Have you tried the new Beijing Beef at Panda! Wow….pretty good stuff.
Ya know, I’ve been going to panda for quit some time for lunch and when the got their new ‘Beijing beef’ I had to try it. Really, really good. The sauce it is covered in has got a nice kick to it. It’s cooked up in a wok with green and red peppers and onions. Quite tasty.
So, today, I’m at lunch with 3 of my groupies and 3 of us got the panda. I went for a split entrée of the noodles and rice, a side of Beijing beef and Orange chicken. I’ve had this meal many a times.
Today, as I’m enjoying my Beijing beef, I notice that a piece of beef had been folded over onto itself as it was cooked in the spicy sauce. I opened it up and exposed the actual color of the beef. What I found was quit surprising. The ‘beef’ did not look like normal beef. Normal as in what an Americans definition of beef is. Cow. This beef is not cow. It is something else. Next time you have the Beijing beef, look at it. Feel the texture in your mouth. Very different from cow beef.
So, this begs the question…What is ‘Beijing’ beef?
We know that Beijing is in China. And we know that in China, they eat dog. So this leads me to believe that Panda is selling dog meat and calling it Beijing beef. They wouldn’t be lying if this would be the case. I mean, ‘Beijing’ beef to me WOULD be dog. Just like ‘American’ beef is cow. So I can’t fault them for that. But….I had to know for sure, whether or not I was eating dog. So, I question the all knowing internet. I could not have been more wrong....
‘What is Beijing beef?’
One of the first sites that I noticed in the head lines that defined Beijing beef was the Urban Dictionary. Here is what I found….
1. Beijing beef
To perform intercourse so vigorously that the female is forced to squint.
"She requested a double entree platter of Beijing Beef, and I was happy to serve her up."
Here's the link:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=beijing+beef
I will never order Beijing beef with a straight face again….but yes…I will order it.
Showing posts with label Disclaimer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Disclaimer. Show all posts
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
“Dude…You’re just like me!”
Several years ago I used to live in a Townhouse complex and one of my neighbors was mostly deaf and partially blind and a little slow in the mental capacity. He was around 23 but acted like he was 13. We’ll call him Dulain. Dulain is a really nice guy. Do anything for ya. He lived across from me, so when he looked out his window, he could see me out in my patio. Whenever he saw me, he liked to come and over bull shit with me and see what I was doing. Whether I was fixing my motorcycle or fixing up the flower beds, he was there putting in his two cents worth because nearly everything I was doing, he had already done or knew how to do it because he had seen it on TV or saw somebody else do it. Just so happens, I was always doing it wrong.
One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”
Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”
Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”
“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)
“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."
“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”
“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”
One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”
Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”
Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”
“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)
“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."
“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”
“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”
Thursday, July 5, 2007
I have a dream....
What a fun time the forth of July is. Parades, BBQ’s, beers, ice cream, and fireworks. Love the fireworks (and the beer of course). Crowds of people gathering and the many different locations to let off and watch fireworks. Amazing how they get the different colors and shapes to the explosions that are ignited at the beginning of the fuse in each firework we light.
The symbolism of these fireworks are of the rockets and bombs that burst in the air used to fight for our freedom here in the U.S. That’s not to say that is where they are originated from, but it symbolizes defending our country. Very patriotic for a day we celebrate our independence on.
That brings me to my point. The day that we celebrate our independence on.
Now, I’m just as patriotic as the next guy. I’ve hit the parades, ate the hot dogs and burgers, drank the beers, (love the beers), ate the ice cream and done the fireworks with the kids until midnight. Good times. But getting up to go to work the next day is a bitch! Why the hell are we up going full speed 8 hours before we are supposed to be to work? That really sucks! We should be up ALL night celebrating! Letting off fireworks! Getting drunk! Playing card games! Cooking up Brats! Not trying to get to bed so we aren’t dragging ass the next day at work.
Of course this only applies to the forth landing on a week day, Sun-Thur. as apposed to the weekend, Fri-Sat. Because I work blue collar white man hours, Mon-Fri. (see disclaimer).
