Things I Am Thankful For - Conclusion

I am thankful that I know how to tell a joke and know a lot of them. I can’t stand when some dunce tries to tell me a joke and it takes the person ten fucking years to spit it out. And then they screw it up and have to start over again and again. As they drone on through what seems like an eternal hell, you are praying that the punch line is funny. But it never is and you already knew it anyway.

I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!

I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!

I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.

I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?

I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!

I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”

I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”

I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!

A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!

Things I Am Thankful For - Part 1

As Thanksgiving approaches, we need to reflect on what we are thankful for in life. That is what Thanksgiving is to me, because to be honest, I’m not a real big fan of turkey. It tends to be dry unless you add a shitload of gravy to it. I prefer the dark meat which is moister, but when ever I eat it, some health addicted fucker says, “That is the unhealthiest part of the bird!” Well, no shit Sherlock! But it tastes good so leave me alone.

My favorite part of the meal is stuffing. And I don’t mean that bullshit, gourmet kind with apples, raisons and walnuts. Just give me good ole’ stuffing and lots of it. Make me a turkey out of motherfucking Stovetop and I will be one happy camper!

So, here is what I am thankful for:

I am thankful that even though I am bald, my head looks good when I buzz it. I am glad that I don’t have a cantaloupe looking dome with bumps and veins all over it. Also I am glad that I don’t have a huge friggin’ head and I don’t look like the gay Mr. Clean being bald.

I am thankful that even though I am over forty years old, I can still dress hip and not look like a fucking fool! I’m glad that the word Dockers isn’t in my vocabulary and that I don’t look like I just walked off the golf course whenever I go out!

I am thankful that my generation got a chance to listen to so many different and eclectic types of music. It makes me happy that we had one hit wonders and they weren’t what was supposed to be the face of music to come. I am glad that the big hit makers weren’t groups like My Chemical Romance, Limp Bizcuit and what other group was here today gone tonight! Oh and I am glad that the rap I got to listen to was groups like N.W.A., Public Enemy and Westside Connection. (Groups that were angry, but made more of a statement than just calling out bitches and hoes!)

I am thankful that my parents taught me about art when I was younger. I know Degas paints ballerinas, Dali was a surrealist and Kandinski used geometrics in his art. Oh and I am glad that I don’t pretend that I know about art. (I hate the guy who raves about Monet at a party. Monet? Come on, you are a fucking dude! Hell Trix are for kids and water lilies are for women!)

I am thankful that even though my legs are skinny, I look all right in shorts. I would hate to be that guy that should never wear shorts but still does. I don’t need to see chubby, pale, tree trunk legs when I am at a restaurant! Oh and while you are at it lose the fucking Hawaiian shirt. (They should only be worn at a Buffet concert or if you are in Hawaii or Florida. I know you are on vacation in Cali, but it is November, so please get a fucking clue!)

I am thankful that my close friends have nicer and bigger cars than me. Because that means I never have to be the Designated Driver or have to worry about driving while intoxicated. So thank you my BMW and Infiniti owning friends. You have saved me having to do a field sobriety test…again!

I am thankful for the hair metal bands that still tour. It is great that you can see Poison, Warrant and Cinderella on the same bill for about twenty five bucks. It is also great that you can see lovely cougars with teased hair, tight jeans, cleavage in excess and those little socks that the girls wore in the ZZ Top videos!

I am thankful that my parents stressed me getting an education and to follow my dreams. I would hate to be living in a trailer park and eating spam and Velveeta every night with five inbred children. I am also glad that I am not married to a pregnant Carny who is about to give birth during her shift running the tiltawhirl!

I am thankful that I have a lot of friends. I would hate to be that creepy, lonely guy at the bar that strikes up a conversation with you and then annoys the crap out of you ten seconds later. I am also glad I am not lonely like that old man in the Pet Smart commercials. You know the one who is on the bus stop in the rain on Christmas and then gets home and his only company is his dog.

To be continued...

Blood Sucks - Conclusion

I’m waiting for the doctor and am thinking I will need some kind of surgery. Shit, am I going to find out that there is something major wrong with me? (I tend to be a hypochondriac occasionally. I got into a car accident once and hit my sternum and it hurt for weeks. I honestly thought I had sternum cancer, which there is no such thing as.) Then I’m thinking what if I die from this? I don’t have a will, so my cats will end up homeless.

