20% of the adult population has genital herpes. I blame James Bond.

I have herpes. Want some?

I recently heard that 1 in 5 adults has genital herpes. This is a staggering statistic and the blame for this epidemic lies solely with our favorite Mi6 spy, James.

While bedding down with all those smokin’ hot thoroughbreds did you ever see good ol’ James reach for the latex or even the *lambskin. No, no you didn’t. Sure, James was gallivanting and carousing in the carefree 60’s, but Jesus Christ man, the 70’s and 80’s started to get a little sketch. With all the gadgetry and technological wonderment, you think that Q would have at least tossed in a Trojan or two. Maybe he tried. Maybe Q gave James a case of condoms before each mission with the hope that James could kick his bareback addiction. In any case, it’s fair to assume that any condoms that were given to James were not put to good use. So how did James Bond’s penis sores get spread to the rest of us? Let ‘s find out.

From the picture above, it’s clear and easy to see why James Bond gets laid. He’s got a great smile, a charming personality, and disarmingly good looks. Combine this with the fact that he’s always doing something sneaky, doesn’t use condoms, and likes to roll in the hay 2-3 times per major motion picture. At the beginning of the movie he’s always snogging some chick right before he gets a call from London telling him to report for duty. Then there’s the mid-movie quick and dirty with the sexy spy who’s working for the bad guys. After the final action scene, James usually completes the trifecta with a long slow screw in some exotic location with a bottle of Berringer and an “Ooooh, James.” You might be thinking that this guy rocks. Well, you’re right!…. but he also itches.

James has been laying pipe all over the world since the 60’s, and he’s no slouch. I would say that on average, he’s hitting the skins with 10’s. These women (who are 10’s) do not have a hard time in the lonely bed department (this of course assumes that all gorgeous women are nymphomaniacs). That being said, these gorgeous women most likely have their pick of the litter and take advantage of it. So at this point, all of the chicks that James Bond has slept with have now transmitted genital herpes to all of the good looking guys in the world. All of them.

One of the things that gorgeous women like to do is drink martinis. Sometimes, they drink too many and wind up sleeping with someone that might be a tier or two below them in the attractiveness hierarchy. When this happens, all hell breaks loose. Now, we’ve got an epidemic on our hands. Herpes used to be considered an affliction of the ridiculously good looking crowd and stayed contained because generally speaking, only good looking people are supposed to sleep with other good looking people. It’s sort of an unspoken law unless an average or even goofy looking dude is making serious ducketts (ex. Bill Gates, Tiger Woods, etc…) or has a great personality.

Now that the herpes has been unleashed upon the common folk, it spreads like wildfire. The average guy that took home the Cover Girl is now saturated with the kind of self-confidence that allows him to completely slay the hoes that are in his normal wheelhouse. These girls in turn get drunk and have unprotected sex with even uglier members of the opposite sex. And so on and so on…  That’s how you end up with a 20% infection rate.  That and the fact that there have been 6 James Bonds contributing their efforts to the cause.  Those who haven’t yet been infected are either extremely lucky or more likely really really ugly.

The Moderatilist’s advice on this subject is to skip the sex with every 5th person that you take out who you think might be “The One.”  Because they will be “The One.”  “The One” that gets you to ask your primary care physician whether or not Valtrex is right for you.

Footnote: * lambskin – the only thing its effective at doing is grossing chicks out.

Dude, Where’s my blog?

I’m uneasy about the title of this blog.  It’s totally appropriate given the date of my last published work, but for some reason it rubs me the wrong way.  I bet it’s got something to do with the fact that it reminds me of Ashton Kutcher who is a complete 6 sided douchebox (WJ).  After reading this, you will probably file ME into the same packaging category.  Sorry folks, this one’s gonna be lame.  That being said, rude comments will be addressed with vigor and impudence.  I actually wish that only WB and Fireball were privy to the following words, but that’s not how blogs work.  That’s how emails work and that’s not the point.

Moving along, there really are two specific reasons that have me sitting shirtless in front of my computer on a  hot Wednesday night.  Before jumping to conclusions, it should be noted that my pants are still on.  All joking aside, the first reason that I decided to get back on the blogging horse is that through reading one of my favorite blogs, I recently discovered that I was named Whitney Barnebey’s closest/bestest friend by WB himself.  You really can’t beat that.  You can’t.  I just feel bad for anyone who thought they might be in the running.  Hopes and dreams….  CRUSHED.

