Sundries and Undies

Picard hates fat kids.


I have a problem. My problem is shrinkage. It's rather embarrassing at times, but it's something I have to live with. Each year or so, I find that I can no longer fill out my underwear properly. I guess that's to be expected when you go from a 10 to an 8, but I wouldn't know. (I went from a 34 to a 31 this year)

So a few weeks ago, Machu Pichu and I were shopping in K-Mart. Hey, it's cheap and convenient. We just had lunch at Colenti's. MP needed to buy sugar to bake some stuff. My guess is that she was going to make some of her special brownies. I think she got the recipe from Amsterdam.

While we were in the store, I remembered that I had to buy some soda for a meeting I had the next afternoon. Kill two birds...

Funny how those little shopping baskets seem so benign when they're empty. Add in a 6 pack of 20oz soda and a bag of sugar and the thin, metal straps become garrote wire. I guess I don't have the shopper's hand. The ones with three inches of calluses.

Of course it's only after we picked up the heavier items that I remember the lighter one like underwear. We sauntered over to the underwear section and started checking packages. Last time I shopped for underwear, I had Indian Girl with me, and she REALLY REALLY enjoyed checking the packages.



We had to check the packages for the sizes. Some brands go 30-32, 34-36. Others go 28-30, 32-34. Fruit of the Looms had the 30-32 size, which was what I needed. But then they had several different styles of boxer-briefs. They had trunks, blues, and regular. I had no idea what the difference was. On top of that, they came in different colors and patterns. MP made a suggestion.

"Go with the striped ones."

"Why? Would the horizontal stripes make it look fatter?"

I went with the Blues.

Then MP found a table with loose undies for sale. They were a dollar each. She held up a thong and said it was something I should avoid. I misinterpreted what she meant since I thought it was a female thong.

"No. It's for men. You can tell by the pouch."

And now I am the wiser.

"You know, I used to be soooo concerned about visible boxer lines," I said while popping out my arse, "until I started wearing thongs."

I'm not sure I could wear something like that. I mean, I already have problems with my thigh chaffing.

Dave Barry beat me to it.


The End.

So what's the punchline? MP needed flour, not sugar.

You know what size thong/undies I need? SMALL. HA! How's that for a double entendre?

What's Your Compassion?

"Hey, why don't you break off a piece of your meat and give it to those cats."

That started a whole conversation about compassion. I guess it makes sense to have a nice conversation with your friend about starving creatures while you're having dinner. Irony? Hmmm.

"What's your compassion," she asked.

Well, I'm not one to fed stray cats. I won't hurt them or torment them, nor would I make fun of their destitute situation and the fact that they cannot collect welfare. No. I'm not cruel. But I'm still not about to give them my dinner.

I explained that by letting the cats starve, I'm actually doing them a favor. By hastening their death in this mortal world, I'm giving them a quicker opportunity to be reincarnated as something higher up the evolutionary ladder.

By not feeding the stray cats, I'm letting them learn how to fend for themselves. If everyone feeds a stray, that stray will become too dependent on hand outs. Tough love.

And also, by not feeding them, I'm letting nature take its course. Humans tend to make a mess out of the environment whenever we interfere with nature. Who am I to interrupt the grand design. What if I had fed this cat and it had lived a day longer than it should. In the future, it ends up stepping on a micro-organism that would have evolved into the cure for cancer. Man, would my face be red.

As I explained my position, my friend fed the cats my dinner with my tacit approval.

Actions? Words? Hmmm.

This is seriously not good

Sigh. My dog drinks my pee. Seriously.

I was out jogging with him in the canefield when I had to pee. He was completely covered in any mud he could find, so I waited until he ran past me before I let the flow loose. I didn't want a muddy dog rubbing up against me when I'm doing number one. When I finished, he ran up and lapped up any pee that hadn't soaked into the ground. I had to get a rock to make him stop.

WTF is wrong with him? Why can't I have a normal dog?

I swear I saw him eat some random shit one time. By random shit, I literally mean random shit. It was some dried up poop he found.

Why this dog isn't dead yet is beyond me.

Lead Balloon

A friend was telling me about how his college roommate used to pick up chicks. He would use the line, "wanna get a pizza and fuck?" If the girl responded negatively, he would then say, "what? You don't like pizza?"

I thought it was funny, so I decided to call a friend and use that line on her for a laugh. I dialed her number. No answer. Hmmm. I tried again a few minutes later.

(ring ring ring)

"I'm at work."

"Oh. I was just calling to see if you wanted to get a pizza and fuck."

"Yeah... bye." (click)

Guess that joke didn't go well, eh? I need to stop listening to my friends. Either that, or maybe I should grow a brain.

Green Eyed Monster Sex

Hey gang, I'm still alive. And Frank Dux and Chong Li are stoked to see me.



So what's been going on? Well, I finished one screenplay. It was about a teacher who falls for another teacher. I know, it's a stretch for me to write about a teacher. Anyway, after what seemed like a good romance, the protagonist did not get the girl. Once again, a huge stretch for me to write.

However, it turned out that screenplay sucked. Not much character development, and no good hook. Well, sometimes you have to be willing to drown your own baby, so I scrapped that project.

Now I'm working on a new screenplay. I'm about halfway done with the first draft, but finding the time and the impetus to write has been a bit hard. Hopefully once I'm done with the brats, I'll finish it.

So that's what has been occupying a bunch of my time. But life goes on...

Last week was a three day weekend. I was so hoping to have fun with everyone I know. Yet Murphy, or karma, saw fit to bring me down.

Friday: The House Monger called. "Let's get our groove on," she said. I have no idea what it is with dancing, but women insist on forcing men to make fools of themselves. I think it's a power trip. It's a power trip because I keep asking to be taught, but no one will teach me. They rather I jump in without any training for their amusement.

Didn't matter though. She never called back.

Then GSXGrrrl called to see what my plans were. Then she said she would call back.

She never called back.

Tattoo Girl was also busy. Fuck me. Life sucked.

Yay for video games though.

Saturday started as mundane as shit too. I changed the oil on my motorcycle, and cleaned and lubed the chain. Then I took a spin up the mountain. I wasn't feeling it, so I went back home. That's when GSXGrrrl remembered to call me.

We grabbed a pizza, the main food of the unintelligentsia, picked up L, then headed to Suzuki for an oil filter. After that we hit the Walmart like we were rednecks. On the way back home, we decided to take the bikes out for a ride.

Which brings me to the point of this post. L bought a new bike.



No, I'm not jealous at all. Why should I be? I mean, I'm riding a 5 year old econo-sportbike. I wouldn't desire a brand new top of the line 600, right?

I think I look better on this bike.



Yup, yup.

Now for the sex thing. They say, on average, intercourse takes 3 to 13 minutes. I had intercourse with the ground in 5. I had to ride my mountain bike perpendicular to a steeply sloped section of trail. My bike slid down the slope. I followed it.



I think my seat nailed me on the bottom of my right butt cheek. Feels like a bruise. Funny thing is that if it hit 3 inches to the left, I would have had intercourse with the bike too.