It’s that time of the week again.  It’s Funny Friday.  Do you want to play along?  Of course you do.  Here are the rules: 1. A minimum of roughly 80 percent of everything that you do today must a.) be hilarious, b.) incite hilarity or c.) pay the pickle man.  2. You may or may not do whatever it takes to uphold rule #1.  Also, third, don’t be annoying.  That has the opposite effect (save it for Over-the-top Tuesday).

If you’re having trouble deciding what to do on Funny Friday, then you’re over thinking the task.  Here are some things you can do, though, if you’re really having trouble:

Imitate a retarded person imitating a normal person

Sneak up on friend with one of your farts in a jar

Piss in something that’s not a toilet

Have a coffee drinking contest

Sleep with your fat neighbor but no kissing

Punch a bunny in the face

Push over a one-legged duck (quack!)

See how many grapes you can fit in your mouth

Spin your office chair until you fall out of it/puke

Hula hoop on a chair

Spend some allowance from your spank bank

Tape your hands together with masking tape and poke stuff

Pull your cat’s tail

Take a dump in a fitting room

Chew old gum out of the carpet

Fill a can with spit and drink it

Eat a cigarette

Tape your cube mate’s office supplies to a wall just out of his reach

Play dress up

Cut your own

Make a paper airplane and set it on fire before you throw it

Take your shirt off,  sit down and watch your stomach fat get fatter/paint your nipples white with white-out

Look at kittens/puppies/babies

Have a push-up contest with your friend Donny

When Donny wins, murder him (for fun)

Whatever it is you end up doing, have fun with it.  After all, it is Funny Friday.

 

What’s your favorite bar named after a bird?  No, it’s not Boozie, the foul mouthed parrot you keep in a cage.  It’s the Meadowlark, silly!  Come down Sunday to the Meadowlark 2701 Larimer and see Denvers best comics! Aaron Maslow (me), Alicia Jacobs, Brent The Great, Rob Gleeson and hosted by the wonderfully talented, Tim Coleman! No cover! 9pm.  I’m guessing that hands down you’ll have the best time of your entire life, ever (not an understatement).

 

These damn mutts are so wet

If you’ve been following this blog (and there is no doubt in my mind that you haven’t…Google Analytics tells all!), then there is a good chance you’ve noticed a lot of bullsh*t.  No, this blog doesn’t answer life’s little riddles and it doesn’t try to sell you something that you really need.  What it does is entertain in the most absurd way.  Nearly everything you see here is an invention of my scattered brain or a fantastic reaction to the world around me.

The trouble with maintaining that schematic is that while ideas for content are seemingly limitless, for me, they flow like mud.  It occurred to me that I can counter my lackluster approach to content entry by adding a series of themed posts.  I call it “Quip & Quote” and  I will post it as often as there are days that I post.

I will create a quote like quote that will become an instant classic and then explain it with a short quip or cutting jest.  It might be as profound as it is profane or not.  It’s going to be something that you’ll think you’ve heard before, but will be as original and fresh as store bought bananas.  So sit back, open your eyes and your heart.  I’m about to take you for a ride.

Quip & Quote:

A person with a negative attitude is attributed by a unwillingness to change and the title of Douche Bag.  That is why in this instance, we say:

“A wet stick is not easily broken.”

 

There comes a time in every relationship when the love is strained. Every couple has their way of managing these shaky times. One of my favorites and usually the subject of many daytime television talk shows is when a couple thinks it’s appropriate to add another person. I’m talking about threesomes or menage a trois. Mixing it up a little seems to be a good treatment for an ailing partnership. I’m here to tell you that it is not.

The game of ‘plus one’ is dangerous. Men think that a shaky relationship can only be saved in the bedroom. His mindset is that if he can get her to “Oh face” one more time, things’ll be saved. But that’s the tricky part. Women think outside the box spring. A woman would sacrifice somewhat on the lovemaking side if it meant a man would treat her right.