My first reaction to this news was pure joy.  My second was shark attack fear.  Over the last several months not only have I not been writing a blog, but I also have not been reading blogs.  My fear escalated as I nervously clicked through the links of my more frequently visited blogs of yore to see what else I had been missing.  Ok, ok, so I missed some fashion statements, a few drunken pictures, and some of the general day to day.  I was completely fine with that and then, reality sunk in.  I got that sickly sinking feeling in my stomach and then a grimace that was larger than my normal grimace crept across my face.  Whether this was a well thought out strategic maneuver or not remains to be seen.  What I did not find on a blog called Jobonga really pissed me off.  Joanna who doubles as a clever female fox, pulled on my pride strings by taking me off of her “Hey, check out these neat blogs” list.  I’m not sure even sure when this punishment was laid down, but I am not happy.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still glowing from the WBBF announcement, but a slice of me is sad.  Joanna, it’s been a long time… do you have room for one more blog on that coveted list of yours?  For old times sake?

Rest assured that my next blog will not be a gay outpouring of my feelings as they relate to blogging, the lameness of actually needing to be on someone’s blogroll, or my seemingly endless joy of being claimed WB’s flavor of the month.

The Moderatlist says “Sleep somewhere between 6 and 8 hours a night.”

Dear Secret Santa Darcy,

Thank you for the gift of Wooden Pineapple Cribbage Board. The wood is nice. It is smooth and it is stained. The holes are of adequate size and are more or less properly aligned. From time to time, I have been known to say that, “Cribbage really is the best 2 player card game.” You must have known this when taking your eBay bidding into account. This shows that you know me, and you love me. I really enjoy this gift. Certainly, I enjoy it more than the star shaped jar filled with peanut M&M’s that my mom gave me.

Besides the fact that this gift is both aesthetically and emotionally pleasing, I also like it for the simple reason that it looks like it could have been picked up at a prison gift shop in Hawaii. I bet Dog the Bounty Hunter has one of these puppies on his coffee table at home. I’m guessing that when he gets done with a long day of shaking down Hawaiian scumbags he sits down on his white leather couch next to his extremely buoyant wife, takes off his Oakley MP3 sunglasses and relaxes with a few games of Pineapple infused cribbage. Just a thought…

“Yeah, I’m actually doing quite well. I just received my acceptance letter to…

… the NASA astronaut training program in Cape Canaveral. I’m psyched!!! They only accept .001% of the applicants. What have you been up to? I heard you married Tammy, had a baby, and now have a mortgage.”

The holiday season is here, and I’m excited!!! Over the course of the next week, many of us will be flying or driving (or hopefully NOT walking up the basement stairs) to spend time with family, loved ones, and yes, good old hometown friends that we haven’t seen in a long time. You’ll eat some tasty grub with the family, try to ignore the fact that your mother is totally out of touch with reality, and then you’ll head out to the local bar to regain your sanity. Still with me?

As Maverick said in Top Gun (<—Great Movie) “This is a target rich environment.” You got that right Mav. Instead of boning the physicist who later turns out to be your boss, you become the physicist. You become the professional poker player rounding it out in Reno. You become the top lawn mower salesman in Nebraska. You become whoever the fuck you want. I just got goosebumps. The point is… it’s time to bust out the hobby lie that you’ve been working on all year long. If you get busted, shake it off. Do you really care what these people think of you or if you see them again? No. This is a hobby liar’s paradise, NOTHING TO LOSE AND EVERYTHING TO GAIN.

Instead of watching “A Christmas Story” for the upteenth time this year, I want you to get off your butt, get out the door, and lie your ass off to every vaguely familiar face that you come across. Tip: If your looking for a lie to spread like wildfire, tell it to an old high school teacher. Also, don’t forget that a well placed hobby lie will put that smug fuck who’s actually doing what he wants for a living back in his place.

To make this blog slightly more interactive, I’d like everyone who reads this blog to report back after the holidays about the hobby lie that they told and how it went. Keep in mind, you can lie about hobby lying over the break. Just make it interesting. The best hobby lie (my choice) will receive an award.

Happy Hobby Lying!!!

