Archive for November, 2008

Maggiano's 1

We met some new friends over the weekend. Maggiano’s had the best chicken parmesan of all-time. And Mac’s Time Out Lounge had the coldest beer.

Stupidity Tax Offense: Eating someone else’s chicken parmesan when the rightful owner is passed out. Cha Ching! – $10.

I don’t have much time to write today because I’m slaving over a hot stove getting food ready for the big Thanksgiving holiday. But I would be remiss if I didn’t share a story I overheard recently.

A friend of a friend of a friend got pulled over for a DUI. After he was booked, the cop noticed that he lived nearby and offered to drive him home.

“Can we stop by a bar for last call?”

He was asked to find another ride.

I’ve never been lucky in love.

Mrs. Robinson 

One semester in college I decided to leave school in pursue of the big bucks – selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door in Champaign, Illinois. I didn’t get rich, but a lot of stories were generated over those three months.

This is one of those stories.

My boss called me into his office one day with a lead. A lady had called in and wanted to see a demonstration. I drove off in the beat up company van with directions that led me to a trailer park.

She was an attractive woman – I was guessing in her mid 30′s – which would have made her about 15 years my senior.

As I demonstrated the stunning ability of my high-performance sucking machine, I noticed that she kept bending over and exposing her rather large, non-bra confined breasts. When it came time to close the sale, she didn’t flinch at the price, and quickly signed the credit application and contract at the kitchen table.

“I appreciate you driving all the way out here. I wish there was more I could do for you,” she said.

Long story short – I nailed her in the bedroom of her double-wide.

Afterwards, I noticed a picture of her sitting with a large, muscular fellow on a Harley and asked, “Who is that?”

“My old man.”

“That’s your dad?” I asked.

“No goofball. That’s my husband.”

“You’re married?”

“I guess you could say that. He’s a truck driver and is on the road a lot.”

I grabbed the paperwork and got the hell out Dodge.

A few days later my boss called me into his office. “You have to go back and pick up the unit you sold to the lady in the trailer.”

“Why?”

“Her credit was declined.”

“I’m not going back there.”

“Well, she was pretty upset and requested that you be the one to come out and get it.”

Drink, I said get it.

“That’s bad news for you because there’s no way I’m going back there.”

He gave me a puzzled look and drove out there himself.

And for those of you keeping score at home – that’s two trailer chick stories this month.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you, woo woo woo.

Problem Solved

I had two choices to take care of the black marks on the wall above my toilet that were caused by constantly bracing myself. I could (a) clean it, or (b) cover it.

I chose (b), but after seeing the picture, it looks like the sign needs to be moved down a bit. I’m a perfectionist.

Gina Party told that she has appointments scheduled with her dentist, gynecologist, and doctor for a mammogram – all in the next two weeks. I told her that I could take care of all three in about 30 minutes.

You might want to grab a hold of something because this is gonna pinch a little.

My new medication is causing problems in my sex life because of the prolonged ejaculation side-effect. It takes me so long to bring it home, I’ve started treating sex like an NBA game – using full and 20-second timeouts.

The nightstand used to the place where I put my wallet and keys. Now it holds a towel and a Gatorade bottle.

Everything she do just turns me on.

Wash Your Hands 

Today’s picture is of my bathroom wall above the toilet – and a good reminder to wash your hands.

I walked out of a job interview last Friday. I had no intention of wasting anymore of my time after I walked in and found six others filling out applications. I could hear the douche giving interviews through the wall behind me. Apparently, a promotional marketing manager sets up a table at area malls and tries to entice people to sign up for credit cards.

Job titles are out of control. Lunch ladies are now referred to as nutritional advisors. Please.

And I haven’t even mentioned the boom box in the corner blaring hip hop crap. Yeah, that’s real professional. The last song playing when I left went something like ‘I wanna unbutton your pants just a lil bit. Take ‘em off and pull ‘em down just a lil bit.’

I wanted to unplug that frickin’ boom box and toss it out the door just a lil bit.

My meds seem to be working.

Gotta go… I have another job interview.

I was talkin’ with a friend of mine. Said a woman done hurt his pride.

Always Check Your Child's Homework

I found a sure-fire way to make some extra money. With the price of oil and gas at near 2-year lows, I’m going to buy two dozen barrels of light sweet crude oil, and fill hundreds of 5-gallon cans with gas.

I plan to keep them in a storage unit until prices go up again. Don’t worry about the cold weather. The several space heaters I bought should keep them warm through the winter.

I recently made a trip to the local Hallmark store only to discover they don’t make a ‘Sorry I peed on you again’ card.

No worries… I wrote my own haiku.

I like you.
You tolerate me.
Next time we sleep together, I promise not to pee.

Yeah, I know that’s not a haiku. But most validation engineers aren’t good poets.

Givin’ up jiggy make it feel like foreplay.

Toes

I wish the media would show more coverage of Obama. Sniff. Sniff. Smell that? That’s sarcasm.

I haven’t written since last week because I’ve been sick. Writer’s Cock, or WC, is a seldom diagnosed medical condition that causes a decrease in the desire to write due to an uncontrollable urge for pussy.

You know, I used to wonder why a woman would ever hook up with me. Actually, I wonder why women hook up with men at all. But God has been very kind to me, and I learned years ago not to question his will.

One Saturday at the track in the late 1990′s, a bartender in the clubhouse told me that a few of the female tellers were attracted to me.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah. They think you’re rich.”

I immediately walked over to the prettiest one, bet $40 across the board on a first-time starter at Santa Anita, and then asked for her phone number.

Later that night we went six furlongs inside her mobile home.

Yeah, she looks so right. She’s all I need tonight.

My doctor prescribed a new medication for me last week. He said the instructions would contain a laundry list of possible side-effects, but the two main ones would most likely be dry mouth and prolonged ejaculation.

I understood the dry mouth but was curious about the other.

“Does that mean I’ll have longer orgasms?” I asked.

“No, it means that it will take longer to get there.”

“That’s not really something I need at my age.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Wrong.

Now I have to go see him about a sore arm.

As I mentioned earlier this week, both Maribeth and Dani-girl celebrated Birthdays last weekend.

Some interesting things you may not know about Maribeth

Maribeth- Has a life-size cardboard cutout of Paris Hilton in her living room with Dani-girl’s face on it

- Once made out with a guy that had two broken arms (both in a cast)

- Not afraid to carry beers in her purse to a bar, and then chug them in the bathroom

- Bashi, the 7-11 cashier, knows her by name and order

- Prefers to take shots because mixing a drink takes too long

Some interesting things you may not know about Dani-girl
 Dani-girl
- Thought a 5 alarm fire meant 5 people saw the fire and called it in

- Told me that she wanted to be a Trophy Wife within the first 10 minutes I met her

- Couldn’t figure out how to use the washing machine at Melrose Place her first time… took her clothes out of the washer and slammed the top shut… heard the water running… then put her clothes back in

- Recently completed a marathon wearing a running skirt because she wanted to look ‘girly’

- Has no sense of direction, and once told Abby that North depended on which way you were standing 

I knew her smile in an instant. I knew the curve of her face.

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