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I'm Pretty Sure Jack Knows Where His Balls Are

Check out this photo of all-time bad-ass Jack Nicholson being asked to sign a photo of himself as the Joker after being told about Heath Ledger's death.

I bet he's used his palm as an ashtray before.

Jack knows where his balls are at all times. He never leaves them behind and he never needs help finding them. Mr. Nicholson, I applaud you. You inspire me and scare the shit out of me at the same time.

I Live In The Hood

I came out to go to work this morning, the temperature was about 3 below zero. I saw that one of my tires was about 80% flat. I drove to the gas station nearest my house, and looked up to the coin slot where I would normally deposit my 75 cents for air and the whole thing was gone. The wires that connected to it were dangling down, taunting me.

I next drove the 2nd nearest gas station, and quickly put my quarters in the slot and heard the air compressor start to hum. I grabbed the hose and saw the end of the hose was missing. Someone had cut off the end, so there was no way to insert the air into my airless tire.

At that point, I had to go to work, so I drove the rest of the way to work, parked my broke-ass car, and grumpily wandered into work, knowing that I'd have to deal with that damn tire at the end of the day.

Is that what I get for living in the inner-city? I mean, it's not New York or East LA, it's South Minne-frickin-apolis! And I couldn't even put air in my tire because vandals had been out fucking up all the local air stations. Whatever, I'll get some Fix-A-Flat and inflate that bitch, then go to Bobby & Steve's where the air always works, because if someone tried to do anything to their air station, Bobby would come out and hold him down, while Steve kicked his teeth down his throat.

Lube It Up - Winter In Minneapolis

Today we have a guest blogger, Pistola Whipped, who has been kind enough to share her story about trying to get to work this morning.

So, today, on the coldest day so far this year, I dropped my car off at the Metro Auto Clinic, a mere five blocks from work. The attendant said, 'Stay warm out there,' laughing and smiling like he said the funniest thing in the world. Oddly enough, I returned the obvious Minnesota weather joke, 'It's so cold out…it hurts'. He countered, still grinning like he had a tire jack sprung tightly in between his jaws, 'Ya know, they say if you think it's cold out it'll hurt worse, but if you think it's not cold out than IT STILL HURTS!' This sent him into such a state of hysterics I think the steel in his boots even bended a bit. I gave him a cursory chuckle wondering when he was going to offer a courtesy ride to work. Evidently they only reserve that sort of nicety when it's a pleasant 70 degrees and sunny because no such offer came my way today. We finished up our business and I wandered off into the cold, thinking that had to be one of the stupidest conversations to ever take place between two human beings IN THE UNIVERSE! Luckily, it annoyed me enough to make my blood boil and not freeze in mid-step on my lousy way to work. All the while, the wind blew at my back causing me to weave between the ice-topped snow banks lining the sidewalks. Each step caused me to do a half-turn, where I could view oncoming motorists, their hair blowing wildly from the forced heat flowing freely from the car vents. My face repeatedly froze into different vowel shapes as I cursed every swear word I've ever known. I wove my way to the intersection I cross to get to work. It’s a real humdinger at Hoover Street and East Hennepin. East Hennepin being the main thoroughfare to Highway 280, the stoplight stays green about 15 seconds for the Hoover Street crosswalk, naturally the crosswalk I needed to use. Fortunately, I approached the intersection as the East Hennepin light was working its way through yellow. I was about to charge through, when a Metro Transit Bus blew through the red light, sending up such a blast of dirty, cold air that I think I entered simultaneously into stage four lung cancer and advanced hypothermia. After the initial shock settled, I turned my fury onto the city of Minneapolis for training their bus drivers to push through yellow-red lights. Thus ensuring that 40 or so people make it to work in a timely manner instead of one lone pedestrian trying to figure out if a whopping traumatic brain injury or a congenital death wish was the reason I lived in this cursed state anyway.

Thanks to Pistola Whipped for contributing this story of winter in Minneapolis.

The Dangers of Drinking and Taking Photos

There seems to be a disturbing trend in high schools across the U.S. of teens posting drunk photos of each other on Facebook.com. Most people are concerned with the obvious problem of teens drinking. I imagine a lot of the parents are going with the, "You want to end up like Hasselhoff?" argument to get them to stop drinking, but I believe they should think about it a different way. They already know their kid is a hopeless teen drunk, so why not talk to them about why the hell they posted photos of themselves drinking online?

The parents need to sit their kids down and explain to them the process of covering up illegal and/or immoral activities, especially during the teen years. The kids that nobody thinks are drinking are probably the biggest lushes, but they are smart enough to not take photos of themselves partying it up. They know the ins and outs of playing it cool and these Facebook kids need to learn this skill and learn it quickly.

