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If you get a 999 combo, you gain the ability of reality manipulation, which means you are GOD!

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Strength


Stamina

Peeing in the sink

When it comes to peeing, its great to be a male. Ladies (and fellows with a micro-penis) purse their lips at men’s blithe attitude toward convenience when it comes to answering nature’s call. We’re so crass, rude, disgusting. Right.

You’re just fucking envious. And well you should be. It is indescribably wondrous portaging a permanently attached watering hose. Witness ‘Man, Peeing in Garden’, the epitome of casualness. Few, if any, locations are off-limits when the urge is felt: parking garage, deck, the sink…simply too many nouns to list. Still, while decorum is abused, discretion is not–more on this point in a moment.

Oh sure, many a woman has pee’d outside of the pot, though strictly as a matter of urgency and with much reluctance and with great angst. There is no female example of ‘whipping it out.’ In fact, yours is a complete show. You fret about the location, the preparation, the sundries, minimizing dribble ‘christ almighty’ it’s a fifteen minute ordeal. Men can sort of relate to your dilemma, like when we need to poop and there’s no bathroom in sight.

Anyway, I pee in the sink. I’ve been peeing into bathroom sinks for years. Convenience is my primary reason. But there are many very good reasons to pee in a sink. A few among them:

I can multitask, which is important to me: both my hands are free to brush teeth, comb hair, apply hygiene products, etc. I’ve never done and empirical study, but I am certain in my gut that cumulative hours are saved annually by peeing in the sink.

It’s environmentally conscientious. I conserve water when I pee in the sink. As I wash my hands or rinse my toothbrush, my pee is carried through the p-trap down into the sanitary line. Toilet, sink; as George Castanza explained, “It’s all pipes!”

It’s the “green” thing to do. By peeing on dried toothpaste, solidified lungers, loose hair, and other lingering yuckiness stuck inside the sink, I save still more water and reduce phosphates and other nasty chemicals that might otherwise have been used to clean the sink.
It’s considerate. Regardless whether my girlie is sleeping, watching television, reading in silence, I do not disturb her with a cacophonous serenade of “man-peeing-into-toilet-then-flushing”. Peeing into a sink is very quiet.

It’s clean. There is no toilet water splash nor urine splatter on walls, seat or in the crannies of the commode. Here I bandy the duel argument of “less work” (by not scrubbing said surfaces after each use) and, consequently, “more green” (requires less use of environmentally harmful cleaning chemicals). Pee is, for the most part, sterile when it hits the sink, so no need to use expensive disinfectant. Thus I submit another good, albeit tenuous, reason I pee in the sink: it saves money.

It builds “relationship equity”. The seat is always down, which appears to my girlie as sublimely considerate and one those “little things” I do for her. This manifests, somehow, in better sex.

It’s hygienic. After my stream has diminished to a trickle, I splash a handful or two of water on my dick, thus washing it. I have a clean dick and I put my dick up against the dick of any “traditional” toilet user for some quantitative dick evaluation; eg.: stiff test, taste test. Rub my dick against glass and it squeaks.

I can think of violently few disadvantages to peeing in a sink. Off the top of my head:

• peeing into a sink after eating asparagus is very unpleasant;
• fishing a contact lens out of the sink while “multitasking” is disturbing; and,
• reflexive tumescence may result from the splash of overly cold or hot water, which can have messy consequences.

I confess that a lifetime of casually whipping it out and lettin’ go when and wherever has caused my “Emergency Pee Shut Off” muscle, assuming it ever existed, to atrophy. Richard Pryor was correct that a man cannot cut off his stream “just like that”.

I am aware that this technique d’avant garde might offend the eyeballs of an accidental witness, so I always exercise discretion when I pee in the sink. That said, peeing in the sink is so routine for me that I am complacent, and I never thought up a contingency plan should someone walk in on me.

Are you breathing?

Now that you’re aware of it, you’re manually breathing.

Instructions for giving a cat a pill

1. Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3. Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw soggy pill away.

4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut and count to ten.

5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.

