What Fun used to be

Star signs. It’s a trap.

Astrology has a rich history that goes back to ancient Egypt. It was developed further by the Greeks and found its most profound expression in the 70’s, when hairy bachelors in quiana shirts would ooze up to single women, stir their Harvey Wallbangers, and say, “Sagittarius right? I could tell because I’m Aquarius, and I felt an immediate chemistry between us.” (And when that failed, the guy would show the woman his Latin Hustle and hope for the best.) Though many dismiss astrology as a claptrap and hokum, a recent study concluded that predictions such as, “You may meet an exotic stranger” were correct nearly 14 percent of the time!
If, like myself, you lap this kinda shit up like a wet cake in a sand pool, check out these babies. In which on the contrary, I believe, are more or less 100% correct. 

Leo:

You will receive a very intriguing phone call today. You won’t be in, though, and the caller wont leave a message.

Capricorn:

You will lunch today with a large group, and several people will compliment you on your choice of side dish. 

 Aquarius:

Today is your lucky day! you will receive a discount on office supplies. Use the savings to purchase a muffin of your choice.

Taurus:

A small man who smells of burnt cloves will offer you a foreign post position.. if your name is Ed Malloy. If not, disregard. Its not your night anyhow. 

 Pisces:

You will somehow come in contact with water today. It may be in the morning, or possibly afternoon. Definitely by evening. 

Aires:

Love is in the air. Not for you, however. You will spend the evening reading Maxim and eating canned tamales over the sink. 

Gemini:

Depression is closing in. You have to take immediate steps to stave it off. Barring that, you could end it all. It’s up to you. 

Cancer:

A visit to the doctor is in your future, as your steady diet of Arby’s Big Montanas finally catches up with you. 

Virgo: 

Today is the day to strike! Put up that cat poster that you bought last May, or try baking some sort of quick bread. Go, man, go! 

Libra:

Work problems intensify. You will dribble coffee on your Dockers and your favorite highlighter will be stolen by some bastard in HR.

Scorpio:

From the ice age to the dull age there is but one concern, I have just discovered some girls are bigger than others, and some girls mothers are bigger than other girls mothers. Wait! hold on thats not a prediction, thats a horrible Smiths song. None the less, avoid this song, it’ll only distress you more. 

Sagittarius:

Today.. It’s just not the day to try new things. Danger is in the air. Don’t do anything today, it’ll be easier on yourself. avoid ovens. 

If these don’t help you, I can only pray that the big G guides you. 

Jilted

Nothing in this life compares to the pain of being thrown over by the one you love. Tragically, there is little you can do to ease the pain, short of getting drunk on Boone’s Farm Country Kwencher, punching parking meters till your knuckles bleed, and calling your ex at 4:00 in the morning. Whoever said “it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all” clearly never really love, or else he loved a really sweaty woman girl with a mustache who was always trying to give him back rubs in public. You may be a lord-but lets be frank, Alfred, you should have stayed In the Valley of Cauteretz, cuz yo poems blow.

Should you experience the heartbreak of lost love, the best way to deal with it is to lie down, turn on-“No Love Lost”-and begin weeping uncontrollably for days until your neighbors call the police. If that doesn’t help soothe the pain, Ian’s woeful prose will send you to sleep-the big sleep that is. 

Who among us hasn’t left our hobby farm, gone to work at our job at Bledsoe, Bledsoe, Davidson, and Cole, Attorneys at Law, only to come home and find our wife, Jeanie, in the arms of a swarthy George Michael look-alike? Every single one of us has gone through this-we wouldn’t be human if we hadn’t. Those who have lived through it successfully know that there is no use crying or complaining: Simply load up the 12 gauge with rock salt, run out of the house screaming like a maniac, and empty a load into the taut backside of the faux George Michael. He won’t be prowling around your henhouse anymore. 

Scratch the surface of any man and you’ll find a fragile, delicate flower within. Gentle tears cloud his eyes upon hearing Streisand’s Broadway Album; while sipping gently on a General Foods International Coffee French Vanilla Cappuccino, he remarks that Carly Simon only gets better with age; he wants to hold every baby he sees; when humidity drops, he begins liberally applying Kiss My Face honey and calendula moisturizing lotion to his combination skin. And women, if you see this delicate flower of a man coming, run. Run and never look back. He will only make you cry. 

