Friend of a Friend of Sylvia

                                                           

     I was thinking about Sylvia Hudson, and how talking to her in the supermarket made me feel better, but only for a short while.  She gave off an upbeat, happy vibe as she entered the store, so after five or ten minutes I approached her and made some small talk.  We had a nice chat, and she gave me her number. 

     When I called her a few days later, she suggested we get together with her friend Rusty.  “Rusty?”  That can’t be good.  Turns out she wanted to discuss religion.  I didn’t really want to get together because  I think they want to prosylatize.  Convert me.    

    Rusty would probably tell me about his religious awakening.  Some of these accounts of almighty meet-cutes  can really ramble:  “My life was spiralling out of control.  I was reviewing Women in Prison (WIP) movies for a website, and one night it ocurred to me that I was spending 9 or 10 hours a day looking at WIPs, which  you’d have to admit, are  pornographic.

    “As I was doing the research for my four-star review of Caged Fury I felt an unmistakeable sign from above.  Something happened.  A golden light that I hadn’t noticed before seemed to  bathe the compound.  It gripped me as palpably as I’ve been gripped, and I said, ‘Lord, I can’t do it by myself anymore.  If I’m gonna beat this addiction, I’ll need your help.   I need a partner.  You need to steer me in a new direction, to show me…’”

    Dude, bottom line it.

    “Well, suffice it to say I threw off the bonds of Satan in my life just like the inmates in Heat on the Run IV threw off the repression of the evil warden.  (That’s not the only thing they were throwing off—three and a half stars.)  From that moment on, I have felt His presence.  When I was at a friend’s house and he had Cinemax on, it had no effect on me whatsoever.  Granted, I’ve always tended to find those  simulated simulated-procreation scenes rather lame, good for only a half-mast at best.  But now Little Rusty just seems to say, ‘I’m so sure.  This offends my intelligence.’

    “The new me can look at even formerly smoking hot stuff, and  it’s like my junk is engaging in civil disobedience, refusing to go down that path again.  We’re not having it.  Hard to describe the feeling.”

    Good.  Please don’t.  This is turning into a meat-cute.

    “Well, it’s not like when you sit out on the edge of a lame sofa and your johnson goes numb; it’s more like your nether region just goes slack, like a passive-aggressive four-year old who doesn’t want to go to kindergarten.  My life has been so much more meaningful since my experience.  Is that something you’d like to have in your life?”

    Uh, I gotta go. 

    (Editor's note:  To all the Reason Rallyers in Washington today:  Have a nice day.)   

                                                                                   

I'd Like to Solve the Puzzle, Pat

Remember that show The $100,000 Pyramid?

“Gym membership, uh, lottery tickets… lottery tickets,  uh, Rush Limbaugh’s wives…”

“Uh, things that are gullible.”

The clue-giver shakes her head.  “Exercise equipment, DVDs, Rush Limbaugh’s wives..”

“THINGS YOU BUY AND ONLY USE ONCE!!!”

(Bells going off)  “Yes!  $100,000.” 

Wheel of Fortune:  

BEFORE & AFTER

M__r__g_         M_t_r__l           __rl

“I’d like to solve, Pat."
Pat: "Okay, sure."
"Marriage.  Material.  Girl.”

Pat:  “Yeah, that’s it.  Nicely done.”

Jeopardy Categories:

Continents      Beverages     Incontinents     Porcine Blowhards    

People Who Are Inadvertently Helping the Presidential Race but Hurting the Human Race

Angry Old Xenophobes    Large-Mouthed Bastards



Nature abhors a vacuum.  There was a vacuum in the GOP.  It was filled by Limbaugh.  I mean, nature must really abhor vacuums... but not as much as decent folks abhor Limbaugh.

Last of the Emoticons

    Time to quit internet dating.  Too many fakes and flakes. 

    No more smileys.  No more insipid “LOL”s.  Last of the emoticons.

Top Phrases for Computer Dating  (Or Masturbating.  Or actual sex.)

Hunt & Peck

Pull & Paste 

Rinse & Repeat

Junk & Dial

Stick & Jab

Clean & Jerk

Shake & Wait (one for the ladies?  Not even sure I get that one)

Catch & Release

Fake & Dribble

Pick & Roll  (okay, I have been watching a lot of college hoops)

Cut & Run

Ruminate & Fulminate (look it up, Einstein)

Block & Relocate

    One time a few years ago a woman from the internet sent me a text one hour before our first date:  “I’m nervous.  Tell me something to calm my nerves.” 

    You’re nervous?  I’m the one with the 3-day spunk backup.

    March 10^th  we all lost an hour to Daylight Saving Time.  I wish I could have made the 7:00-8:00 hour disappear.  As the weather turned cloudy and drizzly, my date showed up.  Another train wreck.  A horrid, foul-weather front.