I keep waiting for the doctor, still bleeding from my ass and still worrying to no extent. “What is wrong with me? Is this my last night on earth? Fuck, I got her some nice presents and I won’t even be able to see her expression on her face when she opens them. Damn, the doctor better get in here fast or I’m going to have a heart attack!”

So the doctor finally gets into see me and I think he is alarmed by the site of the blood, from my paranoia. He has me lay on my stomach and looks up my ass. “Is there any pain, Steve?” I don’t know what to say, even though there isn’t. Maybe a yes will change the situation. It will make things clearer and validate that I’m doing ok. But I need to be honest with him. I tell him, ‘No pain, which is odd because there is so much blood.”

“Well even though you are bleeding so much and there is no pain, which usually accompanies your condition, you have nothing to worry about. It is just a hemorrhoid. I’m going to put some gauze up there and when it clots, you are fine to go home.”

So I was on the bed with my girlfriend next to me. For three hours, on my stomach, in an ugly fucking hospital robe with a huge cotton ball up my ass! Nothing major, nothing drastic, it was nothing to worry about. It was something that a stool softener and salve will take care of. All the worry was gone, even when I kept seeing blood. Once you know where the blood is coming from, everything is fine. But before that moment, blood sucks!

Blood Sucks - Part 4

Let’s go back to Christmas Eve night. I am really worried because I have no idea what is wrong with me. So I go online. We all know the information highway has the answer to everything. I go to Web MD and type “Bloody Stool” into the web search box. Now, I don’t have “Bloody Stool” but figure that can lead me in the right direction. I see a listing for “Bright Red Blood,” which I have. The answer says “Hemorrhoids” or a bigger internal problem. Well seeing that I am in no pain, I figure the latter is the answer. Blood, blood and more blood started to run down my leg. And by now I am going crazy, thinking I’m going to die because I have something wrong with my insides.

Now I call my girlfriend and tell her I need to go to the Emergency Room. She asks me what is wrong, and I was hesitant to answer at first, because it is embarrassing. Finally I tell her, “My ass is bleeding!” She says, “What?” And I repeat to her, “My ass is bleeding and it is bleeding a lot.” Now she starts to worry and I have to go back online to find out what Hospital is covered by my insurance.

Now what really suck was that it was Christmas Eve and we had planned to spend a nice night together. We were going to have a nice dinner, I had bought green and red Christmas tree pasta, have some nice wine, open presents and then I was going to make my family’s traditional Christmas dessert, Cherries Jubilee. But instead she has to pick up her boyfriend who is hemorrhaging from his anus and take him to the fucking Emergency Room!

So we get to the Emergency Room and I tell the guy at the desk that my ass is bleeding. That thought of blood, blood and more blood flashes through his mind. His reply to me is, “Oh, it is either hemorrhoids or a prostate spring.” The blood threw this guy off and made him worry. I mean if I walked in and told him I had a gerbil up my ass he would have been fine. He would have given me a Habitrail and told me to wait for the doctor!

Fuck, I’m thinking to myself. Prostate, colon or some other internal organ is screwed up. All from the blood! I finally get in the waiting room and put on one of those ugly hospital robes. As I discard my clothes, I look at my jeans and see a huge blood stain on the back. (That really sucked because they were brand new.) Then I look at my boxers, my Christmas boxers with little Santa Clauses on them and they are covered. My thighs, my balls were totally covered too. I see all this blood and I can feel my heart beat and blood pressure rising to record levels, higher than an illiterate’s S.A.T. scores. And why, because of my fear of the crimson tide!

To be continued...

Blood Sucks - Part 3

I had a very scary situation with blood about six or seven years ago. Every once in awhile after you take a crap, you might wipe a little bit too hard. It may be you or it might have been the toilet paper you used. (You know the kind that feels like it is made of Plexiglas. That is why you should never steal TP from hotels.) Hell, it may have been something you ate, but you will see some red. Not alarming, it is just the nature of the dump trade. (I always like using the word dump, it makes me laugh. When I was a kid we called it bom bom. I have no idea why, and haven’t gotten around to asking my mom why we used such a stupid term.)

