Ballroom Blix
I guess the original group who sang Ballroom Blitz was Sweet-any, or Sweet, or something forgettable like that. What was unforgettable was watching Tia Carrere in Wayne's World shrieking away the lyrics of the song while wearing red lingerie. Anyway, while winging my way to Hawaii last week, I was toggling between Time Magazine, which featured a picture of UN Weapons inspector Hans Blix, and a Playboy featuring nude pictures of Tia Carrere. Well, one thing led to another, and my brain gave birth to this little bit of satire. Enjoy.
Are you ready, "W"? Aha.
Rumsfeld? Yeah! Franks? OK.
Alright, fellas, let's go!
Oh it's been getting so hard
Livin' with the things Saddam does to me, aha
Oh the reports are getting so strange
I'd like to know everything Saddam sees
Saddam lives in Iraq
And we'd love to attack, and kill every one of his sons
But there's a UN girl in the corner, and we'd like to ignore her
'Cause she always wants to spoil our fun
Oh, yeah, it was like lightning, terrorism is frightening
But the UN needs soothing. Why can't they all just start boozing?
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
So we'll send a man to Iraq
Before we attack, a Swedish man named Hans Blix
And the UN girl in the corner said
Saddam we wanna warn ya, we're sending over Hans Blix
Ha-ans Blix, Ha-ans Blix, Ha-ans Blix, Ha-ans Blix
He's looking around for weapons
Searching around is all he's allowed to do
Looking over Saddam's shoulder
Just hunting for a single nuke or two, aha
Now Saddam in Iraq
Doesn't seem ready to crack as he shoots a rifle randomly in the sky
And the UN girl in the corner, well no one needs to warn her
That the U.S. could kill Saddam in the blink of an eye
Oh yeah, it was electric, so frightfully hectic
And cruise missiles started leaving, and Saddam ceased his breathing
Oh yeah, it was like lightning, and the air raids were frightening
And the Iraqis were losing, and they all started boozing
Blix, Blix, Ha-ans Blix, Blix, Blix, Ha-ans Blix
Blix, Blix, Ha-ans Blix, Blix, Blix, Ha-ans Blix
The Meaning of Ryan
Thanks to the Two Kims and Erik for pointing me here. Go ahead. I dare you to find out what your name means. Here's my synopsis, with paranthetical asides provided by me.
Ryan:
Your first name of Ryan has given you a very practical, hard-working (*cough, cough* BULLSHIT! *cough, cough*), systematic nature. Your interests are focused on technical (I'm a technical writer, so that's kinda freaky), mechanical, and scientific things, to the exclusion of interests of an artistic, musical, or social nature. You have a rather skeptical outlook on life (Me?) and rather materialistic standards (gimme, gimme, gimme!). In reaching your goals, you are very independent (yes, but only because everybody else does things so wrong) and resourceful, patient and determined. You can be so very positive and definite in your own ideas and opinions that others sense a lack of tact and friendliness in your manner of expression (Me?). You are inclined to be rather demanding and self-centred in your personal wants, and your own desires can be so overriding that you fail to recognize or appreciate the feelings, opinions, or desires of others (Others? Who needs others when I have me?). As a consequence, difficulties in relations within the family or with close associates can arise. Weaknesses in the health centre in the head, and in the stomach and intestinal organs (But not the penis, thank Heavens).
And the Winner For All Time Best Web Searches That Ended Here Is. . . The Envelop Please. . .
There have been some doozy Web searches conducted by wayward surfers who ended up on this obscure blog. I don't judge. Sure, I make fun of some of them, but I don't judge. If three-quarters of all my visitors happened to come here searching for "Exposed+Thongs," who am I to sit on high an question their fetish?
But today I laughed, and I mean laughed so hard I think my left testicle broke open. Normally, a broken left testicle would cause a man great pain, but I couldn't even wince slightly through the laughter.
Some kindred soul, utilizing a Netscape.com search engine (a.k.a. Google), landed at my site after doing a search on "masturbating+lessons+needed+pictures+please."
Now, I'm a man with a creative imagination, so I'm left envisioning a 12-year old boy, new to the sensations overtaking his tiny body. Now, he's heard about masturbation, but he's unsure how to go about but, bookworm that he is, practically raised on the Internet, he consults the Web to learn best how to pleasure himself. What's more, he needed pictures to help him through the process, step-by-step illustrations preferably.
And, to top it all off, he's such a polite individual, he included "please" with his search. Such a good boy.
