Archive for November, 2009

Tampon in the Lobby

Somebody call security. There’s a tampon in the lobby.

I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the top story on the local news yesterday was the Tiger Woods car accident. They followed that up with the pending approval for a troop surge in Afghanistan.


I want to know what golf club his wife used. I mean, club selection is crucial when you’re trying to shatter the glass of an SUV at 2:30 in the morning.

I’m thinking she used a 3-iron.

Tiger released a statement on his website to address the incident. Below is my latest press release.

As many of you have read on social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter, I was involved in a puking accident over the weekend.

This situation is my fault, and it’s obviously embarrassing to me. I’m human and not perfect. I will certainly make every attempt to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

This is a semi-private matter, and I would like to keep it that way. Although I understand there is curiosity, the many false, unfounded and malicious rumors that are currently circulating about my puking are irresponsible.

The only person responsible for the incident is me. I took a pee pill on an empty stomach after drinking approximately 15 beers. When the pill reached the acid in my stomach, it exploded like a Mentos dropped into a can of Coke.

This incident has been stressful and very difficult for me. I appreciate the well wishes that I have received. But I would also ask for some understanding that the incident was not intentional.

Later this week I have to take a buddy to an outpatient surgery – an outpatient surgery on his ASS!

He said he his sphincter is too tight, or something. I don’t care what his problem is; I want to watch the procedure.

“The only way you’re getting into my doctor’s office is if I’m dead,” he told me.

I’m bringing a box of Junior Mints just in case.

I see you live on Love Street. There’s this store where the creatures meet. I wonder what they do in there. Summer Sunday and a year. I guess I like it fine, so far.

Bitch Wine

It looks like they finally made a wine for that special break-up night – “Yes, the lady will have water, and I’ll have a glass of whiney bitch.”

I hope you fuckers enjoyed your day off. I had to work. But I’m not bitter, or anything.

My mind must be going because I had something really funny to write until I saw the Flomax commercial. Now all I can think about is going pee.

8:45 PM – I’m going to take a 30-minute break, so I can try to remember what it was.

9:15 PM – I’ve got nothing.

I was justified when I was five. Raising Cain, I spit in your eye.

Deep Fried Turkey in Parking Lot

Back when I was dating Doggie Style (DS) – around ’96 or ’97 – we spent Thanksgiving at my parents’ house.

After dinner, me and my brothers were in the kitchen doing dishes. My mom had delegated this chore in exchange for our meals. I don’t think she trusted our cleaning habits, though, because she stayed to supervise.

My dad was taking a nap in his recliner. My grandma was watching TV with DS, who was rocking my 1-year old niece to sleep.

My dad had one of those huge satellite dishes that got every channel on the planet. I guess DS didn’t like the program they were watching, so she began to surf through the channels.

All of a sudden I heard a scream, and rushed into the living room to see what was going on. My dad was waking up from his nap. My grandma’s eyes were glued to the television, and DS was begging me to pick up the remote on the floor, while she clutched my niece.

I looked at the TV to find a naked chick on all-fours getting every hole filled by a cock. I’m mean, this was a straight-up gang bang she had stumbled upon.

I quickly grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV.

But I never forgave DS for that day. Not because she had subjected my grandma to hardcore porn – but because my dad put a password on the porn channels after we left.

Get yourself an egg and beat it.

The Shocker Gloves

All I want for Christmas
are my shocker gloves,
my shocker gloves,
see my two shocker gloves!

Gee, if I could only
have my shocker gloves,
then I could wish you
“Merry Christmas.”

I know Sprint gets a bad rap sometimes, but I’ve had pretty good service since I became a customer.

Case in point – my cell phone quit working this morning, so I went the repair center after work. Okay, I had to wait two hours, but the free upgrade and getting my contacts transferred made it well worth the wait.

In fact, you can have a pretty good time waiting around in a cell phone store.

First, you can talk with the other customers. Tonight I was approached by a woman who asked,  “What wrong wit’ yo phone?”

“It won’t turn on,” I replied.

“Did you try resettin’ it?”

“What are you – Bill Gates?”

“Nah, I used to work fo Sprint.”

I just smiled and walked away. But that gurl be trippin’.

Another fun activity is sending text messages to numbers left in the display phones. Tonight I exchanged a few messages with one of those numbers.


Who dis?


Wht? I dnt kno who dis is. Who is u?

Good luck getting your GED.

Tel me whu u r. I dont kno u. but whateva. The Beast.

Check out tomorrow, homo.

Bucket of Shit NSFW

Burkha Barbie – something tells me there’s a Taliban Ken waiting to whoop her ass for going to school.

– Mike Tyson’s Greatest Interviews. NSFW

And did we tell you the name of the game, boy? We call it Riding the Gravy Train.

King of the Airport Bars

Reason #127 to keep King out of airport bars

I want to give my support to the Rams fans out there. It wasn’t that long ago when the Chiefs were a struggling franchise. But now look at them – they’ve won two games in a row – and back to being one of the elite teams in the NFL.

So you guys hang in there. Your time is coming.

Drink – I said coming.

Readers that follow the SOB on Facebook and Twitter already know this – but I finally acknowledged the former booty call girl I see almost every day.

When I stopped her, she tried acting surprised, and said, “Oh, hi. What’s your name?”

Like she doesn’t remember.


Then another woman told me she was talking about the encounter in the ladies restroom – something about it being a long time ago – and how she was going to avoid me.