    She was rude to the sweet waittress.  “You don’t have Sky?  Well.  All other vodkas taste like turpentine.”  Really?  How about a blindfolded taste test.  Come to think of it, how about a blindfolded date?  A quicker man would have taken this moment as his cue to utter, “Separate checks, please.”  Or better yet, to just bolt.

    She suggested we go sit outside because, "It's so loud in here."    I was actually embarrassed that her volume and tone was bothering the folks seated near us.

    I’d mentioned over the phone that normally on internet first dates a guy is only expected to go for coffee or a drink.  Everybody knows that.   This charmer actually  started talking about getting the salmon!  We ordered expensive burgers and by the time I realized the only viable course was Abort!, she had killed two vodkas.  She was defensive, angry, undateable.

    Why didn't I get up?  I could have said simply, "Call of nature." (Nature's giant repulsor beam is literally pushing me away.)  Stop the food!  Here's five bucks for my draft.  Keep the change.  I could have blown out the main door, and the charmer wouldn't have seen me.  Instead, I was honest, and told her it wasn't working.   "I'll go talk to the waittress," I said. 

    If this debacle had a movie title, it would be Flight Plan.  (Be prepared to take flight!)  By the way, Flight Plan borrows its plot from the Hitchcock classic, The Lady Vanishes.  Which is exactly what this lady did before I could ask her to chip in. 

   I pleaded victim with the manager.  They had already started undercooking the food, so I stayed and dealt with the pink slime.  

       Another soul-corroding experience.   "Let's agree to disaggregate."

                                                                 

                                                                                                Faithfully submitted,

                                                                                                The S-A-H-B    

Workplace Hanky-Panky

    You might think that the amount of hanky-panky in the workplace varies inversely with level of pay.  Why would an exec making $300,000 a year risk his cushy job for lobby tush?  But walk onto a floor where the rank-and-filers are bringing down eight bucks an hour, and it’s a veritable orgy:  “Candace! Get off Bobby and make a call.”  In other words, the stakes are lower, as are the standards.

    Another school of thought says the 300K folks have plenty of power, which naturally attracts partners, and in the event of “he said/ she said,” they can strongarm plaintiffs.  Meanwhile, the wage slaves, particularly during tough times, typically have to work about three part-time jobs, so they barely have the energy to chew their food, let alone work up some effective flirting banter.

    At any rate, I tend to do better with women at work than in other contexts.  Perhaps it’s because they see me there, so they’re pretty sure I have a job.  I enjoy being at work.  It’s the doing of the work that gets old.

    That puts me in the mind of Maureen Dowd’s book, Are Men Necessary?  If you asked the head of PETA that question, she’d probably say, “Men?!  Hell, are humans necessary?”  But even without self-absorbed humans wreaking havoc, I suppose this planet would still witness plenty of suffering.  ‘Course the economy wouldn’t be as good.  Probably knock a few points off GDP.

Renter's Residue

   As a general rule I don’t watch reality shows.  When I was taking care of an elderly relative, however, she had the Food Channel on a lot.  Have you seen this show called Chopped?  Contestants must make a first rate meal from miscellaneous scraps.

    "Open your baskets, chefs.  You will have 30 minutes to prepare an entree from:  rutabaga, pigs feet, a slice of American cheese and orange gatorade."  I would definitely tune in for  an episode of Chopped where the contestants poison the judges, who tend to be snotty.  "This isn't clarified butter!  It has to be clarified."  You've made yourself clear, Master.  What's the next course?  Scolded potatoes?  Dressed down crab?   Brow-beaten biscuits? 

  

   When did the price of spaghetti sauce go to nine dollars for a 24 ounce jar?  Have you seen these premium sauces?  There’s one called Mom’s, with a picture of a hefty granny on the label.    Then there's the celebrity chef who looks like a porcine stoner—what’s his name?  With the pony tail?  Then there’s the brand with the picture of a young, hirsute Italian woman who looks not unlike Fez from That 70s Show.  What kind of mushrooms are they putting in there?  You can get a decent jar of sauce at ALDI for a buck.

 (The Food Channel could collaborate with the Cartoon Network on an upcoming special, It’s the Grey Poupon, Charlie Brown!)

    One menu item I'll skip is the Jerk Pulled Pork Swords.  Hold the dipping sauce!  Also, avoid the New York Custard-Filled Long Johns and Kozy Shack Pudding.

    I decided long ago that I don’t want any cottage cheese.  I think because the name sounds bad.  Cottage cheese.  Why not just call it bungalow buildup?  Renter’s residue?

   Speaking of cheese, there's a radio ad for a Vermont cheese company's web site that says they have "cheese stories."  Nothing like a good cheese story:  "One night our fraternity president dared us to eat a wheel of cheese the size of a snare drum, and..."  Talk about "Breaking Bad."

Billy Bob's Mini Mart

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.