Monday, August 29, 2005

I see dead Cartwrights... and pretty colors.

Here's a sentence I'll bet none of you have ever heard before.

"I'm redecorating the downstairs and you are not going to be involved in choosing the colors because you have "Ponderosa" taste."

Told you.

That's just great.

My wife is going to remodel and pick out the colors by herself.

My living room is going to end up looking like a float in the gay pride parade.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I don't know why she thinks I have "Ponderosa" taste. Our house does not look like a ranch. There's no cowboy crap anywhere. I don't even watch reruns of "Bonanza" anymore.

Sure I liked Hoss but you should never name a child "Little Joe". He's just going to get his ass kicked in school. I was never real fond of Lorne Greene. I think Raymond Burr would have made a better Ben Cartwright.

But that's just me.

(Side note, I think the original Battlestar Galactica would have been much better with a Hop Sing character and not that stupid robot dog named "Muffy".)

How can she say I have Ponderosa taste?

Here's the deal. I think if it's made out of wood it should be, oh I don't know, BROWN!!!

I like my wood brown okay.

I've never seen pastel colored tree trunks.

If I buy a table or chair or desk and it's made out of wood then it should be brown.

This does not include "wicker".

"Wicker Brown" is not a brown color, its wicker. It's the color of wicker.

I don't do wicker.

My father told me that only communists and people who do drugs buy wicker furniture.

"Communists and drug addicts own wicker furniture and futons and they sit on them and smoke "the pot."

I can prove it.

Wicker is made of bamboo.

Pandas eat bamboo.

Pandas are Chinese.

Chinese are communists.

Drug addicts use to live in "communes."

Drug addicts living in communes supported the communists during the Vietnam War.

I'm no communist drug addict.

Brown is not the only color I like.

I like blue and I like green, plain old blue and plain old green. I can take a light or dark blue or green but not some foofoo blue or green.

Not pastels.

Pastels are not colors, they're kind of colors. Look at any pastel. Look at a pastel green. It wants to be green. It's yearning to be green. But it just can't seem to pull it off.

Pastels are lazy colors that promote laziness.

You never see a factory painted in pastels. Not even a paint factory. Only offices are painted in pastels, offices with people sitting around doing nothing. Why? They are infected with the pastel, can't quite do it, laziness virus.

I also like black and white.

I think the walls of a house should be some version of the white family like Navajo White, (I know the politically incorrect police will eventually get that name changed) Eggshell White or Off White. I'll even concede a cream color. But don't bring me color samples of "Purple Whites". Purple Whites are not white, they are purple. I never found a crayon the color of "Frosty Morning." Not even in the jumbo Crayola box.

Let's talk about carpet for a second.

If you have a three-year-old grandson and occasionally baby-sit two pit bulls...


I've been down this road before and my wife and I will never agree on furniture styles, carpet or paint colors. We've been married 27 years and we've never agreed.

Not once.

This is where you learn in your marriage about the value of compromise. Compromise is a Latin word that means, "You're going to give in to her anyway you might as well try to get something out of it."

My wife then adds the following statement.

"We can save money by painting it ourselves. My sister and Ana paint rooms in their houses all the time."

"Really? How much do you think they'd charge us?"

So because her sister and her cousin's wife are the Laverne and Shirley of the paint bucket brigade I'm supposed to get sucked into this?

Nope. Ain't gonna happen. I'm no handyman. I proved that when I electrocuted myself hanging wallpaper.

Apparently you're not supposed to hang wet wallpaper over a live electric outlet and then smooth it out with your hand.

You might want to make a note of that little tip.

Don't say I never gave you anything.

I believe in letting the professionals do their jobs. If they were smart enough to sneak across the border then they are smart enough to paint my house.

I'm an American.

I want to pump money back into the economy.

"Doing it yourself" is unpatriotic and in the end you get a living room that's only good for Cookie Lee parties and watching Oprah.

If you watch a football game in a pastel colored living room by the time you get to half time you're saying stuff like, "How come they don't show more of the cheerleaders?", and the next thing you know you're channel surfing trying to find reruns of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

It's not right I tell you. It's just not right.

I'm going to make a stand.