But, a man thinks the word threesome automatically assumes that the girl he’s been fantasizing about at work is going to magically accept his gracious offer to sleep with him and his girlfriend or wife. Wrong. A man’s best chance at attracting another woman to aid his failing relationship is probably going to begin and end with a hooker. Like picking a puppy from a pet store, this method will most certainly bankrupt your budget and leave many piss stains on your rugs. Once you bring your new friend, Cinnamon, home to meet the fam, I’m sure you’ll find that things have already gone awry.

I must say, that nothing makes a woman feel more special than a spin around the bed with some other chick driving. Psyche. Women hate that. A girl wants to feel like she’s the only one in the world. Sleeping with you and your wife doesn’t accomplish that goal. Sleeping with you and another girl doesn’t do it for your wife either. My advice: don’t do this, you can’t make the bonds of love stronger by adding another person; it will only strain things further.

For women, however, salvaging a union with a threesome takes on another meaning entirely. Similar to men, the conquest begins in the bedroom. When women think threesome, they think baby. As wonderful as a bundle of joy can be, this is disastrous. For women, a baby signifies a milestone in life and shows the world that they’re fertile and responsible. This is a strong message to send to the bitches from high school. For men, however, a baby means extra expense. The man must work harder and more often to provide for his partner and his newly fashioned love child. As a result, he fills all of his time working and seldom sees the family he fights so hard to preserve. My advice: don’t do this either. Once again, adding another person to a strained relationship will only hurt your chances of sanctity.

A threesome in a strained relationship, no matter how you describe it, is tricky. If you’re serious about an open relationship or having a baby, make sure that the lines of communication as well as the bonds that tie are solid. It’s not a tool for fixing or enhancing. Threesomes are meant for ruining lives. That’s why the only threesomes you know of are from the porno you watch. If you’re having difficulties with your relationship, talk it out. Touch and feel and listen. If that doesn’t work, cut your losses. Chances are there’s a couple of baby makers out there looking to mingle.

 

Lenny Bruce

I just finished watching the movie, Lenny, starring Dustin Hoffman (i.e. the shorter fellow across Tom Cruise in Rainman) and the documentary, Lenny Bruce: Swear to Tell the Truth, narrated by Robert DeNiro (i.e. “You talking to me?”).  I was inclined to watch these films because recently I encountered Comedy Central’s list of the top 100 Comedians which ranked Lenny Bruce No. 3 among the all time greatest comics (behind Richard Pryor and George Carlin).  That’s pretty high atop any list as far as I’m concerned.  Even the Olympics awards a medal for third place.

I have to admit, however, that up until seeing that list, I’d never really heard of Lenny Bruce.  I say “never really heard of” because anytime someone mentioned Lenny Bruce, I always envisioned Andrew “Dice” Clay who also made the list at number 95.  After making the connection that this wasn’t the same person, I decided to investigate.

Clearly, Lenny Bruce did some great things to receive these accolades, but I had no idea what they were.  What I discovered is that Lenny Bruce is not perceived so much for being an uproariously hilarious comic as much as he’s recognized for blazing a trail for modern joke telling.  Bruce was a funny man but his fame came from the way he changed the face of comedy.

Before Lenny Bruce, most joke telling on stage had a formula to it.  There was a set up, a punch line and a laugh.  The audience wasn’t supposed to think about the joke they heard, they were just supposed to laugh on cue.  It’s an effective way to tell jokes and it’s an effective way to hear jokes.  However, it’s an ineffective way to stand out.

Bruce introduced a style of joke telling that made audiences think about what they were hearing.  His material was conversational and often ad libbed.  Consequently, his antics came across as vulgar and violated several obscenity laws.  Bruce’s suggestive humor rocked the foundations of certain institutions like the Catholic church.  His corrupt sermons led to several arrests.

Both films show Lenny Bruce fighting the judicial system for his right to free speech.  He became engrossed in this endeavor and invested so much time, energy and money that when the courts beat him, he ultimately gave up.  His reputation made it impossible for him to get work.  Battered and defeated, Bruce died from a drug overdose at age 40.