Well, I feel bad that my site probably didn't help guide this poor person learn how to masturbate correctly, and I want to make sure all other such searches are guided to masturbatory release. So. . .
Take your hand, either right or left, and wrap it snugly, but not too tight, around your penis shaft. Now, repeatedly, but not too vigorously (unless you like it like that), move your wrapped hand up and down the shaft. You should feel a pleasant sensation. Don't be alarmed, since this is normal and should increase in intensity. Combine the movement with either photographic stimulation (this professional suggests Chic or Hustler or Penthouse) or simply close your eyes and imagine someone naked (female or male, according to preference), trying, of course, to steer away from family members (you sicko). Eventually, you should feel a certain explosive immediacy, as if you suddenly have to pee really, really bad, but it feels so good you don't want it to end. Ever. This is called an impending orgasm, otherwise known as "the point of no return." Now, depending on your level of puberty development, you may experience a discharge of a fluid. Again, don't be alarmed. This is normal. Simply be sure to have a Kleenex or a dust rag handy for catching and clean-up afterwards. Socks also work well, depending on how often you do laundry.
So, there you have it. Male masturbation made easy. Keep in mind, my own expertise in this matter in no way indicates an unhealthy propensity toward self-pleasure. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must shower. No, really, I mean it. I'm going to go shower. Fine. Don't believe me, but I'm really going to go shower. jerks.
This was supposed to appear two nights ago, but the Mac I was working on wasn't apparently Blogger friendly, so the post had to wait. I'm home now. And tired. Need a nap.
They're All Going to Honk At You!
Last day in paradise, and I'm back in an Internet cafe because I'm a loser. However, I'm also engaged in conversation with a really hot blonde wearing a pink bikini top, who once worked at Hooters, so geekdom isn't really all that bad.
We ate at a Vietnamese restaurant tonight, which was excellent, and made the ridiculously expensive Italian place we ate at last night seem like Pizza Hut with a nice view. And it was a hell of a lot cheaper. A note to those of you contemplating a Hawaii vacation: remember that "expensive" does not in any way equal "quality cuisine."
Just a sidenote: the hot blonde, right this minute, is adjusting her bikini strap, and I think I'm sprouting a boner. For those of you who read me regularly, you know this is a fairly common occurence. I'm all about the ill-timed, perpetual boner sprouting.
So, anyway, I decide to have my parents drop me off at a shopping complex pretty close to our condo. My dad stops in the middle of traffic, and I fumble with the door because I can't see the lock.
"Hurry up!" yelps my father. "Or they're going to honk at me!"
I stopped my door fumbling and looked at my father's reflection in the rearview mirror quizzically.
"Oh, Heaven forbid they honk at you!" I laughed. "There's no bigger shame than being honked at. That's worse than being caned in the buttocks in Singapore."
The car behind us finally began a vigorous tootling of the horn, and I exited the vehicle. But I wasn't finished. Even as my parents drove away, I pretended to drop a coin in front of the car behind me, and I executed a thorough search of the street, totally infuriating the driver, who leaned out the window and started calling me every expletive imaginable. I cast him an innocent look and gestured to my chest in the international sign language of "Who? Me?"
"Yes, you! You fucking cocksucking cocksucker!" he said, showing an adept ability at doubling up on a cocksucker insult.
At that point, I started a slow stroll across the road, prompting the angry motorist to lay on his horn with renewed vigor. Then, just as I exited his lane, an entire family of people crossed his path, and the father winked at me and said, "Watch this."
With that, the wonderful soul pretended to drop a coin, and he, his wife, and three kids started an intense search of the area for a non-existing coin, initiating a prolonged horn blowing the likes of which has probably never been heard in the Hawaiian islands. When the family finally exited the street, the motorist let loose with the most ridiculous tire burn I've ever seen. The father and I exchanged a thumbs up, and I'm still laughing at this moment, despite a lingering boner.
Well, the hot blonde is leaving, so there's no reason for me to tap away at this Macintosh. Yes, a Macintosh. The simplicity, ease-of-use, common-sense menu, and impossibly cute design is aggravating to the extreme, let me tell you. Sure, it's perfect in most ways, but can it play Aliens Versus Predator 2? No. Steve Jobs, that's your next task. Make your computers universally friendly to games, not just dorks who want to edit photos and digital movies. Then you'll have a consumer base.
That's my input for today folks, and remember: no matter how nice of a person you are, no matter how great you are and how wonderful you may be, they're all going to honk at you, so you may as well have fun with them.
Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.
