a 'rub and a tug'? Or at least argue my way out of trouble, right? Well, that's another adventure in and of itself. Ok, I'm off to Craigslist to start my search for a willing massage therapist with a strong grip and an objectionable set of scruples...

I'll keep you posted.

Let's Get Started

2009-05-22T21:47:00.002-04:00

You are probably asking yourself right now, "Who is this guy and what makes him so smart?" First of all, I'm really not that smart. I'd like to think of myself more as a survivalist than an intellectual. I simply take the time to study my surroundings, think before I act, use common sense whenever I can and am a pretty good judge of character. I've also taken a great deal of time working on living my life through "the bigger picture" rather than stewing over every problem as it arises. Who am I? A thirty-two year old career professional, happily married with two kids. An average Joe, nothing more - nothing less.

A few weeks ago I was walking through my local grocery store and saw a rack of self-help books. I stopped out of curiosity. What could possibly possess people to purchase one of these books? From the capped teeth and happy days smile of the self-help guru on the cover to the corny titles (Discovering the New You or Yes You Can, a Guide to a Better Tomorrow), they screamed "scam". Now don't get me wrong, I am sure there are some people out there who might pick one of these books up, read it cover to cover and reach a new level of personal enlightenment, but this can't be the norm. Give me a fucking break.

This got me thinking. What is really wrong with America? Hell, the whole world at this point? My uncle recently told me in a moment of honest clarity, "Average isn't what it used to be." Amen. We have grown to expect less and less of ourselves. We expect everything to come easy or not at all. Working hard for your own success is a thing of the past. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and we've accepted it as the new paradigm. This has to stop.

This blog is intended to simply open your eyes to the apathy, atrocities and loss of common sense surrounding you everyday. It will give you hints and tips on how to ultimately live your life to the fullest. This will be an entertaining journey, with some laughs, some tears and more than a few gasps of shock I'm sure. Plus, and most importantly, it will give me a chance to finally get a bunch of shit off of my chest about everything from forwarded emails to raising children. We'll discuss diet, exercise and the reason we're all fat (or think we're fat). The insurance companies will surely take a beating along with the entire Medical industry. I can't wait to get into the many facets of religion and politics. Marriage, relationships, sex and even pornography will be held up to the light as well. Reality TV, pets, team sports, credit card debt, speech impediments, spanking your kids, spanking your spouse, racism, education, the workplace - nothing will be sacred. Buckle up, I'm pulling back the curtain and tossing a wrench into this dying machine.

Relax. Enjoy. Think.