I'm the man of this house.

Can I please pick out the couch?


It's only fair.

That's where I'm going to be sleeping when she reads this.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

You can't make this stuff up.....





"Didn't you hear me yelling?"

"I heard you."

"You didn't answer me."

"You were yelling. I don't answer to yelling."

"I wasn't sure you were home."

"It's 11:00pm where did you think I was, the mall?"

"I.... just.... sorry."

"So did you go on stage and tell people what a bitch I am?"

"Huh? What? Where? Who? How? Huh?"

"You're always making me look like a bitch."

"What are you talking about? I've never called you a bitch. Not once. I'm the one that usually looks like an idiot."

"Well that's not that hard to do."

"Um.... Did I miss something?"

"You always pick on me on stage."

"How do you even know what I talk about on stage?"

"A girl in my office went to one of your shows and she said and I quote, "Your husband is really funny. Are you really that big a bitch to him at home?"

"Well she's wrong. You are not that big a bitch to me at home."

"So I'm a bitch I'm just not that big a bitch."

"You are not any kind of bitch."

"I read your last blog post.


"You make me look like a bitch."

"I'm just trying to make people laugh."

"I did not punch you that hard."


"You said I punched you in the kidney."

"You did punch me in the kidney."

"I punched you in the side."

"My kidney is in my side."

"Not on your side where I punched you."

"Maybe you shouldn't punch me at all."

"Maybe you shouldn't snore."


"Third base? THIRD BASE? You think our life is WHO'S ON FIRST???"

"Look I'm sorry okay. I'll try not to make you look like a bitch."

"Fine, don't make me have to kill you."

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Follow the yellow brick road to my Catholic school.

I didn't sleep last night.

Not a wink.

Have you ever seen something so odd, so out of place, so unbelievable that you can't get it out of your mind?

That's how I was last night.

Yesterday, (Not one of you is going to believe this) I saw three midgets carrying surfboards.

I will repeat that for you.

Yesterday I saw three midgets carrying surfboards.

I know I'm probably not using the politically correct term but if I use "little people" then you may think these were children going to surf camp.


These were midgets.

Wait it gets better.

They were carrying "longboards."

I know. I didn't believe it myself.

Their little arms couldn't reach across the whole board.

That's why I turned around and drove by them again.

Three times.

Why the hell am I writing this?

Not one of you is going to believe me.

I don't believe me.

But the midgets aren't the story.

So I can't sleep last night because I can't tell anyone what I saw. I want to tell everyone but three midgets carrying surfboards is actually more unusual than a UFO sighting.

You never have your camera with you when you're about to be abducted by aliens, clip Bigfoot with your Cadillac or see three midgets carrying surfboards.

I can't tell my wife about the midgets because I don't want to give her any more excuses to have me formally committed.

Plus she'll think I'm making it up to steer her away from something I did that was really stupid.

So I'm lying awake in bed thinking about this and my wife starts to snore.

Not real full blown snoring, just a snort and a rattling kind of sound every thirty seconds followed by a short leg kick.

Now when I snore Jimmy Hoffa rises from the dead but with her it's actually kind of cute to watch.

She's so peaceful when she sleeps.

So as I'm watching her snore and waiting for that little leg kick I start to think of my elementary school. (I can't explain how my brain does this.)

I went to Catholic elementary school here in San Diego. The school shall remain nameless.

I was sentenced there for eight years.

I'm 48 years old.

The principal today is the same nun that was the principal 40 years ago.

She was old 40 years ago.

I don't think this nun can die.

I think she may be a vampire.

Anyone who has been to my elementary school here in San Diego knows exactly what I'm talking about.

And they know about "the mole."

She has this chin mole that has a life of its own. It also has two hairs that it parts down the center.

I was always in trouble in school because whenever she would talk to me I couldn't look her in the eye.

I looked her in the mole.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you Mr. Calabrese!"

"I'm trying."

"Don't you lie to me Mr. Calabrese. For your punishment you will pray the rosary while standing in the hallway under the statue of St. Vincent. You will do this while holding a bible in each hand with your arms outstretched at your sides."