Well, I ended up wiping blood for about three days. I was a little worried, but I was regular so who can bitch. By the way they say you should eat five fruits and vegetables to become that way. But to be honest over the course of a week that is thirty five fruits and vegetables and I don’t have the time for that. So on Sunday I eat thirty five fruits and vegetables. Now, I’m not regular, I’m fucking congruent. Anyway, I bought some Preparation H and figured it would go away.

Fast forward a few nights later and it is Christmas Eve. I use the bathroom and wipe. First wipe no brown, just bright red. And I mean fucking bright red. Brighter than a heavy metal band member’s leather pants. Second, third, fourth wipe and more bright red. No pain, just red. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m bleeding out my ass. Not something I’m familiar because I am pretty off limits down there. I mean hell I can’t even handle a suppository. And remember blood = worry, so I’m thinking what should I do.

Ok, I need to digress for a bit. I said down there is off limits but there was this one time years ago. I was living back East and my buddy owned a dry cleaner. One of his customers had tickets to a Phillies game, so we all went. The game got rained out and we were drinking before hand. We were pretty lit, with nowhere to go, so my buddy’s customer, who was married, suggests we go to an Asian Bath House and get massages. So we show up and go into our private rooms. This Asian lady is rubbing my back and then asks me, “You want happy ending? Fifteen dollar!” Well, I’m pretty loaded and was a single 25 year old guy so I figured what the fuck.

Then I notice I have no money, but knew one of my friends did. So I wrap up in a towel and run down to another of the private rooms. I barge in and there is my buddy getting a happy ending. He was like, “What are you doing, Cooper?” I told him taking some money out of his pants that were on the floor, and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it right now. So I run back to my private room and give the lady my cash. As she is stroking me, she is also putting her finger, you know where. I would have told her to stop, but she is a professional so probably knows what she was doing. Plus I didn’t want to piss her off because my dick was in her hand and I didn’t want to get an Indian burn. Anyway she gets done and we all meet up at the car. I ask my friends, “Hey, did any of you get a finger up your ass?” And they were like, “No, dude, you must have gotten the bonus plan!”

To be continued...

Blood Sucks - Part 2

I think the fear of blood goes back to when you were a kid. Think about that statement. When you were little how many times would you fall down, get a bump or bruise, ignore it and keep playing? However, if you fell down and scraped yourself and saw just a trickle of blood you’d start bawling. But of course then the School Nurse or your mom would come rushing to your aid. “Oh my god, are you ok?” Then they would wipe your tears away, spray some anti-bacterial stuff on the scratch, throw a band aid on it and you would be better. But the attention and the reaction that you got from the sight of blood put a fear in us at a young age.

That fear of blood can consume you. Years ago I was in the passenger seat of my friend’s car and we were driving to the Jersey Shore. I was sipping on a plastic jug of iced tea and we were cruising down the Atlantic Expressway. We were surprised that there wasn’t much traffic and we were getting ready for a weekend of insanity and pure on debauchery. Suddenly a car stops out of nowhere, causing a chain reaction crash. My head slammed into the windshield, totally cracking the glass. On my way up, I smashed my lip into the dashboard. Although, somewhat shocked, I was fine.

I was fine until I got out of the car. I felt my lip and it felt moist and saw a little bit of blood. It was night time and I looked down at my shirt and it was very wet and sticky. The front of my shirt, and I hate to say this, but I was wearing a surgeon’s shirt, but hey it was the eighties, was mostly covered in liquid. At that moment I freaked the fuck out! I thought I had a serious injury and would have to be rushed to the hospital. Did the sight of blood cause this? Hell, yeah it did! My lip had a small scratch which made me over analyze the situation.

The “blood” on my shirt was actually iced tea from the jug that spilled all over me during the crash. If I had never seen that little dribble of blood from my lip, I would have been completely calm and fine. Yes, I would have cracked the windshield, but would have said, “Fuck it, everything is cool. Thank god I have such a hard head!”

To be continued...

Blood Sucks - Part 1

Blood sucks. Blood is the scariest thing a person can see. Your own blood, that is. Scarier then The Blair Witch Project, The Omen or The Exorcist. We may see blood on television or in the movies, but that doesn’t compare to seeing our own blood. (Plus we know that Hollywood stuff is syrup or maraschino cherry juice or some special effect.)