6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees. Hold front and rear paws firmly. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler in mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cats throat vigorously.

7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail. Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered Doulton figures from hearth and set to one for gluing later.

8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to stretch out flat on top of cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw. Force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9. Check label to make sure pill is not harmful to humans. Drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouses forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10. Retrieve cat from neighbor’s shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of your last tetanus shot.

12. Ring fire department to retrieve cat from telephone poll across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.

13′ Tie cat’s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed, force cat’s mouth open with small spanner. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of filet steak. Hold head vertically and pour pint of water down throat to wash pill down.

14. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Stop by the furniture store on the way home to order new table.

15. Arrange for SPCA to find a new home for cat and ring the local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

Top ten things to do when bored at work

10.Sneak furtive glances at the potted hydrangea that is always staring at you in the corner. Give it a wink. It knows it wants it.

9.Take your housemate’s choices off of the Netflix queue. He hasn’t paid his $7.99/mo. share since July, anyway. Asshole.

8.Get that piece of General Tso’s chicken that’s been stuck somewhere between your back molar and your wisdom tooth since lunch. Make sure you use your hand that has been wrapped around your germ-covered mouse all day.

7.Get your office cohorts addicted to checking the ‘Missed Connections’ postings on craigslist. Then creep them out by writing very specific MCs exposing the fact that you stare at their eyebrows over the top of your computer monitor everyday. For long hours. And that you might love them. Make it very, very obvious who you are.

6.Practice your dream of an ambidextrous existence by typing with your wrists crossed over one another.

5.Buck up, and don’t be afraid to dream of a brighter, not-too-distant future! A place where the 2″ brads shine like the polished dome of Solomon’s Temple, and your cute little office tchatchkes displaying your unique personality are plated in sheets of divine platinum. Boy, wouldn’t that ALF action figure look smart then!

4.Go out! Take a break! Get some fresh air! Go to the drug store! Buy some Twizzlers Pull’n Peels! Go back to your office! Take a Pull’n Peel and tie it into a knot! See how long it takes for your unique confectionary sculptures to obtain a shell with the resistance temperament of alabaster!

3.Man, I gotta go grab a smoke.

2.Wonder how difficult it would actually be to masturbate at your desk.

1.Weep. Oh so quietly weep.

Skid etiquette

Now I can’t generalize about all males out there, so please don’t be offended if you don’t fit into the group I’m about to describe. Okie dokie, let’s have a little chat about skids. Skids? Yes, skids, ya know, the brown residue left in your underwear after busting ass, OR inefficient wiping of the anal region? I’m sure you fellas aren’t the proudest when you walk out of the bathroom, shit-stained underwear and all….afterall, what kind of man are you if you can’t even wipe your own ass decently? Not only are you embarassed by your new brown little secret, but everyone else in a 5ft radius of you also knows you did a shit job of wiping (quite literally). But that’s not even the worst of it. You boyfriends and husbands who get your ladies to do the laundry- yes we know it was you who had a bad bathroom day, not only by the smell radiating off of you, but by the actual proof: not-so-whitie tighties or crusted poop residue on the ass seam of your boxers. Do us all a favor and take the necessary steps of cleaning up your mess. Better yet, how about you prevent the brown underwear devil itself. The following is a list I’ve come up with to help you with your problem:

1. wiping position- I will bet you 10 bucks that skids only happen to dudes who try the standing-up wipe. IT DOESN’T WORK. You need to be sitting down with those ass cheeks spread to have access to the most ass surface area. Standing up to do it may get you outta the bathroom quicker, but a hefty price (aka massive skids)

2. wiping technique- It’s pretty self explanatory, but I’ll discuss it incase you weren’t paying attention in Potty Training 101. When you wipe, you continue to do so until there is no brown left on the TP. Yes that means you’ll officially be called a “looker”, but it’s the lookers who have the cleanest asses, so suck it up and just look. There is no way to gauge the progress of wiping just by the feel, and even though it’s fuckin weird to look at your shit, ya gotta do it!

