It's just no good anymore since........
I burnt my nipple.
Boy that’s something you don’t say everyday.
In order to tell the tale we must go back to the beginning.
It was a dark and stormy night….
Okay so I live in San Diego it wasn’t exactly stormy.
I’ll start over.
It was dark.
I was hungry.
Inside my head my brain was saying to me…
“You should probably have some fruit Anthony, maybe a carrot or some snap peas. Think of your health.”
Inside my body my stomach was saying…
“Ma please. Fruit? Carrots? Come on Tone you’re Italian you can’t eat that crap and feel satisfied.”
The problem is they were both right.
So what do you do when confronted with one of those situations where wrong is right and right feels wrong? You know, like when you’re in a strip club with nothing but a debit card.
Well I decided I would take the high road. I’d eat all of my wife’s Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas. That way I’d be eating diet food. Eating something kind of like pizza but not really pizza.
And yes I said I’d eat “all” of her Jenny Craig’s Personal Pizzas. Hell you can’t eat just two or three and feel satisfied.
First I had to sneak down to the kitchen without waking my wife to get the pizza out of the freezer.
So using my catlike reflexes I slinked along the hallway wall to get downstairs. Did you ever notice how when you’re trying to be quiet you squeak?
I squeak.
I was like the friggin Tin Man. Where the hell was that noise inside my body coming from?
I think I need looser underwear.
I had considered dressing like a ninja but all I could find in my den to make myself black was an “El Marko” marker and I didn’t want to do anything permanent.
So I make it downstairs but I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t want a single light ray to waken my wife.
You don’t want to wake my wife up after midnight because the last thing she’s going to turn into is a pumpkin.
I figure I’ll just work with the light from the freezer.
You know nuking pizza after midnight with just the light from the freezer and the microwave is actually kind of romantic.
She’s got five Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas in the freezer. In my head I was thinking I don’t need to eat all of them. If I only eat four maybe she won’t notice.
I didn’t read the directions. It was dark. I figure it’s frozen; five minutes should be about right.
I should have known better from watching the Discovery Channel.
With each Jenny Craig Personal Pizza is a space age material that you set the pizza on in the microwave. After five minutes this material turns the cheese on the pizza into lava.
I’ve seen lava on the Discovery Channel.
I know lava.
That was lava.
So I’m staring at the bubbling lava through the window on the microwave waiting for it to be done.
The one thing I hadn’t counted on was the “beep”.
My microwave beeps. Three times when whatever you’re cooking is done. It’s a loud beep. A really loud beep.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, oh baby here it comes, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BEEP… BEE….. SON OF A BITCH!!!!!
I grab the microwave door and thrust it open to stop the beep! I don’t know why I thought I needed to grab the pizza and yank it out of the microwave at the same time.
Have you ever touched lava?
I have.
Picture in your mind a middle aged overweight Italian man standing in the kitchen in the dark with his hands in molten pizza lava.
Naturally I pulled back from the pizza of death.
It wouldn’t let go.
It was now melted to my right thumb and index finger.
The whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. The pizza was flying through the air towards me. I ducked. Why? Because it was dark and I didn’t want the lava to hit me in the face.
Well the pizza wasn’t going anywhere. It was part of my hand now, the hand that was coming right at my body.
The pizza landed lava side up on my right breast. I had burning molten lava pizza cheese on my right nipple.
I may have used someone’s name in vain at this point.
I was wearing a tee shirt so it wasn’t direct lava on nipple contact but let me tell you it wasn’t much different. At this point I knock the pizza to the floor. I have lava pizza on the floor and a burnt nipple.
I mean a really burnt nipple.
Well what do you do when you have a burn?
You put ice on it.
Immediately.
Because the last thing you want is a blistered nipple.
Blistered nipple?
That may be the name of my new band.
So I take off my tee shirt and drop it on the floor. I go to the freezer and get an ice cube and put it on my nipple.
You know how timing is everything?
All of a sudden the kitchen light pops on and guess who is looking at her husband putting an ice cube on his nipple in the kitchen in the dark with his shirt and a pizza stuck to the floor?
You guessed it.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Putting ice on my nipple. What does it look like I’m doing? You’re always questioning me. Can’t a man put ice on his nipples now and then?”
“WHY ARE YOU PUTTING ICE ON YOU’RE NIPPLE?”
“Uh… I burnt my nipple.”
“WHAT?”