A broken bone hurts like a motherfucker, but it doesn’t scare you. Sure you get that stomach ache when you break or sprain something. You know the stomach ache I am talking about. The one that feels like you just got kicked in the balls, times four.

Actually I have never been kicked in the balls. I think that is another one of those Urban Legends just like the people who had their luggage ripped off on a trip. Yeah, this family was in Jamaica and when they got back to their hotel room, everything was gone. Everything that is, except for their toiletries and a camera. When they got back from vacation they developed the film. And in the photos were a bunch of Rastafarians waving to the Kodak with the people's tooth brushes shoved up their asses.

I've never been kicked in the crotch but did take a hockey ball there once. I was in Fourth grade and we were playing some Sixth graders in street hockey. It was cold as shit out and I was playing goalie, without a cup on. Now there are two kind of Mylec street hockey balls. One is for the summer which is orange and harder and one for winter that is blue and softer. Well like a bunch of fucking idiots we were playing with the blue one in twenty degree weather. A Sixth grader is about six feet away from me and winds up with a hard slap shot. The ball came right at me and hit me square in the package. I went down and out. Visions of kids I would never have passed before my eyes and I got that stomach ache. The one that makes you feel like you are going to puke up a locomotive.

When you break a bone, you know exactly what happened. You fucked up your arm or leg, but you have instant realization of what has happened. Your shin is sticking through your flesh or you can’t move a limb, but you suck it up and go to the hospital and know what you are dealing with.

Blood is a different thing. And I am not talking about a bloody nose or a bloody lip. Fuck that, I’m not even talking about a shaving cut. (However if you cut your lip shaving, that shit never stops bleeding.) All the above things are easy to fix. You grab some tissues, apply some pressure and it’s done. You might get alarmed for a second, but when you think about why you were alarmed you feel like a pussy and then the blood stops and you go on with life.

To be continued...

Marijuana and Me - Conclusion

OK, back to marijuana. Besides the medical stuff, California has some other really strong weed. Weed much stronger than that Sensimilla from my college days, which turned me into a whimpering, little bitch. I know a guy who buys weed that he says is hydroponic. The herbage is actually cultivated in a green house in a scientific way. It goes by names such as the chronic, the swag and the cush. Oh, and the buds are pretty! These buds are a huge and green and purple and actually look like a corsage. I could just imagine two stoners getting married and using this stuff for boutonnieres.

I did try the swag a few years back and it was a bad choice. I was out drinking and a buddy asked me if I wanted to smoke a little. What the hell it was the weekend, right? Wrong! I took two hits of this stuff and once again lost my mind! I remember sitting in the bar and the whole bar started to spin. I had to get out and get some fresh air, and then decided to walk home. I got one block down the street and literally couldn’t fucking walk. Thank god there was a bench on the corner. I collapsed on it and had to call my buddy to come get me and drive me home. Cowboy would have been proud of me!

I also tried it at Reggae on the River, a music festival in Humboldt County, better known as the “Weed Capital of America.” I was amazed when I got to the weekend event. People were just walking around with buds for sale, joints for sale, even care packages. (They consisted of Pot Brownies, Marijuana Rice Krispy treats and something called Goo Balls.) And you could haggle on price. It was like shopping for trinkets in Tijuana.

Let me tell you there was quite a lot of fucked up people there. I was mostly drinking but did eat a brownie one night. Not to say I got stoned, but a group of us were hanging and playing guitars and having a blast. But then I sort of freaked out, because the girl I was hitting on, her head suddenly appeared to be a goat’s head. (In retrospect, it made no sense because she was wearing a college sweatshirt, and we all know goats don’t do well on their S.A.T.s.)

So as you can see, I can’t handle marijuana that is why I don’t smoke that much. But to be honest, I wish I could enjoy it. Think about it. You don’t get a hangover, you don’t angry and you don’t get a beer belly from it. You might laugh a lot but remember laughter is the best medicine!