3. avoiding the infamous clog- I know some of you don’t like to use too much TP for fear of clogging the toilet (it’s just as bad as being shit stained). Here’s a lil technique that’ll ease those fears: depending on how big your shit was, you’ve got a good 3-5 wipes before you’ll need to flush. Don’t sweat it if you’re on wipe 5 and you’re barely seeing a decrease in poop on your TP. There’s nothing wrong with multiple flushes. It is time consuming, but well worth it.

4. get to the bathroom when you first feel the poop urge- Holding your poop back (aka butt cheek squeezing) will work sometimes, but don’t always bank on it. For hard poop, I give you the green light to hold it sometimes, but don’t make it a habit. Soft poop, well that’s a gamble, so it’s your call. Watery poop should NEVER NEVER NEVER be held back because as many of you probably already know, it can get thru even the tightest of clenched cheeks. All in all, it’s just better to go when you’re body tells you, even if it’ll inconvienience you.

5. bring back-up underwear with you- for those just starting out with trying to avoid/prevent skids, it’s wise to bring an extra pair of underwear to work (keep them in your car or desk). If you soil your pants, you’ll have fresh ones awaiting you. What to do with your soiled pants? You have a few choices:
a). Leave them right next to the stall, no one will ever know it was you
(don’t flush them, you’ll end up with a clog). Plus what a laugh you’ll
give the guys at work, all joking about the poor dude who messed his
pants!
b). Take them home with you and throw them out of the window while driving.
That’ll certainly give the road clean-up crew something to smile about.
c). Use them them as revenge for someone in the office you hate. Imagine the
look on their face when they open their desk drawer and find them.
Alternately, attatching them to someones car antenna will work too.

6. do your own laundry- If you happen to have a bad day in the defecating dept.,
simply do your own laundry so that us girlfriends/wives don’t even know. Plus you doing your own laundry MAY win you some brownie points :)

I think that about covers it. Now go out and fight the good fight.

*BTW- chics don’t get skids, because we already know all of this stuff :)

Two functioning hands

I was thinking about how fortunate I am to have two functional hands. Don’t ask me why, but I realized how much it would suck to have only one hand and just a nub on the other arm. In fact, I would gladly sacrifice motion in my elbow and wrist if I must to ensure normal motion of my fingers and hand. Imagine for a moment that you were missing your non-dominant hand… Done? Well here’s a list of things that I personally would not be able to do if I had only one hand.

1) Type really fast. I can type fast. It’s not that I have an administrative job, it’s just that I have a really developed typing ability. If I had only one hand, I would type words like this: M lo you lon im. With both hands I can type ‘Me love you long time’.

2) Steady myself on the shitter. I use the handicap shitters because of the bars. They let you steady yourself after the deposit, while using the other hand to clean. You might be able to steady yourself with a nub, but they look really slippery and I am sure I’d slip and knock my sandwich off the top of the toilet paper dispenser.

3) Video games. I have tried to play video games with one hand. It totally sucks. The only type of game you could play would be those ones like Dragon’s Lair where you just press one button at a time to pick right or left, sword or block. And we all know that game sucked. It was like a choose-your-own-adventure book but without the good story. Besides, I always thought Dirk was a pretty-boy pussy.

4) Karate. Karate means ‘empty hand’. How can something be empty if you don’t have it? It’s not like you can punch effectively with your sensitive and slippery nub. And there’s no way you could effectively execute the quart-’a-blood technique on 9~10 cops with just a nub. That guy from the Bruce Lee movies is the only dude who could fight with a nub. But he had to modify it to allow screw-on attachments; and I just don’t have that kind of money.

5) Doggy style. How are you going to lean over and grab BOTH breasts with just a nub? Moreover, how could you effectively grab/spank dat ass with just one hand? You couldn’t. No girl would want you if you couldn’t grab both cheeks firmly and give the occasional spank. Nub spanks are not playful or sexy–they hurt.