We have other holidays that we celebrate the night before, so why not the forth? New years day is celebrated right at midnight. Christmas is celebrated in the early morning hours. Not to mention Santa Clauses visit the night before. So why not have the celebration of our independence be celebrated on the very beginning minute on the forth of July? That’s right…12:00 am, July forth!
This can’t be that big of a deal can it? I mean, we are still celebrating on the forth. Just doing it at a different time of the day. This way, we can work all day, get home with the family, load them up in the wagon, and pick that nice spot in the park to watch the fireworks at 10pm, ON THE 3RD, until 10:30ish or so, then go be home and ready to do your own firework show at midnight! Stay up all night with the kids/adults and party your brains out until the wee hours of the morning. Spend all day the 4th recovering, and be ready to hit the keyboard first thing on the 5th.
Not too much to ask is it?
Lets all band together. Spread the word, and get this in the works for next year! (even though it’s on Friday in 2008, we can still do it on the 3rd, Right?)
Thanks for your support!
-L
The symbolism of these fireworks are of the rockets and bombs that burst in the air used to fight for our freedom here in the U.S. That’s not to say that is where they are originated from, but it symbolizes defending our country. Very patriotic for a day we celebrate our independence on.
That brings me to my point. The day that we celebrate our independence on.
Now, I’m just as patriotic as the next guy. I’ve hit the parades, ate the hot dogs and burgers, drank the beers, (love the beers), ate the ice cream and done the fireworks with the kids until midnight. Good times. But getting up to go to work the next day is a bitch! Why the hell are we up going full speed 8 hours before we are supposed to be to work? That really sucks! We should be up ALL night celebrating! Letting off fireworks! Getting drunk! Playing card games! Cooking up Brats! Not trying to get to bed so we aren’t dragging ass the next day at work.
Of course this only applies to the forth landing on a week day, Sun-Thur. as apposed to the weekend, Fri-Sat. Because I work blue collar white man hours, Mon-Fri. (see disclaimer).
We have other holidays that we celebrate the night before, so why not the forth? New years day is celebrated right at midnight. Christmas is celebrated in the early morning hours. Not to mention Santa Clauses visit the night before. So why not have the celebration of our independence be celebrated on the very beginning minute on the forth of July? That’s right…12:00 am, July forth!
This can’t be that big of a deal can it? I mean, we are still celebrating on the forth. Just doing it at a different time of the day. This way, we can work all day, get home with the family, load them up in the wagon, and pick that nice spot in the park to watch the fireworks at 10pm, ON THE 3RD, until 10:30ish or so, then go be home and ready to do your own firework show at midnight! Stay up all night with the kids/adults and party your brains out until the wee hours of the morning. Spend all day the 4th recovering, and be ready to hit the keyboard first thing on the 5th.
Not too much to ask is it?
Lets all band together. Spread the word, and get this in the works for next year! (even though it’s on Friday in 2008, we can still do it on the 3rd, Right?)
Thanks for your support!
-L
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Dear God....
So - there is this really, REALLY, religious guy that works here. Not Catholic or Mormon. Not sure what he is, but it’s not any of the dominant religions. Not that it matters anyway, and he don’t push it on anyone. I didn’t even know until Dalton just told me this story…..
We'll call this guy Jeff. He is working on a project with D and they have a TON of work to do by Friday of next week. Jeff is really concerned how they are going to get all the work done by then. So, as he is in D’s cubicle, he asks D if he would join him in prayer to ask for help to get the work done on time.
D is not a religious man. His wife is Catholic, and she rarely goes to church. But D is not a part of it. He’s not against it, just not a part of it.
So to be nice, D obliges him and Jeff, right there in D’s cubicle (across from the company printer mind you) faces D, kneels down on his knees and grabs D’s hand and starts praying. Out loud. I commend the guy for looking to God for help. I do to, but not at work kneeling in front of a co-worker sitting in his chair and holding his hand.