Masturbation > Shaving > Putting on Deodorant > Buttoning Pants > Using a Can Opener

The Boolean title of this blog is representative of the relative ease of accomplishing the listed activities during the period of time following shoulder surgery on your dominant side. If you’ve ever had shoulder surgery you’ll be able to relate to the following. If not, give some of these activities a go, and let me know how it turns out…

You might be surprised to see that I found masturbation with my non-dominant hand to have a low level of difficulty. I’m not sure if this is because it is actually the easiest or if it’s because it’s the one task that I practiced the most. Actually, I attribute my effortless transition in this arena to the fact that I got into a disagreement with my dominant hand in the summer of ’05 and we agreed that we shouldn’t be more than just friends.

Shaving was extremely difficult at first. The act of putting a triple bladed razor to tender skin with a shaky left was horrifying at first, but after a few tries, I was only donating small quantities of O-Positive to my bathroom sink. However, trimming my sideburns still makes me extremely anxious.

Putting on deodorant sucks! For a few days after shoulder surgery, you can’t move your arm without causing your nerves to fire little missiles at your soul. To make matters worse, your pit is getting ZERO airflow. Yes, that’s right, a perfect storm is brewing! Let’s just say that once I was finally able to get a little separation between my arm and my body that the odor was staggering. If I had to put my finger on it (or in it), I’d say that the smell most closely associated to the micro-climate inside my armpit was a combination of taco seasoning and vagina. I’m sorry, that was gross. Once she opened up for business, I was able to clear things up with a mild cleanser that left me thinking of a late August sunset. As the range of motion increased, applying Old Spice to my injured armpit wasn’t that bad. I basically walked up to the door frame topless, with my arm lying at my side. I then used my hand as a claw to grip the molding and then slowly backed up to get the separation needed. With my left hand, I swiped the deodorant. The next part was a bit tricky. Using your left hand to put deodorant in your left armpit requires slightly less than a magic trick, but would probably be fun to watch. Try it and you’ll see what I mean.

Buttoning a pair of well-fitted pants with one hand is not easy. And for those of you who find this task unchallenging … Go fuck yourselves!!! This happens once per day when getting dressed, but can pop up more frequently if bathroom breaks are required. Over the past month, I’ve gotten pretty good at holding it. Sometimes, you luck out and the stars that align the frictional forces are all working towards a common goal. Unfortunately, sometimes this common goal is to completely screw with the patience and emotional stability of the recent surgery patient. I found that with a little effort, a little forehead sweat, and the use of my right elbow, I was able to get the job done in about 30 seconds.

Using a can opener was only tried once. I hadn’t gone to the store and my supplies were running low. Instead of heading out for some chicken nugs and a coke, I figured that the can of tuna sitting in the cupboard was low hanging fruit and that I’d be snacking on a fishy delight in no time. WRONG! After pulling the tuna can off the shelf, I set it down, looked at it, and then said “FUCK!” I almost put the can back on the shelf, but something inside me said to go for it. Over the next half of an hour (hyperbole), I wrestled that bastard into submission. The can was dropped to the floor at least 3 times with the lid partially opened. Tuna juice was getting everywhere! Whatever… I opened it, and I ate it. Afterwards, I was still hungry, so I went out and got some chicken nugs and a coke.

Obviously, there are other activities that are difficult to do solely with your non-dominant hand. If I were to extrapolate, putting on socks, cutting your toenails, using chopsticks, getting the keys into and out of the ignition in your car (if right handed), driving and talking on your cell phone at the same time, tying your shoes, and tying a tie would all be on the list.

The moral take away from this stupid blog is that being a disabled, injured, or otherwise afflicted person is tough. Give people in this situation your patience, respect, and lend a helping hand whenever you can. Oh, and don’t forget to ask them what happened. This can be a great icebreaker and a wonderful opportunity to hear some good hobby lying.

Lying 101 – Hobby Lying

The following is a rudimentary internet course in lying called Hobby Lying. Don’t worry, the credits obtained from this course will indeed transfer to anything you’ve got going over there at the University of Phoenix (Online). I ask that the class settle down, get comfortable, and start paying attention.

If you feel as though you already know how to lie, you don’t. If you think you can lie to me without me knowing, you can’t. If you think that this course will make you a more dashing, daring, and wildly unpredictable human being, it will. I suggest that you pay attention because what you learn here today has an 85% chance of affecting how you relate to those around you. Keep in mind that everything I just said, may be a lie. Let’s get started…

According to one online source, lying is a noun, and it is defined as “the deliberate act of deviating from the truth.” That definition makes lying sound like a horrible activity that one should never participate in. Don’t buy into the hype!!! This is exactly what so called “honest, trustworthy, and genuine” people want you to believe. They don’t understand lying and, consequently, are afraid of it. This is exactly why the craft of lying should be embraced. It allows us to wield power over our fellow man.