6) Change channels while jerking. Ever tried to change a channel with your elbow? Nubs are bigger than elbows, so you’d have even less accuracy. While trying to flip back and forth between hotel porno channels you’d accidentally turn on Nick at Nite. And unless you see June Cleaver you would ruin your mood. Hell, you couldn’t even wash the serum off your hands after you finish unless you had a fake rubber hand attached to the bottom of your sink. And I just don’t think that YOU have the time to do that in every hotel you go to.

7) Own pets. Animals hate nubs. Your pets would attack you as soon as you close your eyes. They would snap your spine and dance on your belly. Because you are fat, they would stay on the side of your girth that is away from your working hand so you could only reach them with your nub. They would chuckle as they hump your nub. They would open a wound in the nub that spurts blood and pretend you’re bionic commando until you bleed to death. Your cat would challenge you to a game of basketball and win. They know you can only drive one side of the lane and that’s where they’d defend! Swish!

8) Take a band-aid off your elbow.

To be fair, I’ll include a couple of things you can do better with a nub.

1) Nub-job. Having a nub would turn your arm into one big, flexible penis. The ladies from the animal porn would like you (congratulations!).

2) You could pitch for the baseball team of one of the greatest universities in the world, then go on to pitch a no-hitter for the Yankees. Better hope you don’t get traded to the National League, though.

3) Kick an NFL-record 63 yard field goal. I was the kicker on my high-school football team (I wasn’t ONLY a kicker, but that was just one of my many positions). I have normal hands and feet. My career-long is 47 yards. I can kick further if I use my toe, but you lose a shitload of accuracy. If I had a nub, however, it would somehow be OK for me to cut my foot off at mid-sole and make a special flat-front shoe that would allow me to kick toe-style without losing the accuracy. I never understood why that was allowed just because the guy had a half-foot. I guarantee I could hit 55+ yards with that fuckin’ shoe.

4) Drum in a shitty band and choke your wife. Pour some sugar on me, because I have got one sweet nub to go along with my drummin’ and chokin’ hand.

5) Wear a pirate suit. Even if you don’t attach your kung-fu hook, people would still think you’re a salty sea-dog of a pirate if you had a nub. ‘Arrrgghhh!’ Impersonating a pirate would be the strongest argument FOR wanting a leg nub. I would love to have a peg-leg. My peg would be made of cedar-wood and I’d keep it in the same drawer as my sweaters. But I would only wear those sweaters on my days off from terrorizing the open seas.

6) And finally. If I had a nub, I would touch people with it all the time. I had a teacher in 7th grade who had a nub. He always touched people with it, set it on their shoulders to make them feel uncomfortable. Sometimes he would shake it around like a dolphin flipper. It was quite funny. I would use my nub as leverage in sales calls. “Hey Nissan, I’d give my OTHER hand for your business! I’ve done it once, so you know I’m serious!” Then I would expect people to call me ‘lefty’ (if I’m missing my left hand) behind my back. I would get one of those one-handed steering wheel attachments too.

What would you do with a nub?

Num Lock Key

I was just thinking about you today and, well, Num Lock Key, we go back a long ways.

In the beginning, you were an annoyance. A small one, like a young sibling who wants to tag along to a would-be teenage makeout party. Or a malnourished, vegan PETA activist at a Ted Nugent concert. A tiny distraction. A faucet leak in a distant room. A fly tapping against a window.

In time, however, you fueled my semi-obsessive-compulsive tendencies with your indicator light on my keyboard. I had to turn you off in order to get any work done. Your one green eye staring up at me. Mocking me at times. The Caps Lock indicator light made sense. It prevented me from indiscretions like accidentally shouting in an online chat room. But why a Num Lock light? Why, why, why?

In time, I grew to hate you. I can admit that now. But it was born purely of ignorance. Like the Scroll Lock, Pause/Break and ~ keys, I didn’t understand the reason for your existence. I’d turn you off and then spread rumors about you with Home, Page Up and Page Down. When you weren’t around, 7 referred to you as Num Nuts. They were cruel, childish jokes. You were an enigma to us; awkward, like Paris Hilton in John Deer coveralls or a Chinese foreign exchange student in Utah.