As this is going on, D can barely contain himself. He is nearly busting out in laughter. Just then, another co-worker walks by…Darrel. He is about 50ish and very quiet with dry since of humor and don’t know D at all. Darrel, without slowing his walking pace down one bit, without missing a beat, grabs his print off the printer, glances over at Jeff kneeling in front of D, holding his hand, praying out loud, and says, “Do your spouses know you two have come out of the closet?”
Well, D lost it. He busted out and apologized to Jeff. Jeff looks up at D, still on his knees, face turning all red, and says, “I better go have a talk with him.”
This place is so damn funny.
We'll call this guy Jeff. He is working on a project with D and they have a TON of work to do by Friday of next week. Jeff is really concerned how they are going to get all the work done by then. So, as he is in D’s cubicle, he asks D if he would join him in prayer to ask for help to get the work done on time.
D is not a religious man. His wife is Catholic, and she rarely goes to church. But D is not a part of it. He’s not against it, just not a part of it.
So to be nice, D obliges him and Jeff, right there in D’s cubicle (across from the company printer mind you) faces D, kneels down on his knees and grabs D’s hand and starts praying. Out loud. I commend the guy for looking to God for help. I do to, but not at work kneeling in front of a co-worker sitting in his chair and holding his hand.
As this is going on, D can barely contain himself. He is nearly busting out in laughter. Just then, another co-worker walks by…Darrel. He is about 50ish and very quiet with dry since of humor and don’t know D at all. Darrel, without slowing his walking pace down one bit, without missing a beat, grabs his print off the printer, glances over at Jeff kneeling in front of D, holding his hand, praying out loud, and says, “Do your spouses know you two have come out of the closet?”
Well, D lost it. He busted out and apologized to Jeff. Jeff looks up at D, still on his knees, face turning all red, and says, “I better go have a talk with him.”
This place is so damn funny.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
What's in a name? Well let me tell ya!
Nicknames are fun to have. Sometimes, people have to do something and their friends give them a nickname for what they did. Here’s a good example…Jason (not his real name, mind you) was on a trip with a bunch of us friends and we all stopped at a little ma-pa restaurant to get some grub. Jason ordered a simple grilled cheese sandwich. He was asked if he wanted that on wheat or rye bread.
He said “White please.”
The girl replied, “we don’t have white. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was beside himself. “You don’t have white bread?”
“No” the 14 year old girl said. “we don’t have white bread. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was pissed. Gary said, “what’s wrong with wheat bread?”
“I don’t like wheat bread” Jason says, and he turns away and walks to the table with everyone else without ordering. And now, he is in a pissy ass mood.
Hey – if a 30 year old guy don’t like wheat bread, the guy don’t like wheat bread. I get it. Hell, I don’t like chocolate and haven’t eaten it since I was like 10! (I know…I’m not human.)
Gary then asks the girl if they serve burgers on wheat or rye only.
“No. We have white buns with seasame seeds on them. Would you like one?”
“No….” Gary says, “Get Mr. White Bread a slice of cheese, stick it on a bun and microwave it for 10 seconds and I’ll give it to him. And yes, I’d like a burger on a bun as well. Thanks!”
She smirks and goes about what she was told. Gary then brings Jason his lunch, and hands it to him saying: “here’s your grilled cheese ‘white bread’!”
Now, I have a nickname I have created, but I didn’t create for the intention of being a nickname for myself. It is more of a description of my birthday that I created similar to Christmas. However, friends have coined it as being my nickname.
Let me explain….
Christmas is an annual holiday that marks the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Better known as Jesus Christ. The word Christmas is a contraction meaning “Christs Mass.” Christians are raised to try to be “Christ like”. Since I am Christian, I am trying to be “Christ like”. And what better way to be Christ like than to have a day like Christs? So, I have contracted my name “Larry” with “Mass” to get “Larmas”. This self proclaimed ‘holiday’ is celebrated on my birthday, June 16th.
Now keep in mind…I am not, by any means, trying to take anything away from, mock, or degrade the birth of Christ in any way shape or form. (see my disclaimer) I am simply trying to be Christ like and have my own holiday.