When it comes to lying, the main concept isn’t extremely hard to grasp. Simply stop telling the truth. Now, I’m not asking you to go out there and become a full fledged liar. Nobody likes those types. I’m asking that you exercise your right to not always be forthcoming with truthful information. As you begin to wrap your mind around the fact that you don’t always have to tell the truth, let’s discuss the different aspects that make the art of lying so exciting and complex.

The Audience: Picking the right audience to lie to will at first seem like a daunting task. Who should I lie to? Do I lie to my friends? Do I lie to my family? Do I lie random people? From my vast array of lying experience, I believe that it is far easier to lie to someone that you’ve just met or to an acquaintance that you haven’t seen in quite some time. This is where the fledgling liar should begin his/her career. The risk/consequences of being caught are minimal. Once the fledgling liar feels comfortable with spinning little webs of deceit, it is time to start exploring the joys of lying to the more important people in his/her life (friends, significant others, parents, bosses, district attorneys, gynecologists, etc…).

The Lie: If you’re asking yourself “What should I lie about?”, you aren’t a very creative person and will probably make a bad liar. However, don’t get discouraged. The answer to this question is that you can lie about anything and everything. In general, try to lie about things that cannot be disproved. When I first started, I simply told stories about my life with a little twist. Let’s face it, an exaggerated truth is a lie. It’s an easy pick up that can be used to impress people and trick them into thinking you’re more interesting than you actually are. In the end, this is basically what lying is all about, spinning the truth to make yourself look better or at least feel better.

The Delivery: When delivering a lie, it is important to work it in to normal conversation. The greatest liars can be participating truthfully in a conversation when all of a sudden a lie comes to them and they are able to splash it in without raising suspicion. Lies like this sound natural and are believable. These are the types of lies build the foundation on which a tower of falsehood can be erected.

The Challenge: A skilled liar can accurately be likened to a skilled chess player, always thinking a few moves, or lies, in advance. If you are going to tell a lie, you’d better be ready to defend it or at least have a back up lie which can settle the disbelief. Try and remember that no one likes a liar, except for other liars.

Practice Makes Perfect: Try to remember that liars are made and not born. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. The more you practice, the better you’ll get. I might suggest that you begin your lying with one on one interactions. Lying to a group can be stressful and somewhat detrimental to a young liar’s career.

And that concludes your introductory course on Hobby Lying. For more information, please feel free to ask questions in my comment section.

Pooping with Sunglasses On

If you’ve never tried it, you should. I just did, and it felt great. I feel as though I’ve just discovered something that can make pooping an even more enjoyable experience than it already is.

Although we take pleasure in putting ass to seat, it can sometimes be an activity that generates some self consciousness (bad odors, sloppy sounds, splattering (WB)). You all know what I’m talking about. There have been many instances when I’ve been in the process of taking a crap within earshot of another person and felt as though I was doing something illegal. I felt GUILTY for pooping!!! What was the source of this guilt you ask? It was the fact that I might have to come face to face with the person who had just listened to my winking anus. For me, I honestly don’t know what’s worse… walking into a bathroom, making eye contact with a guy at a urinal, going into a stall, and waiting for the kerplunk of the first turd to hit the water or ripping a huge fart while sitting in an empty bathroom just as someone walks in. Yeah, it freaks me out!!!!

The solution….. SUNGLASSES. You can blow your ass out in the stall and not have to worry about it as long as you’ve got your trusty shades on. Think about it… if you’ve got your Shitter Shades (patent pending), you can walk out of that stall with your head held high. You can achieve minimal eye contact while maintaining a snooty bathroom arrogance. The other people in the bathroom will forget all about the fact that you just ravaged the toilet. Instead of wondering what you ate for lunch, they’ll be wondering things like where you’re going, what you read, and what kind of jeans you’re wearing.

If you’re a full fledged I don’t give a fuck shitter, good for you. If you’re not, I highly recommend the Shitter Shade Pooping with Sunglasses On method. It WILL change your life.

Glam, Glam, Glamorous!!!

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S: Fergie really knows how to break it down to the fundamentals doesn’t she? She’s most certainly getting back to her humble roots and the days when “she had a Mustang” with her latest and greatest trip to the spelling bee. I don’t buy it, and I never will… (I download it for free, but that’s beside the point.)