“I didn’t want blistered nipple.”
“How did you burn your nipple at 1:00am in the morning??? Better yet why did you burn your nipple at all??? Who burns their nipple??? What kind of an idiot burns his nipple??? You better have a good explanation numb nuts.”
“I was trying to make lava in the microwave. I saw it on the Discovery Channel. It was an idea I had for a science project for Alex.”
“Uh huh…. Is that one of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s on the floor?”
“No. That is the molten lava pizza of death.”
“Why are there four boxes of my pizzas on the counter?”
“Uh… One would be too lonely and two can be as bad as one according to the song and three just feels perverse but four looks like a barbershop quartet and everyone loves harmony.”
“You were going to eat all of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s at one o’clock in the morning?”
“No I wasn’t. You are incorrect. I was not going to eat “all” of your Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s.”
“What the hell is wrong with you Calabrese? It’s always something. If you’re not crawling around on the floor of our bedroom you’re burning your nipple. This is not normal. Normal people don’t do things this stupid.”
“It’s not my fault. I was hungry.”
“Have an apple for Christ’s sake.”
“Funny, that’s what my brain was telling me.”
“Well the next time why don’t you listen to that pea sized brain. Let me see your nipple.”
“You want to see my nipple? Yeah baby…..”
“Idiot! I want to see if you really burned it.”
“Fine. Go ahead and look.”
“Oooooh! That’s gonna blister!”
“Great. Just great. Blistered nipple. Probably leave scar. Hey…. Women like scars right?”
“Right. We women just love to see a scarred male nipple. We should put some aloe on that. Clean this up and then come upstairs and I’ll…”
“Clean this up? I’m wounded. I feel faint. I’m probably going into shock. Plus I’m still hungry. Maybe you could heat up one of your pizzas for me while I go over and lie down on the couch and try to gather my senses. Could you turn the TV on for me?”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! You want me to clean this up? HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! How long have we been married? HAHAHAHAHA!!!! You’re on your own blister boy. Clean this up…. I’m going back to bed. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
“But what about my nipple?”
“You and your nipple are on your own.”
"I don't think I should be alone right now."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"
Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number, worse than two
It's just no good anymore since she went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
(Number) One is the loneliest number.....
Boy that’s something you don’t say everyday.
In order to tell the tale we must go back to the beginning.
It was a dark and stormy night….
Okay so I live in San Diego it wasn’t exactly stormy.
I’ll start over.
It was dark.
I was hungry.
Inside my head my brain was saying to me…
“You should probably have some fruit Anthony, maybe a carrot or some snap peas. Think of your health.”
Inside my body my stomach was saying…
“Ma please. Fruit? Carrots? Come on Tone you’re Italian you can’t eat that crap and feel satisfied.”
The problem is they were both right.
So what do you do when confronted with one of those situations where wrong is right and right feels wrong? You know, like when you’re in a strip club with nothing but a debit card.
Well I decided I would take the high road. I’d eat all of my wife’s Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas. That way I’d be eating diet food. Eating something kind of like pizza but not really pizza.
And yes I said I’d eat “all” of her Jenny Craig’s Personal Pizzas. Hell you can’t eat just two or three and feel satisfied.
First I had to sneak down to the kitchen without waking my wife to get the pizza out of the freezer.
So using my catlike reflexes I slinked along the hallway wall to get downstairs. Did you ever notice how when you’re trying to be quiet you squeak?
I squeak.
I was like the friggin Tin Man. Where the hell was that noise inside my body coming from?
I think I need looser underwear.
I had considered dressing like a ninja but all I could find in my den to make myself black was an “El Marko” marker and I didn’t want to do anything permanent.
So I make it downstairs but I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t want a single light ray to waken my wife.
You don’t want to wake my wife up after midnight because the last thing she’s going to turn into is a pumpkin.
I figure I’ll just work with the light from the freezer.
You know nuking pizza after midnight with just the light from the freezer and the microwave is actually kind of romantic.
She’s got five Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas in the freezer. In my head I was thinking I don’t need to eat all of them. If I only eat four maybe she won’t notice.
I didn’t read the directions. It was dark. I figure it’s frozen; five minutes should be about right.
I should have known better from watching the Discovery Channel.
With each Jenny Craig Personal Pizza is a space age material that you set the pizza on in the microwave. After five minutes this material turns the cheese on the pizza into lava.
I’ve seen lava on the Discovery Channel.
