A few comments…
* Red was in town last night, so I was out too late to write much.
* Happy Belated Birthday to Matt M. (9/20).
* Message to Marianne M. - Quit calling me Turtle.

After you view the videos below, please don’t send me an email and call me insensitive. I came across these and they made me laugh. That is all.

South Park Parody of Steve Irwin

Norm MacDonald on The Daily Show

Ah yes, the timeless art of seduction.  

Having a female friend can be a wonderful thing.  Especially when she doubles as your drinking partner.

Some guys will tell you it’s impossible to have a girl “friend” because sex will always be on your mind.  This statement gains credibility if she’s hot. 

In college, I had the pleasure of having three hot girls as neighbors.  For privacy reasons, I will use their real names.

I dated Sheila first.  She was a former girlfriend of one of my roommates so we kept our affair quiet.  Don’t accuse me of breaking Man Law.  He had already moved on and I was helping her do the same.  The spring semester ended and so did our relationship.  The good news was I had become friends with her roommates, Cathy and Suzie.

A few years later, I moved to Cathy’s home town.  It was great because she knew the cool places to go.  She also knew how to suck start a Harley but today’s story isn’t about her.  Our tryst lasted a summer and then it was gone.

Suzie was the third leg of the Triple Crown.  She lived in the same town and we became close friends.  She was a petite 5-foot tall, barely weighed 100 lbs., with huge 34-Ds.  I knew this because I checked a bra hanging in her bathroom one day.

We partied a lot together.  She met the girls I dated and I met the douches she went out with. 

One cold winter night, I went to her place, carrying a case of beer and pack of Marlboro Lights.  As the night progressed, we noticed the snow was accumulating and I wasn’t going anywhere. 

I suggested that we play cards.  She countered with an offer to play strip gin rummy.  I asked her if she would chicken out and she promised to finish the game, no matter the outcome.  I promised to do the same and dealt the first hand.

It didn’t take long for me to be stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt.  She had only lost a pair of socks and I was in crisis mode. 

I hid four 4’s under my right foot and dealt the next hand.  Every time the cards were dealt, I replaced my four worst cards with the quad 4’s.  This quickly jump started me into a legendary winning streak. 

She lost hand after hand, and found herself with a dilemma; bra or panties.  Being self-conscious of her monster boobs, she chucked the undies. 

Decorum prohibits me from finishing the story.  However, there aren’t many things as sexy as watching a woman reach behind her back and undo her bra.

You can’t call it cheatin’ cause she reminds me of you.

Benny

I have a convention in early October.  Where is it?  Orlando, San Diego, San Antonio?  No, it’s in the same town where I live.  How much fun is this going to be?

I could write a book on convention stories.  Maybe I should.  Today, I share The Rickshaw Incident.

The last night of a convention is usually the night when people let their hair down and party.  The meetings are over and the only thing they have to do in the morning is make it to the airport.  I tended to treat every night like this, but that’s another story.

The convention was in Phoenix, AZ.  The convention ended with a cocktail party, and someone talking me into abandoning beer for Crown Royal.  My dad always said, “Dance with the lady who brought you.”  But he wasn’t there.

As the party ended, a bunch of people decided to go to a bar.  We had a sober driver and piled into a van.  I was in the back seat with a hot blonde I didn’t know.  That didn’t stop me from falling asleep and resting my head on her 34-D’s.

Someone woke me when we arrived, and I followed the group into the bar.  Everyone headed to the outdoor beer garden but I decided to roam the halls in a drunken stupor until I found the VIP room. 

You would have thought I had interrupted a Paris Hilton party the way I was tossed out of the room.  At that point, I decided I should probably head back to the hotel and call it a night.

I walked out of the bar, ignoring several people shouting my name.  I passed a line of cabs and plopped my ass in the back of a bicycle rickshaw.  The guy pedaled away and I told him I was staying at a hotel right up the road.  

What I failed to realize is that we had driven over 30 minutes to get to the bar.  I failed to realize this because I was asleep during the drive, and most likely dreaming of a tall glass of milk.

Anyway, we passed hotel after hotel and every time I told Lance Armstrong that wasn’t where I was staying. 

Exhausted, he started pedaling the other way.  At one point, we passed through the same intersection where the journey began.  Only this time, we were heading in the opposite direction and someone from my group managed to spot me.  He later told me that I looked like a bobble head doll sitting in the back of the rickshaw as it rode away.

After another 20 minutes of hauling my drunken ass around, Jose finally decided to drop me off at the next hotel.  Luckily, they had a yellow pages and a popcorn machine.  I called a cab and enjoyed a complimentary bag of corn while I waited.

With the help of an understanding cab driver and a tired bicycle rickshaw operator, I finally made it back to my hotel. 

The next morning, I overheard a fellow convention attendee, who happens to have the same name as me, complaining to someone that he didn’t get any sleep.  People kept calling his room to see if he had made it home okay.  I never stay under my own name to avoid the paparazzi.