And then I won a job in the glorious field of Data Entry!

Everything changed between us. It was an epiphany. Suddenly I understood your significance. I learned 10-key. You enabled and disabled the number pad with ease and skill, allowing me to enter hundreds of pages of meaningless numbers day in and day out. Screw my business degree and struggling filmmaking career; it was you and me and Data Entry for LIFE. (A shout out to my DE homies! Datizzle Entrizzle for shizzle!)

But I know, even now, with the excitement and magic of my new dead-end job still hanging in the air, that eventually I will move on. Perhaps I’ll land a job similar to one held by the film crew sitting across the street from my office today, with their grip trucks, generators, trailers and craft services, each of them making more in a day than I do in two weeks, or a month. Maybe Fox will buy one of my screenplays with a lucrative backend deal. And maybe I’ll descend from the sky tomorrow and usher in a millennium of peace, happiness and goodwill.

Probably, I’ll take a slight pay cut with a job in a post production facility, while trying to support the valium addiction I’m sure to develop at my current position, staring at a monitor in a pitch black room for 8 hours a day, digitally touching up Pamela Anderson’s ass, and talking about the good old days when it was just me and my num lock key against the world. Sure, we’ll still see each other on occasion. Maybe a courtesy nod or a “sup?” when no one’s looking. But things will never be the way they are now.

So if you see me walking by. And a tear is in my eye. Look away. Baby, look away.

Why can’t I buy a gerbil

Dear Society,

I love gerbils. I had a few while I was a kid and they were the best pets in the world. I’d put them in plastic balls and let them run around the house, I’d put them on the bed and let them run through my t-shirt like a tunnel, and I’d get rid of all my cardboard tubes by letting them chew them to pieces and build little nests with them. I remember staying awake late one night watching two of them try to run opposite directions in their running wheel. They’d crawl up the sides until one got higher then flip the other one upside down. It was great entertainment!

But now that I’m 28, society won’t allow me to own gerbils. Just because Richard Gere gave them a bad name in the 80s and the fact that they’re rodents, people are so turned off by people who own gerbils. If I bought gerbils, I’d become a guy who lives alone and has a thing for gerbils. People would think that’s creepy, I know, but I have no intention of putting them in my butt. I’m not even curious about it! I just need to get rid of some old cardboard tubes and I’d love to watch them run around aimlessly in that little plastic ball. What’s wrong with that? Listen society: I’m lonely and owning gerbils may be the panacea to pass the time. Society, I think I’m going to buy some gerbils, go ahead and hate me. I don’t care anymore.

I couldn’t come because of your dog

Its not that you’re bad at giving head. You have the basics down, no teeth, etc. I couldn’t come because of your dog.

I understand it, I have a dog too. The intensity with which he watches us eat dinner is a little unnerving. Im sure by now dogs must instinctively understand that the masters’ food is better, thus more desirable. Sometimes we would ponder: “what would he do if we sat around and ate dog food at the table while giving him steaks, would he still beg for scraps?”

Also, although I consider myself a dog lover, I hate small dogs. They have napoleon complexes, and never stop barking that bitchy high pitched bark they bark. Guys in general hate them, they are just not manly.

Anyways, back to my cock. I wasnt too bothered when your dog followed us as we moved from the sofa to your bedroom to continue our first session of making out. That probably has more to do with the fact that I was pretty sure I was about to get some despite your stern warning of “I’m not gonna sleep with you tonight.” It was a little weird that he was on the bed with us, but understandable. Small dogs are needy. But it really got weird when you started blowing me and he just focused very intently on my cock as it went in and out of your mouth. I couldn’t get into any of the sicko (too weird to admit even behind the perfect anonymity of CL) fantasies I require to orgasm because I knew that little fucker was just sitting there, licking his lips (I swear I saw him do it) watching you blow me and wondering god knows what.

When we tried to kick him out his barking was even more irritating.

So, its not that you’re bad at giving head. (Did you believe my line: I have never come from a BJ, just not my thing? I’m proud of that one, came up with it on the spot and instantly knew I would use it in the future.)