After Bruce’s demise, he was given the first posthumous pardon in New York state history.  No other comic has been indited on obscenity charges since.  Lenny Bruce was an advocate for First Amendment Rights.  Whether he was aware of it at the time or not, his efforts have allowed people an opportunity to express themselves in ways that couldn’t have been imagined in his time.  He created a new standard for what’s funny; he was a game changer.  I can’t think of another comic on Comedy Central’s list that has had the same impact on comedy as Lenny Bruce.  For that, he most certainly deserves his spot on the podium.

 

coors light bottleOnce upon a time, in an earlier post, I announced I was starting a diet that would include regular exercise, good eating and “lots of water”.  From that I learned I should never announce things.  While I’ve managed to stay on track with my weight loss goals, I’ve been fighting the process like hell.  Just like the goings on at Planned Parenthood, diets suck…the life right out of you.

I must explain that the problem with dieting does not rest in the exercising.  I thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction of working out so hard that I sweat out my b-hole.  Diets don’t suck because of eating right, either.  I like salad (dressing).  The reason diets suck is based solely on the suggestion that a person should guzzle down 64-128 ounces of water each day.  I’ve incorporated this suggestion into my daily routine and have suffered.

If I had it my way, I would eliminate “watering down” from my regiment.  Here, then, are ten reasons why you shouldn’t drink more water:

10. Peeing out your butt hole when you’re not sick or dying is slightly disgusting

9.  Tinkling more than a dozen times a day is bad for your water bill

8. The large amount of urine you expel just adds to the production and bottling of more Coors Light

7. The more water you drink, the clearer you see that you should cut out the middle man and drink your own pee

6. Even horses get colic from ingesting too much water

5. When your doctor asks you to pee in a cup your hand gets wet from overflow

4. When you pee in the toilet your feet get wet from overflow

3. Your pea sized bladder fills up quicker than a ten dollar whore

2. Frequent trips to the bathroom have your employer wondering if you’re a illicit drug doer

-and, finally-

1. There’s not enough booze in this swill

 

stand up comedy bountyYou read right.  I’m a paid comedian.  Actually, I won twenty dollars in a comedy contest last night at Old Chicago’s Comedy on the Rocks contest.  I was in the zone.  I brought the energy up in the room so high that they had to scrape it off the ceiling with a broom, or so they said.  I did a few stories.  I told a pun.  I had the benefit of having my lovely wife and several compatriots attend the show also.  I pretty much ran the gamut and pulled out all the stops.  I plan to do it again.  Here, have a listen: Feb 24 Standup by  wolsamnoraa

 

I was in the thirteenth year of my first life when Mother borrowed a chunk of skrill for an auto loan.  She bought a midnight blue Subaru Legacy with zero upgrades.  That’s right.  No seat warmers, no spoiler, no window tint, no CD changer/player, no seat belts or headlights (just stickers).  Bare bones.  Mother thought that it would increase gas mileage and it did.  She could drive thirty American miles on a single gallon of petrol.

We were so proud.  She was so proud.  It was the first car that she’d bought all by herself since women were allowed to own property in the late eighties.  She cruised town in it.  She carted the family around.  She sold her body for sex to make the payments.  It was the car I learned to drive with.  I passed my driver’s license test while it was parked outside the DMV in the parking lot.

Eventually, Mother paid off the loan and the Blubaru became hers.  After several years of precise maintenance and tune-ups, she parted with the vehicle and gifted it to me unofficially.  I started driving it in college to see my girlfriend in the next town over at the all-girl middle school.  I’d buy her cigarettes and beer in that car.  It got so beat up in a hail storm that it was totaled due to cosmetic damage (you should’ve seen the other guy).

Mother finally signed the title over to me in 2008.  I finalized the transfer of ownership just last week.  That’s because the Blubaru was in an accident last week and totaled for the second time.  This time, indefinitely.  Luckily no one was hurt…just my fifteen-year-old junker.  I signed the title over to car recyclers and collected a hefty sum of $150.  Not a bad racket considering the faded memories the Blubaru gave me.