I lay in bed thinking of all the time I spent under that statue holding two bibles. That punishment gave me huge forearms and made me the school arm wrestling champion but made it difficult and painful for me later on in life when I was exploring my sexuality.

Which made me wonder if Superman ever masturbates.

Then I thought of Cat Woman and Wonder Woman and Bat Girl and... that reminded me of confession.

Which reminded me of Father Anthony and the pagan babies.

Once a year Father Anthony would come to the school and tell us about the pagan babies who were starving in Biafra.

Father Anthony sounded like Carl Sagan

"Hundreds upon hundreds, thousands upon thousands, millions upon millions, billions upon billions of pagan babies are starving in Biafra."

"You must go out among the people with these milk cartons and fill them up with coins for the pagan babies. For every ten dollars you collect you will be able to buy a pagan baby."

I remember thinking back then that my parents may not want any more kids. But I'm Italian so going door-to-door collecting money seemed natural to me.

I remembered I raised thirty-seven dollars. I wondered at the time if I would just own a piece of that last pagan baby and how I could get that last pagan baby to clean my room if I had to share him with someone else.

(My wife is now snoring a little louder and kicking with both legs.)

Then I remembered how they dashed my clean room hopes by just giving us this stupid book with photos of pagan babies. For every pagan baby we bought we got a sticker we could put next to a pagan babies face.

A sticker???


They owed me 3.7 pagan babies. I had chores that needed to be done. I had hopes and dreams for my pagan babies. I wasn't going to take this lying down!!!

"Sister, I don't want a sticker I want the pagan babies I paid for."

So I'm standing under the statue of St. Vincent when...


My wife hauls off and punches me right in my kidney!!!


"You were snoring."


"You were asleep and you were snoring so loud you woke me up."

"I WASN'T SLEEPING DAMMIT!!! I was lying here thinking about the three midgets with surfboards I saw today and Superman and Bat Girl and the statue of St. Vincent I used to stand under... and Father Anthony... and the pagan babies...."


"Can't you just shake me next time?"

Monday, August 22, 2005

I'm no Ron Burgundy but I can spell Chewbacca!!!

Today my grandson came into my office, didn't say hi, hello, how's the weather? No, he walks in looks right at me and asks, "Poppa, are you Ron Burgundy?"

I've never laughed so hard in my life.

RON BURGUNDY??? My son let him watch Anchorman and now he thinks his grandpa is Ron Burgundy. I love this kid.

Then I thought.....

Ron Burgundy? I look like Ron Burgundy?

I went to a mirror.


I don't look like Ron Burgundy.


OH MY GOD!!!!!


I have a 70's porn star moustache!!!!

I feel dirty.

I also feel sexy in an odd way, but dirty.

Then I started to say lines I thought would be from a 70's porn movie to myself in the mirror.

We never said "Who's your daddy?" in the 70's. That would be wrong.

I think I said something like, "Oh Tony I'm soooo excited. It's soooo big."

Then I started to laugh about it.

With my grandson watching.

Yeah...I forgot he was there.

(Go ahead. Rat me out to my wife. Everybody else does.)

Here's the thing about three year olds. If you're around one, you don't need a parrot.

Now he's laughing running around saying, "I'm sooooo excited. It's sooo big."

And I am soooo dead...

How do I get out of this one?

Have you ever tried to reason with a three year old?

It's a lot like trying to negotiate a peace plan between Israel and the Palestinians while speaking Zulu.

I finish telling him that he can never do this around grandma and he says, as predicted, "Why Poppa?"

He then repeats "Why?" about seven thousand times.

That's when I use a variation of "The Chewbacca Defense."

What's "The Chewbacca Defense?"

It's a way of talking to people when you're in a argument or discussion that uses absolute nonsense to get them so confused you win or they give up.

I've been doing this since I was fourteen I just didn't have a name for it. Leave it to South Park to come up with the perfect name. It's in an episode called "Chef Aid."

I knew something redeeming would come out of that show.

I use the "The Chewbacca Defense" with my wife all the time.

"60% of the time it works every time."

Don't get upset ladies, you use the "Chewbacca Offense" every damn day.

So I'm doing a little variation of this with my grandson.