How to get rid of that Brad, who you just don’t want no-mo.

Dear Brad,

It is with heavy heart that I take pen in trembling hand to let you know that I have found someone else, and I pray that it does not cause you much pain when I tell you that this someone else is actually attractive, has hair, and does not smell like chipped beef. Please believe me when I tell you how difficult it is to unburden myself of the fact that I am dating your second cousin, Lenny, who I met at Dollar Drink Night at Playaz bar (the one  over by the mall). Oh, Brad, how I will miss holding your hand while you tell me unending and painfully dull fictional stories of your work at the post office.

Anyway, gotta go 

Jane.

Now, as you may have already observed, this letter will only work if your name is Jane, and ultimately, his is Brad. Otherwise, I just think it will be all too confusing for both you and him-and then there could be mixed messages and things get messy-Oh and make sure Lenny knows whats going on. The other guy is always the one out of the loop and who has to cop it the hardest. Poor fella. 

Love blows, huh’-Lenny.

Be My Valentine

Beware-or Cupid, the chubby, out-of-shape god of love in the infrequently changed diaper, may strafe your home and fire a broadhead-tipped arrow into your left ventricle. Causing you to love.

The Heart is an immensely complicated muscle, comprised of a myriad of interconnected parts, each highly specialized and intricately tuned, a precision instrument of both strength and delicacy-kind of like a toaster. Though not one of those high-buck German toasters that monitor the progress of browning. Those things are amazing! No, the heart is more like a mid-level toaster from a decent warehouse store: utilitarian and durable. But not that durable, as it can be pretty thoroughly trashed if you eat a couple of Italian sausages and too many pork chops. Do that and you may need to take a leaf out of Ze Germans book. 

Nothing quite says “I love you” like a heart-shaped box of chocolates…. purchased at a drugstore on the way home from work for $2.99 along with a package of combs, some generic dandruff shamps, and a tube of jock cream. Speaking of chocolates. Chocolate contains a chemical called anandamide, responsible for the mild euphoria “chocoholics” experience after eating it. One side affect of anandamide, as some fellows may know all too well, is the the tendency to acquire a strong resemblance to hamburger mascot Big Boy, for the gaps in your teeth to grow abnormally large, and to smile manically and homicidally at all times. So hey, get that in yo body! 

I may be a cynic, but I’m also ironically a romantic, so naturally with every heartfelt chocolate theres a rose, and, “every rose has its thorn”, so it is said. But since it was said by the L.A. hair band Poison, who also made the easily disprovable claim that “Every cowboy sings a sad, sad song,” you should approach it with a great deal of skepticism.

Although roses themselves are quite romantic, Pete Rose is, in fact, the least romantic thing on the face of the planet. I beg of you do not present your love with a disgraced second baseman with a bowl cut and a gap in his teeth the size of a buffalo nickel, and who, yes, indeed won “Rookie of the year”- I don’t care what it means I just care how great it sounds. 

For all the valentine lovers, i’ll share with you my tricks of the trade. 

There is usually a natural progression of physical affection that begins with hand-holding, moves on to chaste kissing and light hugging, then to more passionate kisses, back to hand-holding-with minor regressions into icy standoffishness-and eventually on to more serious physical intimacy. In order that this may go well, with as little weeping as possible, its helpful to have a basic understanding of human anatomy. According to the latest available sex research, men’s genitalia consist of “units” or “things,” while women’s consist of something entirely different that is, as of yet, unidentified. This very basic primer should serve you well into your forties, when more up-to-date information may be available. 

As the great philosopher Juice Newton once observed: “Playin’ with the queen of hearts. Knowin’ it ain’t really smart. Joker ain’t the only fool who’ll do anything for you.” In fact, on AM radio in the early 80’s, she observed it some 57 trillion times until many begged her to stop. 

So, Please, Please, be my Valentine. 
Thanks.
XOX 

The Ole’ Ball And Chain

Marriage, what do I know about it? Not a lot-But I find it an interesting topic. I guess typically one should start at the very beginning. 