I don’t want to leave any religion out of my holiday. So, everyone is invited to celebrate Larmas in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being.
For those that celebrate Christmas by the exchanging of gifts, this is the rule:
When Christ was born, he got gifts. Now he is gone, everyone exchanges gifts with each other. This will happen with me as well. I get the gifts, and when I die, gifts will be exchanged.
Jews have the festival of lights that lasts for eight days. Eight days! This is insane! It is not fair that the Jews get over a week to celebrate as they see fit on Larmas. So, EVERY ONE gets to do what they want in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being for eight days!
These days are now defined as the Saturday before the 16th, to the Saturday after the 16th. (the last Saturday is commonly known to slip into Sunday morning nearly every single year – this is just fine, because….it’s Larmas and everything is ok on or around Larmas.)
Simple enough huh? Everyone is included. No matter the race, religion or education, when Larmas comes around, you can celebrate it anyway you see fit for your own personal happiness and well being for eight days.
This holiday falls at the perfect time of the year too. Right in the middle of the traditional Christmas’. This way, those of us in the northern hemisphere of the planet can celebrate a similar holiday in the summertime as the southern hemisphere gets the snow during the holiday. Perfect!
I would like to get this holiday known world wide so everyone benefits, and eventually we all can get a day off work (or 5) for the celebration. So, spread the word of Larmas to your loved ones and friends around the world!
Happy Larmas!
He said “White please.”
The girl replied, “we don’t have white. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was beside himself. “You don’t have white bread?”
“No” the 14 year old girl said. “we don’t have white bread. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was pissed. Gary said, “what’s wrong with wheat bread?”
“I don’t like wheat bread” Jason says, and he turns away and walks to the table with everyone else without ordering. And now, he is in a pissy ass mood.
Hey – if a 30 year old guy don’t like wheat bread, the guy don’t like wheat bread. I get it. Hell, I don’t like chocolate and haven’t eaten it since I was like 10! (I know…I’m not human.)
Gary then asks the girl if they serve burgers on wheat or rye only.
“No. We have white buns with seasame seeds on them. Would you like one?”
“No….” Gary says, “Get Mr. White Bread a slice of cheese, stick it on a bun and microwave it for 10 seconds and I’ll give it to him. And yes, I’d like a burger on a bun as well. Thanks!”
She smirks and goes about what she was told. Gary then brings Jason his lunch, and hands it to him saying: “here’s your grilled cheese ‘white bread’!”
Now, I have a nickname I have created, but I didn’t create for the intention of being a nickname for myself. It is more of a description of my birthday that I created similar to Christmas. However, friends have coined it as being my nickname.
Let me explain….
Christmas is an annual holiday that marks the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Better known as Jesus Christ. The word Christmas is a contraction meaning “Christs Mass.” Christians are raised to try to be “Christ like”. Since I am Christian, I am trying to be “Christ like”. And what better way to be Christ like than to have a day like Christs? So, I have contracted my name “Larry” with “Mass” to get “Larmas”. This self proclaimed ‘holiday’ is celebrated on my birthday, June 16th.
Now keep in mind…I am not, by any means, trying to take anything away from, mock, or degrade the birth of Christ in any way shape or form. (see my disclaimer) I am simply trying to be Christ like and have my own holiday.
I don’t want to leave any religion out of my holiday. So, everyone is invited to celebrate Larmas in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being.
For those that celebrate Christmas by the exchanging of gifts, this is the rule:
When Christ was born, he got gifts. Now he is gone, everyone exchanges gifts with each other. This will happen with me as well. I get the gifts, and when I die, gifts will be exchanged.
Jews have the festival of lights that lasts for eight days. Eight days! This is insane! It is not fair that the Jews get over a week to celebrate as they see fit on Larmas. So, EVERY ONE gets to do what they want in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being for eight days!
These days are now defined as the Saturday before the 16th, to the Saturday after the 16th. (the last Saturday is commonly known to slip into Sunday morning nearly every single year – this is just fine, because….it’s Larmas and everything is ok on or around Larmas.)