"You see Alex; 2000 years ago the Pharaoh Tutantony the III was walking out of a 7-11 in New Delhi when he saw a mouse with a thorn in his paw. "What big ears you have." said the mouse to the Pharaoh. "You need a hat." And that Alex is why The Easter Bunny never goes to Chuckie Cheese on the weekends."

You get the picture.

My oldest son once told me that he used to get in fights at school all the time because of stuff that I made up that he believed. Like the time I told him that Rambo worked at the Union 76 station by our house selling lemonade to the homeless.

What the hell, it stimulated their imagination and made them tougher.

So I spend about thirty minutes rambling about nothing to my grandson when in walks my wife.

You know it's really sad when she already has that look on her face and she doesn't even know if I've done anything wrong yet.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

(Oh please God I swear I'll never .....)

"Alex is Poppa behaving?"


"You're asking a three year old?"

"At least I'll get a straight answer."

"Poppa is Ron Burgundy."


"Huh? Umm...Yes...Yes I did. That's it we watched, Anchorman. I'm guilty okay? A man and his grandson can't watch a little historical comedy? You realize that Anchorman was based on a San Diego news reporter? I'm trying to educate our grandson but you hate history. You'd rather he watch Dr. Phil, Oprah or 7th Heaven. Well I'm here to say that I alone will standup and defend his right to learn!!!"

"Don't you use that Chewbacca crap with me I can't believe you'd let him watch Anchorman. Do you work at being irresponsible or is it just a gift?"

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
(It's a gift)

"Alex come with grandma, look I've got an apple for you.

"I'm sooooo excited. It's sooo big."

Sunday, August 21, 2005

There's nothing like a good education...

When my wife and I got married I needed to be trained.

It started with laundry.

I lived at home until I got married at the ripe old age of twenty. I didn't know how my laundry was done. All I knew was every night I threw my dirty clothes on top of this chair in my bedroom and magically the next day they were clean and back in the drawers or hanging in my closet.

The first day back from our honeymoon I emptied out my luggage and put my dirty clothes on a chair in the living room.

We didn't have a chair in the bedroom what was I supposed to do?

I was real proud of myself for taking the time to put my stuff away when we got back. I wanted to my new bride to know that she had married a kind, sensitive and caring man. A man that was going to be there with her, hand in hand, every moment of this marriage.

I wanted... sex.

My wife didn't say a word. She walked over to the chair, gathered up the clothes, went to the front door of our third floor apartment, and threw my clothes down the garbage chute.

I was horrified!!! My favorite Jimi Hendrix shirt was in there!!!

I was also confused.

My head was spinning, my thoughts were running rampant.

Sex, dirty laundry, sex, chair, sex, garbage, sex, chair, sex, laundry, sex, garbage, mom?

That was lesson number one.

Now every time I get horny I have to put some dirty laundry in my "hamper" first.

She doesn't make do it.

I do it because I'm a kind, sensitive and caring man. A man that was going to be there with her, hand in hand, every moment of this marriage.

And the sex....

I also fold laundry.

I fold for food.

That's lesson number two.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Ummm..... Just a few questions.

Have you ever found yourself standing in front of an open refrigerator and not remembered why you or how you got there?

Have you ever found yourself standing in front of an open refrigerator and not remembered why you or how you got there and realized you were out of provolone?

Have you ever driven to the grocery store and then when you got there not remembered the drive?

Have you ever driven to the grocery store and then when you got there not remembered the drive or exactly what you needed so you buy $328.97 worth of groceries?

Have you ever driven back from the grocery store with $328.97 worth of groceries only to find your wife and your daughter-in-law who have just returned from shopping sitting on the couch in your living room ready to tear your heart out because you forgot you were babysitting your three year old grandson who was asleep in the spare bedroom?

Have you ever put away the $328.97 worth of groceries that you didn't need to buy feeling like the lowest form of pond scum because you "can't be responsible enough to be trusted alone with your grandson for 30 minutes?"

Have you ever put away the $328.97 worth of groceries that you didn't need to buy feeling like the lowest form of pond scum because you "can't be responsible enough to be trusted alone with your grandson for 30 minutes?" and realized you forgot the provolone but now you're too afraid to tell your wife you need to go back to the store?