Marijuana and Me - Part 4

I live in California now. A place where marijuana has been legalized and I don’t have a problem with it. I love when people come out against this law and say how smoking pot can lead to health problems. Hey assholes, it is legalized for people who are in pain. If you want to outlaw something because it causes health problems, I have two words for you…junk food! Think about the shape the person is in who will scarf down Twinkies, Big Macs and Fresca! Tax the shit out of Kit Kats, Suzy-Q’s and Jolt Cola and see what will happen to our deficit! Oh and keep it away from the kids and throw out the video games and see how quick this country stops being the capital of obesity!

The funny thing about medical marijuana is how easy it is to get. Originally it was for people with glaucoma or very advanced cancer and it was for medicinal purpose. But now it is a sham. Someone can walk into a dispensary where there is a doctor on duty. The doctor asks what bothers you and then fills out a prescription card for you. I love when people can buy it after they say they suffer from anxiety! Guess what? Welcome to my life and almost everyone I knows lives. Just say you want to get high, that’s all. Or when the doctor asks you what you are suffering from, bang your hand on the fucking table and tell him your knuckles hurt.

The good thing about medical marijuana is the names they give to it. What creative marketing. (Actually it isn’t. Hell you could call this stuff bloody anal cyst and people would still buy it. “Hey man, pass the bong of retarded monkey feces. It is good shit!”)

Trainwreck, Purple Voodoo, Mango Og, Purple LA Confidential, White Widow, Purple Urkle, Old Skool, Snowcap. Cool fucking names and very seductive. Oh and they also have different varieties of food products now. You can get cookies, brownies, pizza, even tortillas with cannabis. Talk about killing two birds with one stone. You can get high and cure your munchies in one step. Damn, society has become lazy!

I know people who smoke this stuff everyday. And damn that is impressive. I tried some of this medical stuff and I did not feel any pain, except for my stomach from laughing so hard. Honestly, I don’t know how people can function on a daily basis when they spark up every morning. People work when they are stoned. I used to be a waiter and could never work that way, if I did it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. I would have been trying to take an order and then just start cracking up. And when I checked back to see how their food was, I would have been staring at their plate. “Hey, Dude. That looks good. You gonna eat that? Don’t bogart, man!”

Before I continue about marijuana I want to talk about something that recently showed up at a party I was at. (Interestingly at this get together a lot of people were passing around the medical marijuana. But I was a good boy and didn’t partake.) A friend of mine pulled out this tin. I looked like a very small shoe polish container or something that would hold Nivea face cream in it. He had purchased it at a gas station and it is totally legal. It was called Salvia.

If you aren’t familiar and I wasn’t either, Salvia is a psychoactive herb which can induce dissociate effects for a short time. So a friend of mine decides to try it. I was thinking, I might too, I mean it is legal after all. So I tell him that I will wait and see how it effects him before I smoke some.

I go out to get a beer from the patio and then I hear commotion from the kitchen. I run inside to see what is happening and the guy who tried this legal herb, Salvia is on the floor passed out and snoring like a baby who just had a good meal of breast milk. He is snoring away and everyone doesn’t know what to do. Is he in a coma? Should we call 911? It was a scary moment, but he finally woke up after five minutes and was fine. The person who wasn’t fine, was the guy who brought the Salvia to the party. The whole time this was going on he was thinking, “Holy shit, I’m going to jail for homicide by way of Salvia!”

To be continued...

Marijuana and Me - Part 3

The only other experience I had with California weed before I moved out west was with the same guy in college. He called himself The Cowboy, even though he grew up at the Jersey Shore. He wore a Stevie Ray Vaughn hat, western shirts, Wrangler jeans and boots. He told us that he had tripped acid over 65 times. Which he also informed us, makes you legally insane. Oh, and he was a big dude, so no one would ever fuck with him, especially after finding out LSD made him certifiably crazy! (One thing that blew was that he was one of the only guys in our dorm with a car but we were afraid to drive with him. He told us he would sometimes have flashbacks when driving and not be sure what color the traffic light was. Thanks, but no thanks. I will walk.)