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My mother is a big, hairy gorilla.  That’s right, stay with me.  She’s an ape.

If you ask her about it, she claims to be of a young evolutionary age. Her name is Simeon.  She was born in a jungle, she fishes ants out of logs with sticks and she has a hairy back like all the other gorillas.

She talks to me using the monkey sign language that she learned at the institute.

You’re probably wondering where I came from and why I don’t look much like a baby gorilla.  First of all, you haven’t seen my hairy back and secondly, my father was a run of the mill banana salesman.  Mom was his best customer and paid in full with premium primate lovin’.

gorilla

Come 'ere, Gorilla Baby...mmmuuah

Thankfully, I only got Dad’s good looks and not his lust for monkey meat.

Dad died when I was just a boy of ape.  During one of her sh&t fits, mom accidentally suffocated him with poop.  I tried to figure out why she was so mad I got confused when she tried to use her monkey sign language while hurling feces.

I found out later that Dad was cheating on mom with some overgrown chimp named Buttons.  After that they sent her to sit behind bars at the zoo.

The zoo keepers try to get her to mate by putting male gorillas in her cage.   She mates, but I can’t bear to watch.  I can see the pain in her eyes when she’s getting aped from behind.

She told me that she misses Dad and that no other gorilla can take his place.  I said, “What about another man?”

A switch flipped.  She got so excited that the zoo keepers tazed her.  I went to the only place I know to find an ape loving man…the “Miscellaneous Romance” section on Craigslist.

I found my gorilla mom a human man.  He is ironically named Evolution.  He and my mother, Simeon, have fallen in love.  She is going to remarry.  I am happy for my monkey mom, but I’m disturbed by Evolution’s motives.  It’s a sick thing for a man to lust for a gorilla.

I’m not going to their wedding.  My mother went ape shit when she heard this and sent Evolution to come talk to me.

Evolution said to me, “Marriage of man and ape is the natural progression.”  To which I replied, “Evolution, you can take your love a step farther, but I won’t have you as a step father.”

 
MTV cast show reality tv

These guys give douche bags a bad name

I know it’s a little late to comment on the decay of America’s social fabric but I’m going to anyway.  I was tuning into some syndicated episodes of my favorite teeny-bopper television programming on a channel called MTV, when I noticed a show I hadn’t seen before.  It’s called “Jersey Shore”.

For those of you who don’t know (i.e. anyone over the age of 24), “Jersey Shore” showcases the lives of several twenty-something New Jerseyans or New Jerseyites or douche bags or whatever living in a beach house in New Jersey.  These kids are young and sexy and trendy and are always looking to score some tail or coke.  Their nicknames and dialects are as revolting and annoying as those of the characters in the movie, “Good Will Hunting”.

From what I can tell, the men on the show gather strength for sun tanning and misogyny by slamming down Jaeger Bombs in hot tubs and smoking menthol cigarettes.  The girls in the cast use the power of Bump-its, push-up bras and brash diction to get punched in the face.  Watching “Jersey Shore” is like watching a bunch of retards play together.  Everyone just makes up his own rules and throws a tantrum whenever he’s expected to share.

Their days are spent wandering around looking for sex and whining about how difficult their lives are.  So far as I can tell, it reflects the general attitude of young Americans.  The people in the cast are egocentric and insist that the world owes them something for nothing.  No work and all play is the Jersey Shore way of life.  The characters show a complete disregard for personal responsibility.  It saddens me to think that this is what we view as normal behavior.

Regardless, “Jersey Shore” is a great show.  I can’t turn away when these freaks get to jabber-jawing.  From what I’ve heard, a lot of people like it, too.  MTV has decided to bring the cast back for a second season.  I guess we’ll just have to wait for another sultry New Jerseyan summer and “Grease” sequel before we can get another taste of this delectable dish.

