September 21, 2007
The Tribunal
In case you're interested, I was a member of a fisking trio that tore Nick Coleman a FRESH RECTUM.
Another Idea That Should Have Been Mine
Granted, I would have called it something more catchy, like "Bottled Bush," or "Vageline" or "Crotch Rot." Is it just me, or does that model have the severe look of someone who just oozes angry Vulva?
Key Quote: "VULVA Original is not a perfume. It is a beguiling vaginal scent which is purely a substance for your own smelling pleasure. Breathe in and enjoy, anytime, anywhere, the odour of a beautiful woman."
Just imagine, walking into your boss's office, only to see him taking a big whiff of Vulva.
YOU: Oh, sorry, boss.
BOSS: Don't you knock?!
Not that I read up on the product or anything, but apparently you rub Vulva on the back of your hand using a special applicator. You then wait a few moments for it to be absorbed into the skin, at which point you're free to sniff the back of your hand until your nose tingles with the scent of Vulva.
Honestly, how does one become so addicted to the "tangy" aroma of a female's crotch they have to keep a flask of Vulva handy? Is there a 12 step plan in place for dealing with such an addiction?
UPDATE: You know, the more I think about it, the more obsessed with Vulva I'm becoming. For example, notice the package says "Vulva Original," which implies a sequel or follow-up product. And, really, which woman in the world has a claim to the smell of the original Vulva? Eve, I suppose, if you want to get all Biblical. But, then again, there's Summer's Eve douche, which is supposed to scour out that "tangy" smell.
I wonder, if you were to combine Vulva with Summer's Eve, would there be a kind of matter/anti-matter reaction that produces nearly limitless energy? I'm not saying you should try it, necessarily, but I'm curious.
Also, notice the packaging says "Vaginal Scent," which again implies some sort of alternative scent yet to be announced. I'm imagining a throng of horned up males, standing in line, sniffing aggressively at the back of their hands, waiting to purchase their first bottle of "Vulva 2.0: Taint Scent."
LOL UPDATE: Jimmo comments: "$30 per phial? For something I could make myself with a can of StarKist and a strainer?"
That made an already good day, even better.
PROPHETIC UPDATE: I suppose I should be bracing myself for the types of targeted Google ads that are going to start appearing here as a result of this post.
Ah, the joys of Guv-mint
Okay, so, as some of you may or may not know, I've been in the process of digging out a 23 ft. x 13 ft. expanse of what used to be my lawn in order to eventually, hopefully, create a driveway addition so The Girl or I no longer have to park on the street, depending on who's week it is to get the garage (yes, a one car garage).
First off, don't think, FOR A SECOND, digging out a 23 x 13 foot expanse of lawn, with a spade, is easy. I made that mistake. Now, over a month later and seven truckloads of dirt disposed of in a variety of ways (some legally questionable), I've decided it's a task that should be hired done if it's at all financially feasible.
ANYWAY, it's all finally dug out. 23 ft. x 13 ft. x six inches deep. It's ready to be framed up, leveled out with gravel fill, and topped off with concrete.
Once I get the building permit, which is apparently more difficult than digging the hole in the first place.
Yesterday, I was introduced to the fantastic world of Rochester/Olmsted County bureaucracy. Thinking, foolishly, that getting a building permit would be a simple enough affair, I left work an hour early and went to the Olmsted County Government Center. Once there, I wasn't sure, exactly, where I was supposed to go, so I went to the window that made the most sense, which was "Property Records," among other things.
There, I asked one of the clerks if I was in the right place to obtain a building permit. Much to my surprise, she said "no," and proceeded to tell me I had to go to the Public Works facility, which was about 15 minutes across town from where I currently was.
Since I'd never had to apply for a building permit before, I figured the clerk knew what she was talking about, so I went back to my car and journeyed to the Public Works facility, walked up to the front desk, and asked if I could get a building permit.
"And for what kind of building project, sir?" I was asked.
"A driveway extension."
"A driveway?"
"Well, kind of like a parking space off the driveway."
"Oh, we don't issue that kind of building permit."
"What?"
"You need to go to the Public Works office at the government center," she explained.
"But. . . I just came from there."
"From the government center on 4th Street?"
"Yes, that government center. They told me to come here for a building permit."
"We just issue permits for buildings, not driveways. If you hurry, you can get back there before 5."
So, lacking any further argument, and foolishly assuming once again the person I was talking to actually knew what she was talking about, I drove back to the government center, and talked with the same woman who sent me to the Public Works facility.
"Yeah, I was here awhile ago asking about a building permit, but I didn't mention it was for a driveway project," I explained.
"Are you sure you went to the right building?"
"Pretty darned."
It was at this point when another clerk stood up and started relating how when she and her husband did their garage project, they had to first go to Rochester City Hall and THEN to the Public Works facility. This inspired a lot of conversation amongst all the other clerks, and the eventual consensus was reached that I should try to run over to the City Hall building, which I did, but it was after 5 p.m., which is the exact time all City Hall employees vanish as if taken by The Rapture.
So, here I sit, with a huge hole in my driveway and no permit to de-hole-ify it, or even any idea where/how I'm supposed to obtain said permit.
September 20, 2007
Euphemisms
Caroline says: I don't know. This fruit seems bruised.
Ryan says: Bruised Fruit would be a great name for a. . .
Ryan says: Bruising the fruit would actually be a most awesome euphemism for masturbation.
Caroline says: Hmmm. Perhaps. It doesn't do anything for me, though.
Ryan says: No, you're still stuck with "Flicking the bean."
Ryan says: Or, "Playing with the little man in the boat."
Caroline says: Yeah. I got nothin'.
Ryan says: Or, my personal fave: "Rubbin' Hood."
Caroline says: I thought it was something about a guy in a canoe.
Ryan says: Possibly. I'm not completely up-to-date on my female masturbation slang.
Caroline says: Heh. Slangin' the 'tang.
September 19, 2007
September 17, 2007
Animal Planet
Caroline says: Can't make this stuff up: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20823108/
Ryan says: "Animal expert Jack Hanna and an 11-month-old flamingo became trapped while trying to squeeze through a security turnstile at an Ohio airport. It took firefighters to finally get the flamingo out."
Ryan says: Screw Jack Hanna, apparently.
Caroline says: If it weren't for my flamingo ...
Ryan says: Well donkey not impressed.
Caroline says: Well Donkey gives stamp of "Meh" to that story.
