Archive for November, 2007


My mom gave me a one of those cool lever pull wine openers when I was home last week. It also came with a foil cutter. I don’t think she realizes it, but that’s like handing a razor blade and straw to a cocaine addict. They’re going to find a way to use them. I’ve drank four bottles of Cabernet this week.

Would someone please arrest this douche bag already?

SOB Late-Night Joke of the Day

Tom Cruise’s latest film, Lions for Lambs, which opposes the war in Iraq, flopped at the box office last weekend earning just $6.7 million. When asked about the disappointing turn-out, Cruise said, “I guess our advertising surge didn’t work.”

Tisket! Tasket, baby! A green and yellow basket. Sent a letter to my baby. On my way I passed it.


I watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” last night. It was nice to see a show that still mentions Christmas. I knew that Schroeder played a mean piano, but I didn’t remember Pig Pen getting down on the stand-up bass. He rocks that mo-fo.

Do you think Michael Jackson whacks off to Kid Nation?

Carson Daly is crossing the writer’s picket line, and should return to the air soon. Oh boy. The Smoking Gun has an email posted on their website that Carson sent to his friends and family. In it he asks them to call a hotline and leave jokes on his voice mail.

I emailed a few jokes to his show last night via the NBC website. Here’s an excerpt from their reply: Since we cannot accept unsolicited scripts, show ideas, or other creative material, any such submission by email will be deleted without being read.

For starters, I’m not calling his stupid voice mail. And per The Smoking Gun report, anyone that still uses an AOL email address is a moron anyway. His show is not funny, and I think his writers have been on strike for years.

Besides, we don’t need Carson Daly when the Riverfront Times is linking to SOB stories.

Emeril Lagasse is out at the Food Network. That’s a shame because he’s the reason I started watching their network more than ten years ago. I still remember the first time I saw The Essence of Emeril. It was with my girlfriend, “Doggy Style.” I gave her that nickname because that’s the only way she liked to do it. It got so bad at one point that I had to chain her to the kitchen table whenever the mailman was around.

– I think I posted this before, but behold The Nut Bra. Thanks, Mike S.

– If you’re a guy that likes working on your car, be sure to use Scrotum Scrub. Thanks, Tom.

Everyday Normal Guy is a rap song that I can relate to. (Warning: Contains profanity)

Pulled into town in a police car. Your daddy said I took you just a little too far.


– Peyton Manning gives a Pep Talk.

– Use the Liberal Insult Generator to create over 27,000 random insults to hurl at democrazies.

– I usually head for the open bar during the first dance at a wedding reception, but this one made me cry.

Kermit the Frog is the latest victim to experience 2 Girls 1 Cup. (Warning: Contains profanity)

Mizzou is ranked #1 in the BCS, and are a win away from playing for the National Championship. What were those odds?

Chickie Poo is an OU alumna, and gave me a Sooner t-shirt last year as a gift. I usually turn it inside-out and wear it to the gym. However, it will be turned into a spooge towel if Missouri loses to Oklahoma in the Big 12 Championship Saturday night. That or I’ll pee on it.

I made it back to the Lou at 10:00 Sunday morning because my ride, Matt M., wanted to leave KC at 7 AM. I felt like a million bucks getting up at 5:30 after spending the previous night getting hammered at Arrowhead. Thank goodness for SportsCenter because I didn’t remember the 2nd half. This lack of memory was made worse when Lil’ Bro told me later in the day that I spent the 4th quarter standing in his puke. WTF?

No worries though as we had a designated driver who was also a KU fan. The poor guy had to stay sober, and listen to our drunk asses talk about Mizzou’s big win on the way home.

SOB Late-Night Joke of the Day

Duane “Dog” Chapman is trying to restore his reputation after recordings of him using the “N” word were made public earlier this month. Apparently, he is deeply concerned about the number of Chinese toys being recalled, and is writing a children’s book called, “How The Gooks Stole Christmas!”

I’ve never been too good with names, but I remember faces.


I guess I wasn’t the only person trying to get on ESPN.