I know lava.
That was lava.
So I’m staring at the bubbling lava through the window on the microwave waiting for it to be done.
The one thing I hadn’t counted on was the “beep”.
My microwave beeps. Three times when whatever you’re cooking is done. It’s a loud beep. A really loud beep.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, oh baby here it comes, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BEEP… BEE….. SON OF A BITCH!!!!!
I grab the microwave door and thrust it open to stop the beep! I don’t know why I thought I needed to grab the pizza and yank it out of the microwave at the same time.
Have you ever touched lava?
I have.
Picture in your mind a middle aged overweight Italian man standing in the kitchen in the dark with his hands in molten pizza lava.
Naturally I pulled back from the pizza of death.
It wouldn’t let go.
It was now melted to my right thumb and index finger.
The whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. The pizza was flying through the air towards me. I ducked. Why? Because it was dark and I didn’t want the lava to hit me in the face.
Well the pizza wasn’t going anywhere. It was part of my hand now, the hand that was coming right at my body.
The pizza landed lava side up on my right breast. I had burning molten lava pizza cheese on my right nipple.
I may have used someone’s name in vain at this point.
I was wearing a tee shirt so it wasn’t direct lava on nipple contact but let me tell you it wasn’t much different. At this point I knock the pizza to the floor. I have lava pizza on the floor and a burnt nipple.
I mean a really burnt nipple.
Well what do you do when you have a burn?
You put ice on it.
Immediately.
Because the last thing you want is a blistered nipple.
Blistered nipple?
That may be the name of my new band.
So I take off my tee shirt and drop it on the floor. I go to the freezer and get an ice cube and put it on my nipple.
You know how timing is everything?
All of a sudden the kitchen light pops on and guess who is looking at her husband putting an ice cube on his nipple in the kitchen in the dark with his shirt and a pizza stuck to the floor?
You guessed it.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Putting ice on my nipple. What does it look like I’m doing? You’re always questioning me. Can’t a man put ice on his nipples now and then?”
“WHY ARE YOU PUTTING ICE ON YOU’RE NIPPLE?”
“Uh… I burnt my nipple.”
“WHAT?”
“I didn’t want blistered nipple.”
“How did you burn your nipple at 1:00am in the morning??? Better yet why did you burn your nipple at all??? Who burns their nipple??? What kind of an idiot burns his nipple??? You better have a good explanation numb nuts.”
“I was trying to make lava in the microwave. I saw it on the Discovery Channel. It was an idea I had for a science project for Alex.”
“Uh huh…. Is that one of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s on the floor?”
“No. That is the molten lava pizza of death.”
“Why are there four boxes of my pizzas on the counter?”
“Uh… One would be too lonely and two can be as bad as one according to the song and three just feels perverse but four looks like a barbershop quartet and everyone loves harmony.”
“You were going to eat all of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s at one o’clock in the morning?”
“No I wasn’t. You are incorrect. I was not going to eat “all” of your Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s.”
“What the hell is wrong with you Calabrese? It’s always something. If you’re not crawling around on the floor of our bedroom you’re burning your nipple. This is not normal. Normal people don’t do things this stupid.”
“It’s not my fault. I was hungry.”
“Have an apple for Christ’s sake.”
“Funny, that’s what my brain was telling me.”
“Well the next time why don’t you listen to that pea sized brain. Let me see your nipple.”
“You want to see my nipple? Yeah baby…..”
“Idiot! I want to see if you really burned it.”
“Fine. Go ahead and look.”
“Oooooh! That’s gonna blister!”
“Great. Just great. Blistered nipple. Probably leave scar. Hey…. Women like scars right?”
“Right. We women just love to see a scarred male nipple. We should put some aloe on that. Clean this up and then come upstairs and I’ll…”
“Clean this up? I’m wounded. I feel faint. I’m probably going into shock. Plus I’m still hungry. Maybe you could heat up one of your pizzas for me while I go over and lie down on the couch and try to gather my senses. Could you turn the TV on for me?”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! You want me to clean this up? HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! How long have we been married? HAHAHAHAHA!!!! You’re on your own blister boy. Clean this up…. I’m going back to bed. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
“But what about my nipple?”
“You and your nipple are on your own.”
"I don't think I should be alone right now."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"
Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number, worse than two
It's just no good anymore since she went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
(Number) One is the loneliest number.....
posted by Shrinking Wop at 10:29 AM
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