Now I remember that night when I tried the California Sense for the second time. He walked by the open door of my room, popped his head in and asked if I wanted to get stoned. Why not, it was the weekend. So he gets his bong and packs it tight with that mind blowing product from California. We both take a few hits of it and then it hits me like a brick in the fucking head! I actually think I was nearly in a coma! Shit I was so fucking stoned, I broke out into a cold sweat and actually thought I was going to die. I saw the ghosts of semesters past and semesters present! And of course you start getting paranoid and weird thoughts go through you head. I kept thinking that it was either a dream or I was actually dead and stuck in Purgatory. And if I was dead, how embarrassed my parents would be when they found out their son died from smoking weed! Not the typical overdose. Not heroin, not cocaine, not too much alcohol, but weed! Who the fuck has ever died from that? (Oh, I don't know how someone can do heroin. I could never put a needle in my arm. Hell, I can even watch it on television when someone gets a needle put in their arm. Thank god I'm not diabetic and need insulin everyday.)

Needless to say, The Cowboy loved it. He laughed his ass of as I rolled up into a fetal position and drooled on my pillow. Every time we would be out somewhere he would have to tell the story of me being pale as a ghost and almost coming to the point of whimpering like a baby. Oh and whenever I would walk by his room and he was lighting up, he would say, “Hey Coop, wanna get stoned?” Then he would go into this crazy laugh that sounded like a mixture of a really high person and Satan.

I never smoked pot in college again after that, and thank god The Cowboy transferred the next semester, because that ended his constant, but well deserved ball busting of the whole situation.

To be continued...

Marijuana and Me - Part 2

The thing is, Jersey weed was cheap and not that strong. I remember in college when we would have a weekly smoke out night. What that was, was a bunch of us would go into a dorm room and put a towel under the door so no smoke could get out. Then we would load up bongs, bowls have some joints and just pass it around. See that, college is a team building and networking experience.

We had one guy in the dorm that would get real strong shit. Stuff we weren’t used to. He’d get Hash. Yup, Hash. We never had tried it and couldn’t believe how it was smoked. If you aren’t familiar, it is pretty much in a clay form. So you would put a little ball of it on a pin that was piercing through some cardboard and then put a glass over it. After it was lit, the glass would fill up and you would uncup it and inhale it. See that you do learn something new everyday if you try.

Now this guy would also bring something called Thai stick. I had no idea what it was back then, so I recently looked it up. Thai stick is buds of seedless marijuana which are skewered on stems and rumored to be dipped in opium. So we’d be passing that around, the hash in the glass around, some jersey shit weed around and having a grand old time! Then this guy pulls out something he called California Sensi. Good old California Sensimilla. (In the movie Caddyshack, that’s what Bill Murray is smoking with Chevy Chase. Murray says, “This is a hybrid. This is a cross, ah, of Bluegrass, Kentucky Bluegrass, Featherbed Bent, and Northern California Sensimilla. The amazing stuff about this is, that you can play 36 holes on it in the afternoon, take it home and just get stoned to the bejeezus-belt that night on this stuff.”) We had no fucking idea where he got it from, but it was amazing. This stuff was so strong it knocked all our socks off. I remember just lying on the floor and not being able to move. I lived in room 106 and had to stay the night in room 101 because I was fucking paralyzed.

To be continued...

Marijuana and Me - Part 1

Well, let us put it this way, I’m not a big marijuana smoker. It’s not that I have anything against it, it is just the fact I can’t handle it. Now I not saying I never have smoked it, because I have, but it is maybe a five times a year occurrence.

It was different when I was in college and high school. Oh, shit I just admitted I have smoked and inhaled it. Well, technically I never said I did inhale it, but if I didn’t I would be a fucking idiot. (I wouldn't get high and I would be wasting someone’s good doobage. Would be better off being pretensious and smoking a fucking clove cigarette! FYI, doobage is a word that I learned from the movie The Breakfast Club. Bender, played by Judd Nelson, said, “Ahab where’s my doobage!”)

Oh well, I guess I can’t run for President now. Cause I have tried the wacky tobacky. Plus I have so many skeletons in my closet, Dexter Morgan would tap me on my back and give me props and a hug. I mean, shit, you know how they have those mud slinging commercials around election time? They are usually about thirty seconds, but mine could be a fucking hour long documentary!

Anyway, back to marijuana. I think the reason I can’t handle the stuff is because I grew up in NJ and we would smoke the Jersey dirt weed. It was some leaves mixed with stems and seeds. (The funny thing is, when you would not clean your pot well, a seed would end up in your pipe and would pop just as you would inhale. It could scare the fucking shit out of you.) So I never really built up my tolerance for strong dope.