Even though we didn’t make the national telecast this morning, SOB still managed to show up on the local coverage.
– SOB on Channel 9 live broadcast: Long Shot and Close-Up

Have you ever run into a high school classmate that you haven’t seen in nearly twenty years, and they didn’t recognize you because you had gained 40 pounds?

Me neither.

Remind me to tell you about the black guy selling cookies to “help the keeeds.” Never mind; I’ll remember.

Gotta go…I’m heading back to Arrowhead for tailgating and the big game. “Ice cold Bud Light here.”




No, I’m not shopping today. I don’t like shopping at all, so why would I go on a day where I could get my ass kicked for grabbing the last mp3 player?

I call today Black Friday but not because of the shopping. Let’s just say I had a first on this day that involved a bottle of Courvoisier and a sweet little filly named Letisha.

ESPN GameDay is going to be at Arrowhead Saturday morning for the Mizzou/Kansas game. Watch it if you’re close to a television. I’m bringing a SOB sign, and asking a couple of large-breasted coeds to hold it. Where’s Dani-girl and Abby when you need them?

I saw a commercial yesterday for a new Alzheimer’s drug. I’m not making fun of this horrible disease, but I hope there’s a way to remind the patient to take it.

Happy Belated Birthday, Chickie Poo. I’m staying at her place right now while she is on her way back from OK. Don’t say anything, but I peed in the shower this morning.

I’ll guess I’ll change my name.



The night before Thanksgiving is traditionally referred to as “The Biggest Party Night of the Year.” I found this especially to be true returning home during my first semester in college.

I had gone to a party with a few guys I met at school. One of their high school friends threw a bash every Thanksgiving Eve. At some point during the evening, I was introduced to an out-of-the-closet lesbian. She wasn’t a bull dyke type like Rosie either. No, this girl was hot. And my new college buddies dared me to hit on her.

After many beers and shots, I made my move. Two minutes later, I returned with my heterosexual tail between my legs. I tried again after more liquid courage, but was shot down in flames.

The excessive liquor intake started to hit me hard. I asked the guy who drove for his keys, and headed outside to the Caddy for a nap. And by Caddy, I mean Chevy Impala. I was asleep for a little over an hour. Once I woke up, I thought the third time might be a charm with the lovely rug muncher, so I headed back to the party.

At least I thought it was the party. The front door was closed, the porch light was on, and it seemed eerily quiet for the biggest party night of the year. I rang the doorbell, but when no one answered, I walked around to the back. I began to bang on the screen door when, all of a sudden, a woman opened the door and pointed a loaded .45-caliber handgun at my head.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” she yelled.

“I’m not moving,” I screamed back, trying not to piss myself.

The sound of cop sirens in the distance were becoming increasingly closer. About a dozen of the city’s finest surrounded me, told me to get down on the ground, and place my hands behind my head. The lady had put down her weapon, but they all had theirs drawn.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, another cop came running around to the back of the house, and wrapped his arms around the woman. “Are you alright, honey?” he asked.

Yep, that’s right. Not only had I gone to the wrong house, I had gone to a cop’s house. Sweet. 

I was handcuffed, read my Miranda rights, and escorted to an awaiting paddy wagon. A crowd had gathered in the yard across the street, and I thought to myself, “Sh-t, there’s the party.”

Some of the party-goers tried to talk the cops out of arresting me, but to no avail. I was heading to the pokey.

I was thrown face first into the back of the wagon. The cop husband said that he was going to kill me when I got out of jail. So, I had that going for me.

It was 2:30 AM when I was finally allowed to call my parents. They had to wait until I sobered up before the cops agreed to release me. This ended up being around Noon. I had ruined Thanksgiving.

This story has a happy ending though. I wrote an apology letter to the lady explaining that I was intoxicated and simply went to the wrong house. She read the letter to the judge asking for the charges of breaking and entering to be dropped. He agreed, and let me off with a stern warning about the dangers of drinking.

I said baby what’s the goin’ price. She told me to go to hell.


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