Simple enough huh? Everyone is included. No matter the race, religion or education, when Larmas comes around, you can celebrate it anyway you see fit for your own personal happiness and well being for eight days.
This holiday falls at the perfect time of the year too. Right in the middle of the traditional Christmas’. This way, those of us in the northern hemisphere of the planet can celebrate a similar holiday in the summertime as the southern hemisphere gets the snow during the holiday. Perfect!
I would like to get this holiday known world wide so everyone benefits, and eventually we all can get a day off work (or 5) for the celebration. So, spread the word of Larmas to your loved ones and friends around the world!
Happy Larmas!
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Thursday, May 10, 2007
Cover the Crack!
We have all heard the slogan, ‘Say no to Crack!’…right? This is a great slogan. And we all know that it has turned into a term that we use when we see a plumber.
Nobody wants to see a guy bent over with his shirt crawling up the middle of his back, suspenders not quit doing the job intended, allowing the hair on his lower back that covers the path to his ‘grand canyon’, to pop out, making it obvious Mr. Plumber is strutting around as Mr. ‘Commando’ that day. Sick! Kinda funny, but sick. Even with his tighty whities hugging is 48 inch waist line hanging inches below the top of the ‘canyon’ he so proudly displays, it still is not a good sight.
I feel the same goes for women…for example….I was at the food court in the mall the other day looking for a place to eat. As I am strolling along the main walkway, looking for a table amongst the sea of people sitting and eating, I notice a slender lady sitting across from a girl about 5 yrs old. As I am walking past her, with her back to me, the crack she is displaying becomes extremely noticeable. The white hip huggers she was wearing had somehow pulled themselves down at least 3 inches below the top of her separation line with no barrier between the hip huggers and her showing. She was in fact, going commando that day. Now, one may think that guys would say that was hot. However, I am here to say that what I saw, was not hot. It was on the verge of disgusting. Here she sits with half her shit splicer showing itself to the main walk way in the food court while she eats with her little 5 yr old girl. Keep in mind, she was no whale by any sorts. Maybe pushing 90 lbs. Tiny thing. But what she had going on was not good.
Now, different situation….Say in your office you have an attractive woman reaching down in the supply cabinet for a ream of paper and her shirt rides up, along with her tiny g-string she is wearing. Now, that is hot. However, if there were no g-string, and that crevasse shows itself with no decoration to speak of, well to me, that’s just not right. The crack HAS to be covered. Whether it be with a tiny string, or a long trench coat.
Cover the crack!
Nobody wants to see a guy bent over with his shirt crawling up the middle of his back, suspenders not quit doing the job intended, allowing the hair on his lower back that covers the path to his ‘grand canyon’, to pop out, making it obvious Mr. Plumber is strutting around as Mr. ‘Commando’ that day. Sick! Kinda funny, but sick. Even with his tighty whities hugging is 48 inch waist line hanging inches below the top of the ‘canyon’ he so proudly displays, it still is not a good sight.
I feel the same goes for women…for example….I was at the food court in the mall the other day looking for a place to eat. As I am strolling along the main walkway, looking for a table amongst the sea of people sitting and eating, I notice a slender lady sitting across from a girl about 5 yrs old. As I am walking past her, with her back to me, the crack she is displaying becomes extremely noticeable. The white hip huggers she was wearing had somehow pulled themselves down at least 3 inches below the top of her separation line with no barrier between the hip huggers and her showing. She was in fact, going commando that day. Now, one may think that guys would say that was hot. However, I am here to say that what I saw, was not hot. It was on the verge of disgusting. Here she sits with half her shit splicer showing itself to the main walk way in the food court while she eats with her little 5 yr old girl. Keep in mind, she was no whale by any sorts. Maybe pushing 90 lbs. Tiny thing. But what she had going on was not good.