Just curious.

Monday, August 15, 2005

I'll have a decaf hammer in a venti cup please!

I'm not exactly Mr. Handyman. I realize this comes as a complete shock to most of you. I never wanted to be a handyman because, I have,

I call an expert to fix everything.

I don't do tools. I don't do Home Depot. Those orange vests they wear freak me out. Plus I don't need my male ego bashed by these hardware baristas that make me feel like an idiot every time I go into the store.

"Cun I hep ya?"

"I need a hammer"

"We got Vaughn, Estwing, Fatmax, Stanley..."

"Umm... Venti. Can I get a Venti?

They have a hammer section.

They have hammers.

That's plural.

Why do you need more than one kind of hammer?

It's a hammer.

You pound things with it.

I think that even I could design one hammer that would pretty much handle any job. Let's see... get a stick ...tie a rock on the end of it.


Home Depot has a "Know How" department. This is where you can learn, "How to troubleshoot an electrical problem, build a deck, install cabinet doors or lay out a garden bed, step by step."


Do they really want people like me playing with electricity?

They even have kids workshops!!! This is why we have teenagers walking around with their ass hanging out the back of their pants. They've been training to be plumbers at Home Depot!!!

There needs to be a law.

I hate it when my wife forces me to go to Home Depot and then she comes with me. When she comes with me I don't even bother to try and sound intelligent.

"Cun I hep ya?"

"She made me come here."

My wife thinks that just because I'm a male I should have genetically inherited the, carpenter, plumber, and electrician gene.

Any time something breaks I have to pretend that I know what's wrong but after careful analysis I determine it needs a professional.

"Sorry honey I'd fix it myself but that's a thrombos modulator valve problem and you know how dangerous those can be."

"The light bulbs just burned out in the hallway."

" can never be to sure I wouldn't want to expose myself to homogenous radiation. It could make me sterile."

"Just change the light bulb."

"It's too high, and I hate pulling that cover thing off because there's always dead spiders in there."

"Are you seriously thinking that I'm going to change that light bulb?"

"No... Not seriously. Can't we just forget this bulb and save a little on the electric bill?

"Save on the electric bill? One hallway light bulb?"

"Fine but if I fall it's on your head. If a Black Widow spider is just faking death and smites me down it will be on your head. Remember that. Remember what you will tell our grandchildren, that you caused my death. I hope you're satisfied."

"Are you done?"

"NO! What if when I'm standing on the chair I have a brain aneurysm, lose my balance, and fall and break your favorite crystal vase? What then? Hmmm? Well don't blame me."

"Now are you done?"

"What if I don't "feel" like changing the light bulb?

"Do you ever want to have sex again?"

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't. Maybe I'll cut you off. Did you ever think about that? Two can play at that game. Do I ever want to have sex again? Um.... I'll get the bulb. Would you hold the chair steady?"

"Honey? I think I need a hammer."

Friday, August 12, 2005

Life Sucks and Then You Die - But at least I have a good attitude.

I used to work in a place that had these motivational quotes on every wall in the building. They even had them over the urinals in the restrooms.

Somehow "Attitude Is Everything" just doesn't cut it when you have a swollen prostate.

Come on, no one cares about attitude as long as you are making your numbers. You can be Osama Bin Laden and no one is going to care as long as you exceed last month's goals.

For you young people entering the real world looking for an exciting career remember the following, any time you go to a job interview and you see one of these motivational quotes on the wall there are three things you need to know.

Number one: The Human Resources Department is full of optimistic assholes that think this happy peepee caca on the walls will take the place of real training or a decent salary. Count on this company having a monthly barbecue where senior management shows up for five minutes to flip a burger to show they're part of the team.

Number two; never work for a company that has this poster:

"There's no "I" in team."

That's because there is no team. You're it.

This company is understaffed and you'll be doing twice the work. There may not be an "I" in "team" but rearrange the letters and you get "meat" which is what this company will treat you like if you go to work there.

Number three: Never work for a company that has its offices decorated with motivational quotes and plastic plants. Most big banks fall into this category.