Well, you know what? Don’t worry about it. I didn’t like you then, and I probably wouldn’t like you now. So there is no reason to avoid me. Our paths may cross several times a day, but I won’t say a single word.

Think of it as Bill Clinton with Hillary – only without the adultery and lies under oath.

I didn’t see the American Music Awards last night because, well, football was on. But I heard the American Idol runner-up, Adam Lambert, kissed a dude in the band.

He justified his actions by comparing it to Madonna and Britney Spears kissing at the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards.

I can’t believe some people need to be reminded of this:

Two hot chicks kissing each other = Cool

Two dudes kissing each other = Disgusting

Sleep on and dream of love. Because it’s the closest you will get to love.


Is Tom d G America’s next top model?

He can also be seen on a nationwide television commercial. I think it’s for a company called Freedom Financial Network, or something. Anyway, I’ve seen it on ESPN in the morning. Oh, and the horse racing network, TVG, has been airing it, as well. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.

Let’s talk about dating. More specifically, let’s talk about what it’s like to date me. I’ve compiled a list of things the ladies should expect – call it Benny 101.


I’ve never been mistaken for a financial advisor. I’ll stay home on a weekend night to save money, and then spend $80 buying shit I don’t need online when I’m drunk.

I don’t make a lot of money right now. But this is going to change by (a) finding a new job, (b) making it big with the SOB or (c) winning the lottery.

Be patient, and I’ll make it one way or the other. In the meantime, don’t be surprised if I ask you to pay my car insurance.


I’m not the neatest person in the world. I admit that. But I will make an effort to pick up things if I know you’re coming over. Just do yourself a favor, and don’t look under my bed or in the closet.


I will talk politics almost every time we’re together, especially if we’re watching cable news. So don’t get me started with your rhetoric about how you support health care reform when unemployment is at a 26-year high.

Do you think Reagan would have tried to overhaul 20% of the nation’s economy when the unemployment rate was 10.2%?

See there? You already got me started. Turn the channel to football.


My favorite team is the Chiefs. In fact, my entire bathroom is decorated with Chiefs stuff. Yeah, I know they suck this year. But they’re my team.

If you have a favorite team, I will think that’s cute. And I will root for them unless they’re (a) the Raiders, (b) the Broncos, or (c) a team that is playing the Chiefs.

We probably won’t make it if it’s either (a) or (b).

(c) will be fine as long as you listen to the game in your car.


Country, Classic Alternative, Classic Rock, 80’s. In that order.


I fart. I snore. And I talk in a weird voice that only dogs and children seem to appreciate.

Farting is not up for discussion. I mean, I won’t fart on you but you will hear me rip one on occasion. If I had to run to the bathroom every time I felt like letting one fly, I wouldn’t have any underwear left.

There is probably a way to cure the snoring. I just don’t have the time to explore remedies. If you buy me some of those Breath Right strips, I’ll be happy to wear them to bed. Shit, they may even give me more stamina during a midnight romp.

The weird voice is here to stay. Sorry, but it makes me laugh.

Drinking (and the Morning After)

Wow… where do I start? Okay, it’s like this. I tend to get over-served a lot. And when I do, there may be times when you wake up thinking you just got out of the shower. I don’t wet the bed on purpose , and I have pills to prevent this from happening. It’s just that I sometimes pass out before taking one.

I’m very loud the morning after a night of drinking. Don’t be surprised if you wake up to find me hovering over you – nailing a Steve Miller Band song.

I mean, some people call me the space cowboy. Some call me the gangster of love. Some people call me Maurice. Cause I speak of the pompitous of love.

And you need to know that. Albeit, probably not at 6 AM nursing a hangover.

I’ve been around the block a time or two. Done almost everything a boy can do. I’ve done some livin’, yeah I’ve had fun. But there is one thing that I haven’t done.


I’ll tell you what – if I could lay this little fellar on his side – and put some covers over him – well, I’d have a statue of myself.

My banker pulled a good practical joke on me. Yes, I have a banker. Don’t you?

I needed a new debit card, so I called him last week. “I’ll get it ordered but it will take about a week to get there,” he told me.

“No problem. Thanks,” I replied.

Only it was a problem when I got it. Now, I only despise a few professional sports teams. The main two are the Oakland Raiders and Denver Broncos. So imagine my surprise when I opened the letter yesterday, and found a Broncos logo on my debit card.


Then I had to go activate the f’n thing at the bank today. Man, that makes me sick.

Periodically, I like to send out mass text messages to see what kind of responses I get back. Here’s one I sent last Sunday:

Have you ever used a butt plug?

Lil’ Bro: U know that subject is off limits with me.

Cathy G: 7 times

Tory K: that would be a negative

Sheila E: I’m wearing it now

Tom d G: I’m using one right now. Why?

Dani-girl: Ive had a penis plug my butt?!? Is that the same thing?

Note: Dani-girl was kidding, so don’t get your perverted tighty whities in a bunch.

– The gayest weatherman ever.

– It’s game night.

Beaver urinates on news correspondent. Drink – I said beaver.

Gary’s Mattress Sale

Up Butt Cococut

A Very Whimsical Penis NSFW

– 5 Horrifying Things You’ll Learn When Moving In With A Guy

– Punt return Fail

– Here is an unforeseen design flaw.

Million Dollar Baby in 5 seconds.

Grease Lip Sync

I’m on my way, I’m making it.

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