I’ll admit that her songs are catchy, but what else is she bringing to the table? I’ll tell you what she’s bringing… she’s bringing a whole lot of nonsense. Every time I hear one of her songs I find myself hung up on trying to figure out what the hell she just said. For instance, when she put the “boys on rock rock” in Fergilicious, I had no idea what she was talking about. I assumed that she must be so smokin’ hot and addictive that she likened herself to crack and that crack is sold in rocks, so putting the “boys on rock rock” must mean that they are addicted to her lady humps or something and that they are in need of a fix. Maybe? I dunno and frankly, I don’t care because I’m not being put on “rock rock” by a slightly more attractive female version of Carrot Top with blonde hair. Think about it. In her latest installment, Glamorous, she goes on and on about “flossy flossy.” This one took a little more interpretive effort. With the help of my favorite cunning linguist, we deciphered the code and settled on something quite simple. It probably means something along the lines of flaunting your riches. F and L lend themselves to FLAUNT and OSSY lends itself to GLOSSY which makes me think of lip gloss or something shiny like diamonds. Combining the two, you get FLOSSY.

In the end, I like this nonsense. It’s like solving the Jumble in the daily newspaper or piecing together a crime scene. It’s a challenge, and it’s fun. If she keeps this up, Levar Burton better start worrying about his job security over there at Reading Rainbow.

Super Maximum Cuteness Overload!!!

The creatures you are about to see are totally cute.  Prepare yourself to feel good on the inside.  Disclaimer: The order in which they have been presented in no way favors one type of cuteness over another.

Cute Knut!!! (Cutest)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZLKb_5S21E

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ys7iaMJLDsU

Otters Holding Hands!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epUk3T2Kfno

(watch until the very end for maximum cuteness exposure)

Baby Tiger Cub!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wwA4tywdaw

Which furball was your favorite?

Oh, it looks like I’m in 16-E, and I’ll be damned if I’m not using both armrests… Bitch!

After I consulted my boarding pass in the gate area of SJC, I had the feeling that something ill-fated was about to happen. Upon arrival at my designated seat assignment, my worst nightmare was confirmed. Yep, I was sandwiched between a fat guy and his pre-teen. Billy, we’ll call him, had the window while his well fed father rode the aisle, his seat, and a little bit of mine. Slightly annoyed, but still coming down from the high of realizing that I was about to move to California, I decided to make the best of a bad situation….

Being stuck in the middle is no cup of tea. Anyone can attest to this, especially if you are of the taller variety and require the use of legs/knees akimbo to sit with low dosages of comfort. At any rate, the real question is… Who gets the middle armrests? Is it first come, first serve? Fuck that. Does seniority rule? Oh, you forgot your Union card, how sad? Should the larger individual get them? I think not. The point I’m trying to make is that the man or woman in the middle of a 3-seat configuration gets dibs. The window seat has its scenic advantages and the aisle has lavatory privileges as well as quick access to the EXIT row in case of an emergency. On the contrary, the middle seat has zip, zilch, nada. That is unless it is universally understood that the armrests are his. I guess the only other advantage of being in the middle is that you have your choice of who to lean on when taking a nap. However, this advantage is negated as the window or aisle seat occupants may both choose to lean on you simultaneously.

Another thing I’ve noticed recently is that old people and grossly overweight people appear to be ordering an inordinate amount of free beverages from the flight attendants. The old people probably feel cheated by not being given FREE snacks along with their fizzy sodas, coffees, and V8. And the overweight people feel that their caloric intake is being cheated. I feel cheated by that too, but I don’t make up for it by ordering a decaf coffee with sugar, an orange juice, a cup of water, and a diet pepsi, uh… can I just get the can?… Ridiculous! All this drinking just creates problems for Aisle and Middle Management because more often than not Granny with the pea sized bladder is rolling deep by the window and has a hard time holding it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to fly. The thing that keeps me going is the hope that one day I will get the chance to sit next to a smokin’ hottie who isn’t sitting across the aisle from her boyfriend. Hasn’t happened in the 12 years since I started caring about that sort of thing, but any day now, I can just feel it.

So if you find yourself in the middle seat of a 3-seat configuration, feel free to prop those bony joints up and out and take advantage of a bad situation. If you find yourself on either side of the middle seat, have some love and respect for your fellow flight brother. You never know when you’ll be STUCK IN THE MIDDLE. And remember… What goes around comes around… – J.T.