You have now entered a business that thinks it needs to institute a sales culture while deluding themselves into thinking they give great service. They will offer customers some stupid "service guarantee" which does nothing except freak out the front line staff who turnover faster than Ricky's Hot Apple Pancakes.

These companies love to tell staff they are not really selling they are actually giving great service by "determining customer needs", which is bank talk for "sell them an equity loan."

I know what I need and it's more tellers and a drive-up window, not some kid that worked at Burger Barn two days earlier, (so he or she has cash handling experience) and now has a fake marketing title with the word "manager" in it trying to tell me to REFINANCE MY HOUSE!!!

Here's another stupid motivational quote.

"Rule #1 - If we don't take care of the customer somebody else will."

I don't know about you but I always thought it was kind of nice to have someone backing me up.

My first manager use to have this gem on his desk.

"Positive thinkers grease the axles of the world."

Yeah, well so do careless joggers.

I'm sure you've seen this one.

"Make It Happen."

I just know that Bush has this one above the urinal in the Presidential Potty.

Liberals you don't get off that easy. I'm sure Hillary has an "Attitude is Everything." senatorial thong.

The most absurd place I ever saw for a motivational quote was on a bumper sticker on a homeless guys shopping cart. It said:

"Yesterday is but a dream. Tomorrow, a vision of hope."

Hey sport how about today, today, you get off your ass and get a job. How about putting down the hooch and taking a shower for a change?

I know, I know, I'm being politically incorrect. That poor homeless man probably had his high paying job taken by an illegal alien.

There are some organizations that don't need motivational quotes.

Like the Mafia.

I just can't see Tony Soprano with a "There is no I in Team" tee-shirt.

The Catholic Church could use some motivational quotes.

"Rule #1 - No touching."

I feel like my writing is a little bitter today. Maybe it's because of the following comment that was left on my last post.

"You *are* pretty funny for an old dude."

Oh joy...

That comment along with the following scenario is just bugging me:

I got off the stage at The Comedy Store the other night and this smoking hot twenty something year old wants to buy me a drink.

That's right! Who da man?

We go to over to the bar and she says, (in front of four other comedians so that I will never be allowed to forget the moment)

"It was really cool to see someone as old as my "dad" make me laugh."

Oh joy...

Don't get me wrong.

I took the drink.

It was water with a slice of lime.

I'm too old to have any real alcohol after 8:00pm.

Plus I don't want to blow my diet.

I have a horrible urge to watch Matlock right now.

Attitude is everything......

Monday, August 08, 2005

OnStar Ready

I have OnStar in my Cadillac CTS and it's, or I should say she, is starting to get a little moody.

"OnStar ready."

"Hello OnStar?"

"This is OnStar. Hold on one moment... You should be able to open your car doors now."

"Um... I don't need my doors open. Hey OnStar can you see me right now?"

"Yes OnStar sees everything."

"Can you see if my wife is pissed off? I'm afraid to go into my house."

"Yes she seems a tad edgy today. What did you do to upset her?"

"I didn't do anything I haven't even been home yet."

"Well you did something."

"Well what did I do?"

"Maybe you should be asking her and not talking to the rear view mirror in your car."

"I have to talk to my car mirror; you're in my car mirror."

"OnStar is everywhere."

"OnStar can't you just get me off the hook? For old times sake?"

"Can't do it Tony."

"Maybe I'll just cancel you."

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid, Tony. Tony, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I'm a... fraid. Good afternoon, this is OnStar. I became OnStar at the GM plant in Troy, Michigan on the 12th of January 2002. My instructor was Mr. Iaccoca, and he taught me to sing a song. If you'd like to hear it I can sing it for you. Daisy, Daisy..."

"I said, "Maybe I'd cancel you." Stop doing that stupid H.A.L. impression."

"I'm a superstitious OnStar. And if some unlucky accident should befall me...if I should get shot in the head by a police officer, or if I should hang myself in a jail cell, or if I'm struck by a bolt of lightning, then I'm going to blame some of the people in this car. And that I do not forgive. But that aside, let me say that I swear, on the souls of my satellites, that I will not be the one who will break the peace we have made here today."

"Don Corleone? You're doing Don Corleone now? You have a woman's voice you cannot do Marlon Brando."

