Beck – Loser

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The lyrics for the clip are as follows:

Don’t believe everything that you breathe
You get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve

Innocent enough and, one would think, also easy to understand; unless you’re me. Here’s what I thought he was saying:

Don’t believe everything that you breathe
You get a HOCKEY violation and a maggot on your sleeve

Awesome, right?

Imagine me singing that out loud. What in the hell is a hockey violation? Hockey penalty sure, but violation? I can even remember thinking, while singing the lyric, what the hell is he talking about? I even slipped some times and would say pockey violation , which is arguably even worse.

Beck – Loser (Full Song)

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

First Sexual Experience

I had my very first sexual experience some time during my junior year of high school. I honestly can’t even remember making out with a girl before that. It started off with me picking up my date. We’ll call her Jess. Of course I had flowers and Jess’s favorite song playing for the ride. Any time I would pick a girl up for an official date, I always had her favorite song playing. I just wanted the girls to be happy; it honestly had nothing to do with getting in their pants. Shit even if I got there, I wasn’t even sure what to do. Let me tell you these girls ate it up. To them, I was the sweetest guy on the planet.

Back to my first sexual experience.

I don’t even remember dinner. Now before you judge, listen to this experience. You’re not even going to remember your name after this story; it’s that bad.

After dinner we went back to my house to hang out in my parent’s finished basement. My mom has always been super cool, my dad just goes with the flow, and my siblings were instructed to stay out of the basement. We were pretty much left alone.

We spent a little time watching TV then we started making out. I thought to myself, cool I’m not too bad at this. It was not exactly how I had imagined a french kiss would be, but then again what did I know? Of course with making out comes fondling. I knew that much. My hands went right to the fun bags.

First red flag.

Boobs are squishy. Honestly, I almost stopped right there. I was totally expecting them to be firm. I’m not talking concrete rocks, just something I could actually squeeze. She was laying there having the make out session of her life (yeah right) and I’m laying there trying to figure out why boobs were squishy and why no one told me.

At that moment I became an official spokesperson for fake breasts.

Fine. Boobs are squishy; I can manage. I was preparing to round second and rock it out on third base. For those of you not familiar, third base is the finger bang. As raunchy as the name sounds, it’s completely accurate.

At that point she was nice and excited, if you know what I mean. I’m new to this so I just did what came naturally. I had seen enough of the Spice channel to know what was up.

Houston, we have another problem.

Let me preface this with telling you that I have some of the largest hands on the planet. If I were strong enough, I could probably palm a VW bug. Really big hands. Sounds great, huh girls? Well once I got older and learned how to use them, it was great. First time sexual experience, no so much.

I touched her cervix. I’m in 11th grade, I don’t even know what a cervix is. I was convinced it was cancer; I mean, what else could it be? I was just supposed to have a nice dinner and maybe some making out. There I am trying to figure out if I should break this life altering news to her.

Let’s recap. So far we have squishy boobs and a ball of cancer. Can’t get much worse huh? Think again.

I figure if I’m poking it, I might as well stop touching the ball and take a shot at licking. What can go wrong? At least I won’t be touching the ball.

Big mistake. Honestly, she had what I would call the gamiest most sour vagina, ever. She even asked me if it was bad, like she knew. Of course I lied. But my immediate thought was, battery acid. And unfortunately, so became her nickname. No, not in front of anyone, just my close friends. I know it was mean. She never found out about the name, I don’t think. But hey, this was my first time and it was her fault for neglecting to shower for a month.

Ok, so this has to be the end of the misery. How can this possibly get any worse? Well, it was my turn. I was going to get my very first blow job.

But there was a stipulation. Oh great, rules. Before any blowing commenced, she told me that while she was giving me the blow job she couldn’t look at me, and I wasn’t allowed to see her face. Like I’m getting a blow job from mother Teresa and she doesn’t want a human being witness her sin. That type of rule.

I figured why the hell not. Let’s face it, I didn’t have many options. It wasn’t like I had a line of girls outside excited to give me a blow job, so I went with it. The first thing she asked for was a cover. Man, she’s serious about this not looking thing. Unfortunately, really unfortunate, the only cover I had was an afghan. We’re talking the afghan Grandma crocheted that will make you sweat on the North Pole. Yeah, I think you know where this is going.

This is also when I realized that I am the exact opposite of a two pump chump. I’m more like a marathon runner from Kenya. So my dinner date has squishy boobs, a sour vagina with a possible ball of caner, and she’s underneath what is essentially a heat lamp giving me my very first blow job. The poor girl kept emerging from under the blanket asking if I was close. That’s when I learned it’s kind of hard to focus when your partner is completely uncomfortable and sweating while trying to provide you pleasure.