I also make sure I set the alarm clock in the room for 4:30 AM before I check-out.  Some douche bag did this to me years ago, and I’m just paying it forward.

Benny

Today marks a small milestone - the 100th post on the Summer of Benny.  I’m sure there are more important things going on in the world but at least it helps create a title for today. 

Friday night, I stayed in and cleaned house.  I got as far as the living room and called it quits.  I figured I had the rest of the weekend to finish the other rooms; mistake.

Saturday morning, I went to Ozzies at 11:00 to watch college football.  I stayed there until 3:30 and stumbled home.  I was in no shape to clean anything but somehow managed to stay up until the last game ended which was around midnight.

Sunday brought another opportunity for cleaning but the Chiefs were playing the Donkeys at 3:15.  I went to the grocery store for grilling supplies and Bud Light.  I got home around Noon just in time to watch the kick-off of the early game. 

Following my fantasy team and getting primed for the KC game, I ignored any cleaning and settled into the recliner.  Before I knew it, the clock read 6:30, the Chiefs had lost, my fantasy football team had lost, and I was too pissed to do something mundane like load the dishwasher.

I’m dirty, mean, and mighty unclean.

Benny

Kinky Friedman says he favors the legalization of marijuana if he is elected governor of Texas.  Freidman is running as an independent and is gaining support throughout the state.  

Recently, he received criticism for referring to the Hurricane Katrina evacuees living in Houston as ”crackheads and thugs.”  He plans to give $100 million to the Houston police to help with the new wave of crime. 

When asked if he regretted any of his comments, Freidman replied, “How can you possibly regret that, telling the truth?  I am not a racist, I am a realist.  In looking at the statistics, I know that 20 percent of the homicides in Houston have been committed by the element in the evacuee population.  How can you possibly regret that, telling the truth?”

Don Imus has been touting this guy for a year and I am quickly becoming a believer; and a smoker.

Muslims are furious over a recent speech given by the Pope where he made comments about the Islamic concept of Holy War.  Muslims furious?  Shocker. 

Are you ready for some elections?  If not, you better have TiVo or a DVR because we are about to get bombarded with political ads.  I’m looking forward to Karl Rove’s ads on Nancy Pelosi.  Can you imagine if the Speaker of the House was a liberal from San Francisco?

As I stated yesterday, Daddy’s been a little under the weather.  It’s been 72 hours since my last solid poop.  Imo’s Pizza and a 12-pack tonight should solve the problem.

Legalize it, and I will advertise it.

Benny

Meet my new personal trainer.

I could stand to lose a few pounds.  A couple of days ago, I came down with the flu and have either been kneeling or sitting on the toilet since.  I weighed myself this morning and have already lost 4 lbs.   Good start.

Have you ever sharted in the middle of a sales presentation?

Me neither. 

Read this letter written to an advice columnist.  I verified this wasn’t a hoax. - Thanks, Michael O.

The new season of Survivor begins tonight.  The teams will be divided by race:  Caucasian, African-American, Asian-American, and Hispanic.  General Motors, among others, have pulled their advertising from the show.  Taking their places will be:  NASCAR, Schlitz Malt Liquor, Minute Rice, and Jose Cuervo.

You say you want a revolution.

Benny

I’ve had enough of celebrities bad mouthing America and President Bush. 

At the, until today I had never heard of Toronto Film Festival, Sean Penn called the President ”a Beelzebub–and a dumb one.”

A movie called, “Death of a President” debuted at this douche gathering and depicts the imaginary assassination of President Bush.

Thankfully, Kevin Costner got into the fray when he insisted the director of the film failed to consider how George W. Bush’s family would react to scenes of the U.S. President being assassinated.

The Dixie Chicks are in Canada because they can’t sell out arenas in the U.S.  In their soon to be released documentary, “Shut Up and Sing”, one of the gashes calls the President a, “Dumb F**k.”

Stay in Canada; mount a Mounty; drink a Molson; catch a hockey game; eat a doughnut; speak French; just stay the f**k up there and spare us from your anti-American bullshit.

I feel better.

I was enjoying a few beers at the pool last night when Issac and Laurie said they believed Flight 93 was shot down by a U.S. fighter jet.  This floored me.  How can a reasonable thinking person think that a secret this big could never be leaked?  Don’t you think some numb nut from the Washington Post or NY Times would pop a boner if they could break a story like this?

There are tons of conspiracy theories on Flight 93, but I suggest reading this Vanity Fair article.

Enough politics… 

My neighbor’s wife thinks I am an alcoholic.  This assumption is based solely on her seeing me come home every night carrying a 12-pack of beer.

Here’s my plan; go to Sam’s Club this weekend; buy several 30-packs of Bud Light; smuggle them into the house after dark; come home every night carrying a bible.

Problem solved.

Some people say, “Never bite the hand that feeds you.”

I say, “Never kiss the ass that shits on you.”

You know it’s hard out here for a pimp.

Benny