Here's a little bit of what I'm thinking about:

Parent: "Son, we know you've been drinking. We, your principle, and the world saw the photos online. We want your camera. Hand it over young man! We are really disappointed in your cavalier attitude about cameras. It's about time you understand how to be a man, no more photos for you."

Stupid Teen Photographer: "Awe, come on, you can't take my camera away. Every kid has a camera. The other kids will make fun of me."

Parent: "Sorry son, you had your chance. Your mother and I are very sad that it has come to this, but we just don't think you are responsible enough to handle a camera. Someday, you will be, but not right now."

Stupid Teen Photographer: "Fine, but I'm never going to forgive you for this..."

Parent: "It's for the best and someday you will see."

I realize teens want their friends and others to see how "cool" they are, but at what expense? If they feel the need to do some serious drinking, for god sakes, don't post photos of it online for the world, and their principle, to see. Parents, please explain this to your kids. I'm sick of reading about them being suspended for posting drunk photos online. And Facebook.com does not need anymore publicity.

Read about the latest Stupid Teen Photographers from Minnesota at StarTribune.com

What Does The Creepy Clown Say?

What was Creepy Clown saying right before donning the creepy clown smile? My guess is, "There is a good chance I will rape you later."

Model of Maturity Episode 1

Did I write "I Love Caulk" on my friend's car? Yes.
Am I proud of myself? Yes.

Strange Places to Have Sex II (Not In The Butt)

And finally, the responses from my friends when they were asked, "Where is the strangest place you have had sex?" (The names are fake, but responses are 100% real)

Jimmy: "On the rectory lawn of my local parish (not with the priest)"

Suzanne: "I was 17 and my boyfriend had an exchange student living with his family, and his family was pretty strict at the time. He could only sneak away for a short time, so we walked down to the park at like 10 at night and did it on one of those wooden play sets. I'm sure tons of people saw. He was home by 10:30."

Sandy: "Honestly, probably on the couch."

Michael: "The stairway in a hotel. And the roof of a parking garage."

Heather: "On the front lawn at a friends house."

Aaron: "In the kitchen, on the counter."

Kristina: "At my in-laws, on my mother-in-law's sewing table."

MidnightToker: "Multiple times at work in the conference center. And in the parking lot at work."


So in conclusion, what did we learn from this informal poll? Not too much. Maybe we've learned that it's OK if you haven't had sex on the top of a water tower or in a jail cell. It's OK if you haven't crashed your car whilst receiving a handy. It's OK if you haven't brought a bottle of cheap wine, a video camera, and a girl to the roof of your apartment building to "see the stars." But is it OK to ask your friends about the weirdest place they've had sex just so you can write a blog entry about it?...

Strange Places to Have Sex

I was thinking of the weird places I have and want to have sex, and so I asked all my friends for their experiences. Not surprisingly, some of my friends are a little too shy to tell me that sort of info. I will post the responses of those who did share in a follow-up post, but first I want to share with you a talk I had with my friend Doug about the subject. Doug is a cool dude who loves the ladies...here is the conversation I had with him:

MidnightToker: Doug, let's just jump into it: Where is the strangest place you've ever had sex?

Doug: In the butt...sorry, I had to say it. I mean, I have had it in the butt...it's an oldie but a goody. OK, for real, let me see, there was this one chick who I met at the Renaissance Fair a few years back. She was one of the performers. She was wearing the traditional dress from the day and her cleavage could've suffocated a man. We made eyes and eventually ended up in the stable where they kept the jousting horses. We did it right there in the hay, and she kept yelling, "Fuck me Shakespeare, fuck me Shakespeare!" She was really into that Renaissance shit.

MidnightToker: Wow, that's amazing. Was there any trepidation getting naked in front of horses that are hung like, well, like they should be?

Doug: No, no, I'll tell you something, I'm not doing too shabby in that department myself. For a human.

MidnightToker: Any other strange places that you've had coitus?

Doug: Coitus? I believe you could beat up for talking like that? But if coitus means sex, then yeah, let me think...there was this other girl, when I was like 20, we met at an AA meeting. I wasn't really trying to get help, I was there for all the damaged girls.

MidnightToker: Whoa Doug, that is fucked up...

Doug: Get over it, Gandhi. To finish my story, this girl and I hit off at the meeting and ended up making plans to go to a party a mutual friend was throwing. During the party we adjourned to the bathroom and went at at, but that's not the weird part. Someone opened the door right in the middle of it and because of the way the bathroom was situated, we were exposed to about 90% of the guests.

MidnightToker: Wow, that must've been embarrassing. Did you stop and leave?

Doug: Hell no. I shut the door, finished up, then left.