Now, different situation….Say in your office you have an attractive woman reaching down in the supply cabinet for a ream of paper and her shirt rides up, along with her tiny g-string she is wearing. Now, that is hot. However, if there were no g-string, and that crevasse shows itself with no decoration to speak of, well to me, that’s just not right. The crack HAS to be covered. Whether it be with a tiny string, or a long trench coat.
Cover the crack!
Monday, March 5, 2007
The '4's
I was in Phoenix last week in the airport waiting to load the plane to come back home. I had just got done eating and having a beer, so I was feeling content. As I sit and wait with everyone else, I start my 'people watch' game. Across from me, a few rows over, is a very attractive, well dressed (business like) women. Approximately 35 yrs old, tall (5'8"+), olive skin tone, dishwater blond, with very nice cleavage she was very proud to discreetly display. On my 1-5 scale, an easy 4. Great eye candy.
All of a sudden, another '4' comes walking right in front of me and sits about 5 seats to the right of me. This '4' was shorter, about 5'5", brunette, brown eyes, olive skin, again - well dressed (business like) woman. This '4' was about 23 yrs old, and the more I looked and listened to her on the phone, the more she was becoming a '5'! She referred to herself as 'Bride-Zilla' on the phone several times, which was a big turn-on for me. This meant she had a great personality and loves to joke around. More great eye candy.
As I boarded the plan in my first class seat (I never fly first class. Not by choice though. This was a flook.) I sat and waited for my two '4's to board for my last peak at the classy women. As they went by, I realized that would most likely be the last time I ever see either of them again, so I take it in.
More than half way thru the flight, I get up to take a leak. As I finish in there, I decide that I better let my fart out while I'm in there. I let it rip. Not a bad one, but I've had better. The aroma is not pleasing at all. Must have been the pork chops and beer from the night before. I vacate and close the door behind me to contain the beast I left in hopes the air flow in there would tame it in a matter of minutes.
Just after I return to my seat, which is just across and back on from the restroom, and start buckling up my seat belt, I see my second '4' (now a '4+') walk past me and up near the cockpit of the plan. This is wonderful! I never thought I would see her again. What a great surprise! As I see her looking around as if she needs something, I glace over to the restroom door and wonder.....then I glance back at her....then she makes her way to the door. Looks at it as if she is looking for some sort of secret passageway and cannot find the candle to pull on to open up the door.
At this point, I still have not got my seat belt on. It has been less than a minute since I left the aroma of my insides in that small, small, small room. Unless the window was open in there, I know it is still finding its way in the pours of the wall.
Finally - after about 5 long seconds of looking for the secret switch, she realizes that if she just pushes on the door, it folds open. Did she see me come out? Does she know I exist? Is she suffering from a congested head cold? All these questions will be answered by just how long she stays in the stink tank. (I laugh to myself thinking...'this is good stuff here!')
I time her. 45 seconds go past. That is just about as long as I can hold my breath. She's better than me already.
90 seconds....
2 minutes! She comes out after 2 minutes! I see the door crack open. She hits her foot with it on the inside or something, but its a fight, I can see it. Finally, the door opens and my '4+' steps out. I don't want to look, but I can't look away. It's like driving by a bad car wreck, you look to see if everyone is ok, but you know you risk seeing something very bad.
She looks up from the floor as she walks out, and makes sure the door closes behind her. (maybe to make sure my insides don't escape). She looks down the plane from where she came from and I watch her eyes the whole way. She can't miss me. I am in a single seat on the aisle. I could nudge her with my shoulder. However, she walks by like I am not even there. Maybe she didn't smell anything. Maybe she made sure the door was closed tight to hide her little secret. I am tempted to get up and go in there to see what she left behind. But I control myself and realize that is just sick. Besides, we started our decent and so I was captive to my seat once again and I never saw either of my '4's again. Sigh.
All of a sudden, another '4' comes walking right in front of me and sits about 5 seats to the right of me. This '4' was shorter, about 5'5", brunette, brown eyes, olive skin, again - well dressed (business like) woman. This '4' was about 23 yrs old, and the more I looked and listened to her on the phone, the more she was becoming a '5'! She referred to herself as 'Bride-Zilla' on the phone several times, which was a big turn-on for me. This meant she had a great personality and loves to joke around. More great eye candy.