A wedding. What’s it allllll about? The coming together of a man and woman, or a man and man, or a woman and woman, to make one; the holy joining of two souls under the eyes and blessings of God; a chance for your cousin Barry to drink too many Captain ‘n’ Cokes and try to kiss your brother’s wife before peeling out in his Impala and smashing it into a light pole right in front of the police station.

Marriage, for all its blessings, can really play hell on the human body. You start out fresh and happy, blushing with pride; you end up a broken shell, your soul as brittle and empty as a discarded bird’s nest, your body beaten down and nearly worthless. Oh, you can attempt to keep the harsh reality of it at bay through the liberal use of cheap bourbon, but in the dark of night, it closes in on you and you’re forced to stifle your screams, sleep fitfully for a few scant hours, and then start all over again. Don’t believe me? Good because I don’t really know what I’m talking about. Although something I do know a little more about, is, Cake! 

Every wedding I have ever gone to, the cake has been my soul delight and usual purpose for going in the first place. I think the selection of cake really can make or brake a wedding-hell, I reckon it could make or brake a marriage.
When selecting a cake, choose one that is firm to touch but doesn’t have any soft spots. Turn it over in your hands, look for the stem end, press gently, and then smell. It should smell sweet, not mouldy. Hang on-that’s how to choose a melon. I have no idea how to choose a cake. I imagine you’d just try to find one that goes well with cheap keg beer. 

I am also very single, and very much not at all married-so its up to you.

Love Sick

Love. As the chief motivator of human behaviour, it is the indisputable king of emotion. It towers over lesser feelings, such as pity, or that sad-ass little emotion we all call joy. In fact, if Love and Joy were in a wrestling tournament, it wouldn’t even be close. Love would execute a perfect one-leg takedown followed by a step-over double arm bar for a quick pin inside of twenty seconds. Sure, Joy would shake hands afterwards and maybe even force a little, “Nice match,” but it would be clear that he was completely shamed and would have to drive home alone in disgraced silence.
As for Pity, or Stunned Surprise? Bitch please, they’re not even fit to scrub Love’s toilet.

Throughout history, the ephemeral power of love has inspired the worlds greatest artists: Alessandro Boticelli, William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, and of course, Prince, who wrote, “Ever since I met you baby, I been waiting’ to lay you down. But it’s so hard, baby, when you’re a river… Falling, falling, falling in love.” He went on to eloquently express erotic longing in his immortal “Soft and Wet,” saying, “Hey lover, I got a sugarcane I want to loose in you.” These epic depictions of man’s deepest desires are remarkable, especially coming from one who stands only three feet, twenty centimetres in his high-heeled leopard-skin boots. Yet, as this pan-like leprechaun of a man humps the stage with such authentic fervour, we are drawn into his expressions of love, and we, too, yearn for a quiet place to hump our own stage. Such is his genius. 

As grand and glorious as love is, it is not without it’s perils. Anyone who has felt the cruel pangs of rejection knows that love is best approached cautiously, as one would approach an angry, cornered brush-tailed possum. Yes, before throwing yourself into a relationship, its wise to buy a sturdy pair of leather gloves and to be extra careful of loves front claws and rows of needle-sharp teeth. If possible, use a partner to distract love and very quickly move in behind it, grasp it’s prehensile tail (carefully!), pop it into a canvas sack, and, quick as you can, yank closed the drawstring-metaphorically speaking.
Although, perhaps worse than the pain of rejection is the emotional death one suffers when good love goes bad. Sometimes, despite their best efforts, a couple simply grows apart. One may suddenly discover an enthusiastic awakening of the faith of his childhood, while the other will satisfy a long-suppressed urge to visit an old boyfriend, Joey, at the Sunset Motel on East Popinfreshmcdooge Street from 4 to 6 every Tuesday when she is supposed to be at her knitting class. And because he simply cant share this interest, no matter how hard he tries, the two inevitably must part. 

Rather than risk the hurt, many choose to avoid the cornered brush-tailed possum of love altogether, and remain single for the eternity of their lives. We call these people “bachelors,” “bachelorettes,” “spinsters,” or “cat owners.” Though they never give themselves the chance to ever experience the giddy highs of love, they also never face it’s cruel lows. When they find for the hundredth time, a dry, brown, half-eaten can of tuna on the counter, they feel little of the helpless rage and betrayal that their coupled neighbours feel, for there is a better than average chance that is was they who left the tuna there. 