 

About three months ago, I decided that quitting my sh*tty job would be a good idea.  Even though the action temporarily halted my night terrors and self-mutilation, it has led to a host of other problems.  I have since been diagnosed and treated for depression and a disease simply known as the gay.  These ailments have caused me a host of other problems that I could not have predicted.  Tension is mounting between my wife and me as I sit at home all day.  Despite my reluctance, there seems to be only one solution; I should get to f*cking work.  Here, then, are 10 reasons that I should get a job:

10. A job provides an opportunity to have money, to give back to society, have a bigger purpose in life, meet new people and be mad at something other than my wife and the house cat

Ive been workforce ready since my conception

"I've been workforce ready since my conception"

9. There are no more dishes to clean and the floors are as swept as they’ll ever be

8. The fern I planted to provide me with a sense of fruitfulness and hope has died

7. Water cooler talk about Seinfeld reruns is turning me into a schizophrenic

6. I’ve been taking public buses just to see where their routes end

5. Investing money in my home business of cashing in on the Internet has amounted to numerous porn site subscriptions and dozens of pills that combat erectile dysfunction

4. My home office consists of a barcalounger, a box of colored pencils and a guitar I plan on learning

3. Anticipation of checking the mail keeps me up all night

2. Getting drinks “after work” starts at nine in the morning

-and, finally-

1. I spend more money than my wife makes

 
Theres no getting around it because you dont know where it is

There's no getting around 'it' because you don't know where 'it' is

I don’t know about you, but one of the most stimulating parts of intercourse is satisfying your partner. If you’re like me or any member of an all-girl softball team, then most of your sex is going to be with a woman. There is no greater reciprocation of mutual respect than offering a resounding “OH YES!!” to your woman/women.

From my experiences as a medical doctor and sexual predator, I can tell you that the orgasm you give to your lady comes from stimulation of her clitoris: a mysterious nub button within the confines of a human’s labia majora.  However, even though I know it’s there, and she knows it’s there, and the camera man knows it there, the clitoris evades me sometimes.

A buddy of mine told me once about “eating out” with a friend one evening.  What he thought was a nice serving turned into an audible “sigh” of discomfort from his lady friend.   Apparently, the clam cake appetizer didn’t come to the table at all.   That one sigh set the pace for the entire course. He said that he had his dessert alone in a corner with chocolate sauce for lube and a bus boy’s apron for clean up.

My friend’s (and his lady’s) misfortunes led me to ask the question: At the most crucial times, why is the clitoris so elusive? Here are 10 reasons I came up with to explain…

10. It was circumcised in an act of religious persecution (so sad :( )

9. Her mother is a turtle and it’s hiding

8. She’s in labor and you’re spreading her baby’s cleft lip

7. Her father is a groundhog and fears its own shadow (thanks, Sean)

6. The man in the little boat finally set sail

5. She’s a man with big hairy man parts

4. You’re poking around in the wrong hole

3. She’s wearing parachute pants

2. She’s an amputee from the neck down

-and, finally-

1. You can lick around until your tongue turns raw, but you have no idea what you’re looking for

 

I’ve been glued to TLC’s Little People, Big World for the last three years.  Unfortunately, I’ve only focused on the corrupt and small handed nature of little people.

They always seem bitter because things didn’t work out the way they wanted.  As a result, I adopted a bad attitude whenever I thought of short people.

I’m not going to hold that against them, though.  My biases are simply constructed from a combination of life experience and my father’s violent spats stemming from rampant alcohol abuse.  That’s not fair…technically, little people didn’t do anything (I gather this is because of the physical limitations of their bodies).  Instead, I wanted to get past this judgment when I thought of this whole race of people.

What appears to be a beach is actually grain of rice

As a tall person with all the advantages, I wanted to visualize where these shorties were coming from.  Do tall people really get more out of life than little people?

My first response was “hell yes”.  But, once again, that wasn’t fair.  Sure, we tall folk get to ride all the big rides and pick fruit from our favorite fruit trees, but we’re at some disadvantage here, too.