I will tell you one thing about cleaning weed back in the day. The best way to do it was by using the album Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” What was great about that was it opens like a double album, but only had one album in it. (So you wouldn’t have to worry about the second album falling out.) Basically, you would start off at the top of the opened album cover and drop your weed onto it. Then you would get a 3 x 5 card and scrape the weed so the seeds would all roll into the album crease. Fucking brilliant! Oh and you could hide your weed in the album and put it in the middle of all your other albums and your parents would never find it.

(FYI, it was also a good thing that Dark Side of the Moon was a great album to listen to when stoned. The one thing I never understood was when people said you could line it up in sync with The Wizard of Oz and they would perfectly match up. Well my question is, how would you know when it was actually in sync? Especially if you were stoned? I guess it is just one of those Urban Myths, like the one I heard growing up about a Philly Newscaster getting a gerbil stuck up his ass. What was amazing about that load of crap was that everyone you knew had a relative that worked at the hospital that he went to. And they all would name a different place where their relatives worked. So I’m guessing he went to ten fucking hospitals, because no doctor knew the correct approach to getting a rodent out of a bung hole! Oh, this is another reason I don’t smoke weed a lot, because I tend to over analyze stuff in my everyday life. So just think what I would be like stoned! Fuck, I could attempt to write a fortune cookie and it would end up as long as Crime and Punishment!)

To be continued...

The New Celebrity Fit Club - Conclusion

OK, here we go again! It is time to review the final four members of this stellar and award-winning cast! (Yes, I am mocking!)

Kaycee Stroh: Knock, knock. Who is there? Not a fucking clue who this person is. So once again, time to Wikipedia it.

I found out that she was in all the High School Musical movies. Now put it this way. I am over forty years old and have no children. If I knew who Kaycee was, that would be really fucking creepy! Creepier than that guy that sits down on the stool right next to you at the bar, when there is a bunch of other seats open. He could have sat anywhere, but no, he doesn't. The guy seems cool at first after small talk, but after a few pops he ends up being some misogynistic, racist jerk-off. So I am glad I had no idea who she was. (And why can't that creepy guy leave me alone?)

A funny thing about her is, she is a plus sized model and spokesperson for a certain clothing company called Torrid. So in my eyes if she is a representative for this company, why the fuck is she going on a show to lose weight? Basically she will lose a chunk of ass and a chunk of change!

Tanisha Thomas: Well I checked Wikipedia for her, because once again, not a fucking clue! How is this person a celebrity? She doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page about her. Now I did learn she was on a show called The Bad Girls Club. What kind of title is that? It reminds me of the movie Bad Boys. (Not the one with Will Smith and Martin Lawrence. The one from 1983, starring Sean Penn, Esai Morales and Ally Sheedy. It was about a boy’s prison, with one of the best scenes being Sean Penn beating the shit out of a guy with a pillow case full of soda cans.)

Well, here is what I know about The Bad Girls Club. (Well this is what I cut and pasted about it.) The show follows seven women with a number of mental, anger, personal and psychological problems - deemed "bad girls" - as they live together for four months.

That sounds like the feel good show of the year! But I still haven’t found out anything about Tanisha, except for the fact that she is fat and appears to be fucked in the head!

Jay M. Carrol: Honestly? Could not find a fucking thing about who this guy is. Googled him and some computer designer’s name came up. I believe he was on the show Project Runway. That’s great, a fat fashion designer. Well, at least the portly short sizes may be hipper now.

Sebastian Bach: When I heard he was going to be on this show, I was pretty astonished. I actually do dig his old band, Skid Row. They had some great songs back in the day and jammed hard.

He also starred in the stage production of Jekyll & Hyde and was on a classic VH1 show called Super Group. (Of course in that show he acted like a little bitch the whole time and didn’t want to change his image. He needed to keep on living in the 80's. I was actually hoping Ted Nugent who grab a cross boy and shut Sebastian up.)

That is why I am astonished he is on Celebrity Fit Club. Because that is a really big image change. How do you go from a long haired, tight jean wearing, sleeveless shirt stick figure, to someone that needs to lose a bunch of weight? It’s like going from Tommy Lee to David Crosby.

The sad thing is? I will end up watching this show and not even feel guilty for doing it!