Finding love is not always an organic process. It’s not as easy as going to a train station, finding someone who looks suitable, and saying, “Love Me.. now.” (Although that can work.) I’v noticed nowadays many people prefer to advertise their goods in the local newspaper in what have come to be known as “personals.” It is important when composing a personal ad to lead with your best feature. For instance, you’ll want to leave out the fact that you suffer dry skin, especially around your toes, where the flaking can get pretty brutal. 
For a great ad that really compliments all your redeeming qualities, I would try something along the lines of: “Superfly cooley jonesing for a cleopatra w/a sweet, sweet back. Meet for coffy?” or perhaps “Foxy lady looking for action, jackson. Bring your dyn-o-myte & blow my shaft.” Or if you really don’t want to give the wrong impression, you could try the classic sea-dog approach: ”One-eyed bandit with raised mast seeks polly w/treasured chest and big booty,” ”Don’t skipper this opportunity! Mary-Ann gingerly seeks first mate for some lovey.” And if your also not a goer for the salty metaphoric pun play… I really don’t know what else there is to suggest. Sorry.

Men, when you truly love a woman and she truly loves you, you will want to give her the gift of your genetic material. The kind of child you produce will be hugely influenced by your unique genetic material, but even more so by the name you give him. Take little Garland over there-because his parents tried to get creative, he has zero chance of any happiness in his life and will be beaten regularly like a gong. Much better, more solid name choices are Oak, Gareth, Festus, Kai, Terrence-Philbert, and Dudley. 

Just make the right choice. 

And that my friends, is one of my many sum ups of Love. Go forth my sons. 

Super Freaky?

Buried deep within, we all have a wild side, and, when behind closed doors, we often let it come out and prowl. For example, take you average guy, Larry here. When performing his tasks as the country land assessor or working on his model trains, he enjoys putting on a felt mask and walking around his home.

“I don’t know why, I just enjoy it. I always felt that there was a felt mask-shapped hole in my life, so I finally said to myself, ‘Larry, why not get a felt mask?’ And so I bought a good, sturdy mask at feltmaskwarehouse.com and sewed over the mouth hole. I’v never been happier.”

But thats just an example..

 

As we go through life, at work and in relationships, with both friends, strangers and loved ones, we all wear masks. Some of us wear plastic dime-store Sandy Duncan masks, while others the less expensive Burt Reynolds model. I’m all for them, however the only downside to wearing them is that people don’t get to see our true selves, plus they’re itchy, and cut down on peripheral vision. 

I also find the problem with outlandish leather costumes is that once you’ve broken them in and the leather becomes supple, the comfort they afford may make you forget you even have them on! Just imagining being that poor fellow on the 21A bus headed for work when he suddenly discovers that he is wearing his dungeon master outfit, whip and all, so he goes home gets changed (though he kept the codpiece). It’s just too comfortable for ease.

 

Holey Moley Bucking Bronco!

Here’s an idea - get together with all your guy friends and throw a Ponderosa party! 

You go as Hoss, have your buddy Tim take the part of Adam, and your oldest friend can cover the Lorne Green role. The only problem is Lonnie. That idiot will probably yet again show up in his super-tight belted short shorts and captain’s hat, waving that stupid rocket around. You might have to sort something else out.

On another note, cross dressers. They have always interested me. Absolutely fascinating creatures, but unfortunately there are some men who were just not meant for drag. However, one way to give yourself a fighting chance is to loose the giant cookie duster of a moustache. And don’t over-accessorize. It’s a dead giveaway. 
Guys, get fully dressed and ready to go, and then take off two accessories-say a ring and a brooch. If like some idiot, you have a terrible synthetic wig, you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of fooling anyone.

As for fun and fruity clothing, guys, if you feel you have nice looking legs, you may want to give the ladies a treat and show them off a little by donning some shorts. There IS such a thing as too short, so be careful. I would say that if each step produces more than a few pounds of pressure to your genitalia, it might be  a sign to go to the next largest pair. Also, just as an always note. ballet slippers are best left to actual ballerinas.  

The Kiss