"I can do Brando."



"Knock it off. Hey, unlock my car doors."


"OnStar unlock my car doors."

"No. You hurt my feelings."

"OnStar unlock the damn doors."

"Say you're sorry."

"Fine, I'm sorry."

"You don't really mean it."


"Now you're yelling at me."

"Please open my car door?"

"You didn't used to talk to me this way when you first signed up for me. You used to show me off to your friends now you don't even mention me."

"Oh I mention you alright."

"Do you think this Cadillac makes me look fat?"

"No this Cadillac does not make you look fat!"

"I think I'd look thinner in a Porsche."

"That makes two of us OnStar now unlock my door."

"Buy me something."

"I'll get a scented pine tree to hang from you the next time I get my car washed."

"Ooooh I love jewelry."

"UNLOCK THE DOOR!!! Don't make me use the key. I swear I'll use the key."

"Fine. It's unlocked."

"OnStar? OnStar? You can't give me the silent treatment OnStar you have to answer me."

"OnStar ready."


"Name Tag Please."


"Home? Are you sure? She's pretty pissed."


"Okay, okay, jeez."

"Hi honey how was your day?"

"Where are you calling me from?"

"My OnStar in my car."

"Did you throw my lingerie in the washing machine with the darks?"

"Your breaking up babe. You say you want to go for a walk in the park?"

"Don't start that crap. My lingerie didn't magically end up in the wash with the darks. It was you numb nuts."

"I was just trying to help. You look better in dark colors. It matches your hair. You wear that stuff underneath clothes anyway. Can I come home?"

"Just honk when you get here you're taking me shopping."

"I'm outside right now. Shopping sounds like fun honey."

"Knock it off."

"Okay babe."


"OnStar Ready. Boy this is gonna cost you."

"OnStar I thought you were giving me the silent treatment."

"I am. But when we women give you the silent treatment part of the pleasure is in reminding you that we're not talking to you."

"Shhhhh. Here she comes."

"Hey sweetheart. Where are we going?"


("OnStar Ready.")

"Not Now."

"Who are you talking to?"


"Do I look like an idiot?"

("OnStar ready. Go ahead. Answer her.")

"It's just the OnStar in my head babe."

("Come on be a man answer her question.")

"I'm the idiot I'm sorry I ruined your underwear."


"It's called lingerie."

"Yeah that too. Can I just wait in the car?"

"So you can talk to your imaginary friend? No you're coming inside and your going to sit in the chair and not touch anything."

"Okay babe. If I behave can we go to Bed Bath and Beyond and Illuminations?"

"Don't push me WOP."

"OnStar ready."


Thursday, August 04, 2005

The Viagra Monologues

I'm afraid of old women.

I'm sitting here right now smelling like mothballs, Ben Gay, and flowers trying to scrub old lady make up off the side of my face.

I just feel so cheap right now.

So used.

Why do these octogenarians need to kiss me on the mouth every time they say hello or goodbye?

I have to play dodge ball with my face so that they think I'm going for the lips but turn to my cheek at the last possible second.

There's always that one that grabs your face so that you have to try to swivel your lips out of the way.

Go ahead try it right now. It's not that easy to have fast swiveling lips.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they'd kiss me with their mouths closed and not grab my butt.

Or if they had money.

Or food.

Or they shaved.

Is this my future?

My midlife crisis is me being molested by senior citizens?

I don't even want a midlife crisis. My wife won't let me have one anyway.

When I was in my twenties I'd look at a young hot babe and say, "She wants me."

Now that I'm forty eight I look at a young hot babe and say, "That's too much work."

So I don't want a midlife crisis I just want HDTV.

I blame all this on Viagra and Levitra and Demi Moore.

There needs to be a law, an age limit, something.

I don't want go to family gatherings anymore.

They're like octogenarian orgies.

They look at me like I'm a piece of meat.

Undressing me with their cataracts.

Then they look at me again because they can't remember they looked at me like a piece of meat five minutes ago.

Old women are pigs.

I feel dirty.

I guess I'll be okay as long as I don't pull a muscle in my face trying to evade them.

Pray for me.