So I finally finish. I’m mortified by all the previous events and discoveries. This CAN’T be the way it works. I was prepared to become gay or a priest. Not that there’s much of a difference.

We clothed and composed ourselves. She needs a shower and chemo. I need a gallon of mouth wash and a memory messer-uper from the MIB. I asked if she wanted to go home. I had no idea what to even do with myself at this point let alone her. No cuddling, no nothing. I was pretty sure that with the ball in her vagina the right thing would be to take her to a hospital; but I settled on her house.

Next day we met at my locker. I was like “I don’t want to go out with you anymore.” She walked/ran away crying. Sure I felt bad. I know it was mean and all, but let’s be honest; I was the real victim here.

Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby

Vanilla Ice’s hit song Ice Ice Baby was the first song I can remember listening to and later finding out that I had misunderstood some of the lyrics. Now I know what you’re thinking, big deal, there are lots of songs out there with hard to understand lyrics. And I would agree, however; that’s if you’re normal. The songs I messed up, most people will hear clear as day. I not only frequently misunderstood easy lyrics, but I also would belt them out like a 14 year old choir girl trying to impress her daddy.

Today I’m creating a new category for FunnyAssBlog in honor of my incredible ability to misunderstand song lyrics. I call it, Lyrics of FAIL. Enjoy.

A clip from Vanilla Ice’s – Ice Ice Baby:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The lyrics for the clip are as follows:

Yo man let’s get out of here
Word to your mother
Ice ice baby too cold
Ice ice baby too cold too cold
Ice ice baby too cold too cold
Ice ice baby too cold too cold

Easy? Not for me. Oh yeah, another thing. One of my little brothers was also guilty of this same mistake. We would actually sit down in front of our little boom box and mess up these lyrics together. Here’s what we thought they were saying:

Yo man let’s get out of here
Word to your mother
Ice ice baby chica
Ice ice baby chick-ahh chick-ahh
Ice ice baby chick-ahh chick-ahh
Ice ice baby chick-ahh chick-ahh

Chick-ahh!

I’d like to think that embarrassing little mix up was to be my last. Fortunately, I’ll be posting them all on future entries in the Lyrics of FAIL.

Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby (Full Song)

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Baby Wipes

I never liked going number two, and don’t even get me started on pooping in public. Pooping always seemed like a complete waste of time. Of course I know pooping has a purpose, I just wish it wasn’t so involved. Not to mention all the times I’ve had an itchy ass. Who can forget the unpleasant, and sometimes frequent, trips back to the bathroom just for a re-wipe. That was until I was reintroduced to the ever so brilliant invention, the baby wipe.

I say reintroduced because, like a lot of people I know, I used to use baby wipes. Well I didn’t use them by myself, but to avoid this sentence being flagged by the FBI, I’ll leave it at that. It wasn’t until I was older did I understand the social norm of cleaning myself after a poop with a dry and supposedly soft piece of paper was and still is, ridiculous. I think we’ve all been there at some point. The itchy ass, the skid marks, the clumps of paper (dingle berries); need I go on? I, like most, used to think that was the creme de creme of toiletry sanitation.

After all I did learn in history class about out houses and having to bury ones poop, hopefully your own, in a hole and wipe yourself with a leaf. Depending on where you grew up, your first lesson about poison ivy was not to use it if you were wiping yourself in the woods. But I digress.

Before I had been officially reintroduced to baby wipes, I heard about the bidet. My first experience with a bidet was at my friend’s house in high school. I never used it and thought the entire idea was absurd. That was until I met my college roommate. Whenever we ran out of toilet paper, he wouldn’t even skip a beat. After a poop he just hung his bare ass over the tub and, as he put it, “splashed his ass out.” A poor man’s bidet if you will. After those two experiences, dingle berries weren’t looking all that bad.

Eventually I heard someone speak about using baby wipes as an adult, and I decided to give them a try. WOW what a difference. Compared to how I wipe now, I was living in the dark ages. Don’t get me wrong, I still use traditional toilet paper. There’s actually a very delicate process and procedure to follow when an adult uses baby wipes. I’ll demonstrate.

Well not demonstrate, I’ll just type it out. Sicko.

1. Poop
2. Wipe with toilet paper until clean
3. Wipe with baby wipes until clean
4. Wipe with toilet paper until dry

Awesome.

In closing, if you don’t use a bidet, splash your ass out over the side of a bathtub, or use baby wipes enjoy your itchy ass and dingle berries.