MidnightToker: Doug, thanks for sharing your experiences. I believe we are all better off.

Look for a follow-up post with responses from my friends.

The Beauty of Sports

I'm not saying anything about women's basketball, but...

Hand Crafted Log Pool Table

Doesn't a hand crafted log pool table sound beautiful?

Not so fast...
If you'd like to get your hands on one of these atrocities, get $10,000 ready and go here.

What's The Worst That Could Happen?

A few years ago a friend of mine got into a fender bender because he was ogling a female pedestrian. At the time I thought it was pretty funny that he would rear end someone while checking out a chick, but recently in Australia, a man was waving to 2 women and his arm was almost severed by a passing car, and that is not funny. They will probably have to amputate his arm. (See story here) Good thing he didn't use his penis to wave to the girls. That actually brings up a good question; with the advances of cosmetic surgery and such, would you rather lose an arm or your penis? On the surface, it seems like an easy answer, but what if they could build you a new penis? How about a robot penis?

Guys, keep your limbs inside the car when hot girls walk by, and just rape them with your eyes.

Valentine's Day Card Idea

Valentine's Day is coming up quickly and I just wanted to show you all what a sweet-ass mother fucker I am. Here is the card I made for my estranged wife last year for Valentine's Day, one month before the destructive succubus flew off. Each part of the collage corresponded to a specific event in our young marriage. Awe, so sweet. You bet your ass it was sweet.

So if you're looking for the right gift for your lady pal this Valentine's Day, go ahead and buy it, and then make her a card to go along with it, she'll love you for it...or she'll leave your ass, you can't ever tell.

Maybe The Devil Knows Where My Balls Are

I'm pretty sure my estranged wife's deranged cat knows where my balls are. She walks around with a smirk on her face all day and her eyes rolling back into her skull. I can just tell she knows and she knows that I know and so the dance goes on.

Monster loves walks on the beach, but she hates everything else in the entire world, especially people, so I'm not too optimistic that she will divulge the location of my balls.

When I took this photo, I was on my porch, and despite having a screen between me and the unholy Beastmaster, I kept both eyes on her at all times, knowing full well that the screen was no match for her baby-killing claws. I then asked her for the location of my balls...the next thing I remember, I was waking up on the porch with "666" carved into my chest.

Are My Balls In Laura Ingalls' Cabin?

I was perusing some photos on my computer at work from a drive I took down to Lake Pepin. Upon seeing the photo of Laura Ingalls' replica "Cabin In The Big Woods", my coworker asked if it was my cabin. I told him what it really was and he said to me, "You're kind of a poof, aren't you?"

It got me thinking about that trip down to Lake Pepin and how I happened upon the sign that advertised Laura Ingalls' replica cabin. I could've continued on to downtown Pepin and enjoyed a few whiskeys at the local bar, but instead I followed the signs to the cabin and snapped some photos. It turns out my balls were not in the cabin. I should have gone to the bar.

Charlie Watts

I bet he knows where his balls are.

The Power of Photoshop...

This is my ex-wife's cat wearing a superimposed mask...Amazing...

Sexier Album Cover...

Here is what I am wondering today: I don't care whether you're male or female...gay or straight...Which one of these album covers is sexier?

For me, it's Tino. The Orleans cover has one major problem; the guy on the right. You look at the other two exposed chests, and they are hairy as all get out, but the dude on the right is bare. Look at his hair and beard and tell me that he doesn't have a naturally hairy chest...That dude shaves his chest and that just isn't cool. Chances are Tino shaves his chest too, but we can't tell. Maybe he doesn't even have chest hair. Who knows.

The title of Tino's album is Por Primera Vez, which, in English, means For The First Time. And this has been a first for me, comparing two sexy albums featuring all guys...Por primera vez indeed.

Tomfoolery

A while back I was kissing this girl and she started to giggle. I pulled away and asked, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing, your whiskers were tickling me," she said.

"Good. I was afraid you were laughing at my technique or my breath. You see, I once had a bad experience where I got laughed at during a kiss."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it," she said.

"Oh, it's OK. I still don't know why my uncle laughed at me. He was the worst kisser ever."

Happy New Year!

I just wanted to say happy new year to the few who read this blog. It's been a while since I've posted anything with any real content and I just wanted to take this opportunity to do just that.

This new year has a lot of potential. A couple of things I'm looking forward to this year include:
I'm no longer paying for my wife's health insurance.
My father turns 70 years old and we are going to have a big party for him.
My new nephew is going to be baptized later this month.

I hope everybody else has a bunch of shit to look forward to this year and I hope all of your resolutions guide you to prosperity and happiness.

A Peek Into My Day Job

This is on top of the file cabinet in my cubical:

I guess I am a dork.