Not since my childhood will I ever again know the joys/urine smell of a ball pit.  I will never successfully tunnel out of prison using the conveniently misplaced duct work in my jail cell.  My torso is just too long.  And never shall there be a time when I will fit inside a cupboard.

Am I bitter about this?  Not really.  When life hands you lemon trees, you reach up and pick the fruit…and then share your bounty with the less fortunate ground foragers.

Acceptance is the first step to contentment.  Volleyball can be a spectator sport.  You don’t always have to reach the gas pedal to get a ride.  My great-grandfather was short and he was the mayor of an entire province city town township village barn community place.  Little people are inspiring and watching them “grow” builds character.

From this analysis, I gather that my perspective is skewed.  The negativity that I focus on from Little People, Big World is all part of the show.  My opinion is that TLC produces a spectacle that showcases the disadvantages of little people.  The network capitalizes on the drama of these people’s lives.

And if you ask me, that’s the real shame.  Exploiting people for ratings and money is no better than trading slaves or killing puppies.  That’s more of an MTV thing to me.  I think I’ll save judgment for the sluts and ‘tards on The Hills.

 

Beer is helping

I drink eight cups of coffee a day and, at least, a diet cola.  I masturbate twice on the hour every hour and watch TV for dozens of hours on end.  If I have one beer, there’s a good chance I’ll have all of the beer.

I have what some people might call an addictive personality (and, consequently, I also have a heart condition known as bad-ass heart condition; it’s terminal).

This namesake doesn’t impede me one bit.   I’m a big fan of going all out whenever I can.  It’s expensive and it’s dangerous, but it’s not my gripe.

I love taking it to the limit time after time.  My problem is that I am an all-or-nothing kind of guy.  If there’s beer in your fridge, I drink it.  If there’s food on your plate, I eat it.

In fact, one time I ate 50 hot wings in a boned-meat eating competition from my competitor’s bowl because he hadn’t shown up yet…he won.  My asshole was so raw the next day from pooping hot fire that I had to buy a 20lb. bag of ice to cool my poop shoot.  I would have bought the 50lb. bag but they were out.

Unfortunately, gorging my fat face ends with beer bottles and bird parts.  When the product of consumption is healthy or educational, I quit it.

I gave up exercising after I learned how hard it was.  I took some college class for a time, but it wasn’t for me.  I am a novice guitar holder at best.  You couldn’t pay me enough to participate in a veggie eating contest.

And this is confusing to me.  It strikes me as odd that I gorge on crap but not on things that are inherently good for me.  This leads me to believe that the things that are inherently good for me aren’t.

Besides, if my body’s natural rhythm is thrown off by a bag of carrots, maybe I shouldn’t be eating them.  And that’s what I’m going to do.

Fueling my addictions is just that; fuel.  And I need fuel to go…to couch and TV.  What doesn’t kill me only makes me want more.  Does anybody want to buy my guitar?

 

The Ol’ Boy called me today from his work van and said he was watching a guy trim his ear hair with a pair of scissors in his car.  The Ol’ Boy said the guy wasn’t being very safe…he was clearing his fairy land hair forest, causing devastation to all the little hair nymphs and earwoks.

Ted P.’s parents thought their computer would catch a virus so they covered it with plastic.

My wife asked me why I spend so much time jerking off alone at the computer.  She said that it would be sensual to masturbate with her and I said, “Every time I do that, you wake up screaming.”

I was at the store and I saw a guy happily buying his son some candy.  Confused by the gesture, the kid looked at his mom and asked, “Mommy, what’s wrong with Daddy?”  To which the mother replied, “Oh, he’s just sober.”

I put the trash out last night when I saw my rather large neighbor pull up to her house with take out food in her hands.  ”Take out again?” I asked.  And she replied, “Rrrrraaaaawwwwrrrr!!!!”  Stupid fat bitch.

Do you refer to conjoined twins as one of those or two of that?

Oh, man.  I got nothin’…

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