Beck – Loser

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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)

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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:

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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)

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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.

Pennies

Are we done with the fucking pennies yet?

Because it is time. The American public hasn’t been using them for about a decade. They have become so worthless, that people give them to each other as a matter of routine. Get your change, pick out the pennies, and leave them there for the next guy. Need a penny or two? Well, there should be a few there for you, because the last guy sure as fuck didn’t want his. That’s the game.

I hate when stores don’t want to play by the game. If a store doesn’t have a little tray, I am immediately annoyed. The hell if I’m fishing another dollar out of my pants because it came to $5.02. When that cash register rings up $5.02 and you look at me, we’re fixing to have a long staredown. I’ll return an item before I break another dollar and let you give me three more of the fucking things in return. And that item probably had a profit margin of at least $.03 to you, so who’s the loser now? Get it? As long as they’re still around, you better play by the game.

When there is no tray, my normal routine has become to fish through my change and immediately pick them out and deposit them into the trash. Not only are they worthless, but they are disgusting, and I’m not carrying them around. Most have been in circulation for 20 years, and as the stepchild of your change purse, they have been given no love. They live in ashtrays, parking lots, and huge jars owned by 72 year old men who remember when they were worth something. Old copper is gross enough to start with. Add to the fact that they are covered in gum and shit and filth, and you need to wash your hands every time one touches you.

Think about this: a stamp costs $0.37. 37 pennies weigh 6 ounces. It takes about two stamps to mail 6 ounces of stuff. Therefore, if I wanted to mail someone 37 cents in pennies, it would cost me 74 cents. By my definition, it’s pretty clear cut. When a monetary unit can’t afford to mail itself, it’s worthless. Don’t get all cocky either, nickels…….you aren’t far behind. (I don’t really know how much 37 pennies weigh, that was just a guess. I have a scale in my office, and would find out, but I can’t. I threw out all my fucking pennies. Just trust me though….I’m right on this general principal. I know by instinct that they can’t mail themselves.)

Vending machines won’t even take them. They hired engineers to assure that any penny which entered the slot would be immediately routed straight to the change opening. Think about the engineering involved. Dimes, which are smaller than pennies, go right into the till, but they had to create some sort of mechanism that would sort out and eliminate any penny that enters the machine, lest they get involved with the REAL money that is in there, and gross it all up.

Have you ever tried to give one to a bum? Seriously. I almost got in a fight in San Francisco over the fact that I gave a bum some pennies. The man had no home, was hungry, cold, and hopeless, yet when I gave him a handful of pennies, he tried to spit on me. Fortunately, his lack of front teeth seriously affected his aiming abilities and I easily dodged the saliva-based projectile, but nonetheless.

Isn’t this enough evidence for Alan Greenspan and the Fed to say enough is enough? I now summarize my case:

1. Pennies are considered worthless, even by homeless people
2. Pennies are disgusting
3. Pennies can’t even mail themselves
4. Americans are actually giving them to strangers, like some nationwide game of hot potato
5. Vending machines are even too smart to take them. Their job is to take money, not pennies.

Case Closed. Please, Federal Reserve, I beg you. End the game.

I’m done with the fucking pennies.

Top 10 Random things

Top 10 lists are very popular on the internet. I wanted to make a top ten list of my own. These are the top ten things that probably don’t have anything to do with each other.

1. Cupcake
2. Winter Solstice
3. Shetland Pony
4. Cartoon Character
5. Football Helmet
6. Alternating Wednesdays
7. A disagreement between friends
8. Neck tattoo
9. Canned tomatoes
10. Proton

Sucker-Fish

Sucker-Fish.com is the Internet’s first photo rating website for couples. Users can log onto the website with an account name and valid email address, which then allows them to post photos of couples for rating. Any guest visiting the site will be allowed to cast a vote for the individuals in the photo. The individuals in the photos will be assigned characters based on their rating. It’s a lot of fun, check it out.

Sucker-Fish.com

Enjoying Coffee At Starbucks

Yesterday I was inside of a Starbucks in Washington, DC enjoying a coffee. I was sitting on a stool facing the front window where I could see people outside. There was a gentleman who was sitting in a chair directly outside the window I was facing. He didn’t have any coffee but for some reason he had one of his arms inside of his shirt and the other was pulling his shirt away from his stomach like he was hiding something underneath. It wasn’t until I was a few sips into my orange mocha frappuccino when I realized why. It only took about 1.639 seconds for me to whip out my camera phone to capture the essence of self-abuse outside Starbucks.

Daddy’s Little Girl

Recently, the world learned of a cute little couple that go by the name John and Jenny Deaves. These two pictured below, are not only lovers and proud parents of a beautiful little girl, but John and Jenny also have a much closer bond. John is Jenny’s biological father. As Paris Hilton would say, “That’s Hot.”

You might be quite surprised, as was I, to learn that society hasn’t accepted this little gem of a family. It’s 2008 and society is still as prejudice as ever. Will there ever be a day a daughter can get some sweet lovin from her own father, and NOT have people look at her weird?

Sure John and Jenny’s first attempt at a child resulted in something resembling Jeff Goldblum in the movie The Fly:

But can you say with confidence that we shouldn’t let dads and daughters have sex and have more daughters? Procreation folks, that’s what were talking about.

I can’t wait for the day women have the same rights as men, blacks are finally recognized as unequal because of their extra bone/ligament/fast twitch fibers, and daughters and fathers can bang legally. It’s all a matter of time.

Arm Swing Challenged

It’s getting warmer outside. When that happens, not only does Al Gore throw a hissy fit, but you’ll see a lot more people outside, especially people jogging. The funny thing about jogging is, well there are a lot of funny things about jogging; but I just realized one today.

When you see someone jog, you can tell instantly if they are in good shape, have a bad knee, and you can even tell their experience level. However, there is one style of running that I noticed today that completely confused my judgment. Something I think should be named the “I don’t move my arms at all when I run” run.

You’ve seen it, hell there has even been an episode on Seinfeld about this. Moving your arms when you walk or run is as natural as wiping after you poop, so it’s amazing to see someone who doesn’t; moving their arms that is.

I saw a guy today who looked very athletic, but for one reason or another he didn’t move his arms when he ran. I couldn’t stop starring. Had I not been driving in the opposite direction, I’m sure I would have followed him all around the city, just to watch his arms, not move.

Throughout the day I started to notice people and how much or little they moved their arms when they walked. I even saw a few people, seemingly purposefully, not moving their arms at all when they walked. I can’t believe I never noticed this before.

I’ve always been a huge fan of people watching, but I’ve never picked up on this, nor have I seen so much. I’ll tell you, I hope I see more arm swing challenged runners and pedestrians. They are fascinating and well worth a stare.