As I boarded the plan in my first class seat (I never fly first class. Not by choice though. This was a flook.) I sat and waited for my two '4's to board for my last peak at the classy women. As they went by, I realized that would most likely be the last time I ever see either of them again, so I take it in.
More than half way thru the flight, I get up to take a leak. As I finish in there, I decide that I better let my fart out while I'm in there. I let it rip. Not a bad one, but I've had better. The aroma is not pleasing at all. Must have been the pork chops and beer from the night before. I vacate and close the door behind me to contain the beast I left in hopes the air flow in there would tame it in a matter of minutes.
Just after I return to my seat, which is just across and back on from the restroom, and start buckling up my seat belt, I see my second '4' (now a '4+') walk past me and up near the cockpit of the plan. This is wonderful! I never thought I would see her again. What a great surprise! As I see her looking around as if she needs something, I glace over to the restroom door and wonder.....then I glance back at her....then she makes her way to the door. Looks at it as if she is looking for some sort of secret passageway and cannot find the candle to pull on to open up the door.
At this point, I still have not got my seat belt on. It has been less than a minute since I left the aroma of my insides in that small, small, small room. Unless the window was open in there, I know it is still finding its way in the pours of the wall.
Finally - after about 5 long seconds of looking for the secret switch, she realizes that if she just pushes on the door, it folds open. Did she see me come out? Does she know I exist? Is she suffering from a congested head cold? All these questions will be answered by just how long she stays in the stink tank. (I laugh to myself thinking...'this is good stuff here!')
I time her. 45 seconds go past. That is just about as long as I can hold my breath. She's better than me already.
90 seconds....
2 minutes! She comes out after 2 minutes! I see the door crack open. She hits her foot with it on the inside or something, but its a fight, I can see it. Finally, the door opens and my '4+' steps out. I don't want to look, but I can't look away. It's like driving by a bad car wreck, you look to see if everyone is ok, but you know you risk seeing something very bad.
She looks up from the floor as she walks out, and makes sure the door closes behind her. (maybe to make sure my insides don't escape). She looks down the plane from where she came from and I watch her eyes the whole way. She can't miss me. I am in a single seat on the aisle. I could nudge her with my shoulder. However, she walks by like I am not even there. Maybe she didn't smell anything. Maybe she made sure the door was closed tight to hide her little secret. I am tempted to get up and go in there to see what she left behind. But I control myself and realize that is just sick. Besides, we started our decent and so I was captive to my seat once again and I never saw either of my '4's again. Sigh.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Cats are stupid!
That sums it up. I know I am not the first with that opinion, but that is a true statement.
I had a bag full of clothes for the salvation army sitting next to my door for me to grab on my way out. On my way out, I noticed my daughters cat sitting on it. I kicked it off the bag and in the cats place was now a small puddle of piss.
This cat has a box that is maintained that it can go in, however, it thinks it needs to mark its territory on a bag of perfectly good clothes that are no longer staying in the house. It has no business trying to let the world know that that bag is hers.
Right now, there are probably cats at the land fill marking their territory all over the place and are going to come across this bag. When one of the does, I am sure it will laugh and go to the water cooler where all the other dumbass cats hang out and talk about a stupid bag that some dumbass cat pissed on.
Stupid cats.
I had a bag full of clothes for the salvation army sitting next to my door for me to grab on my way out. On my way out, I noticed my daughters cat sitting on it. I kicked it off the bag and in the cats place was now a small puddle of piss.
This cat has a box that is maintained that it can go in, however, it thinks it needs to mark its territory on a bag of perfectly good clothes that are no longer staying in the house. It has no business trying to let the world know that that bag is hers.
Right now, there are probably cats at the land fill marking their territory all over the place and are going to come across this bag. When one of the does, I am sure it will laugh and go to the water cooler where all the other dumbass cats hang out and talk about a stupid bag that some dumbass cat pissed on.
Stupid cats.
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