Indecisive

As I sit and stare outside at the grey sky, my mind starts drifting to the things that have been dwelling in my mind.  First, please do not think I write this to boast.  Rather, I write it to find a bit of comfort in the words I just can not say, but I can put down in black and white and actually have them mean something.  I have been accepted to two colleges of chiropractic medicine—one in Texas and one in Chicago.  I am going to weigh out some options in this blog, and I don’t expect it is going to be too exciting—or a good read.  First, Texas seems ideal.  Texas Chiropractic College (TCC) is awesome.  It is right outside of Houston.  The city and state is beautiful.  The school itself is top-notch.  It is the third oldest in the nation.  When it comes to the future of health care, this is the place.  At least that is what the ad says.  I believe it.  The location is beautiful.  Near the water, very hot weather, beautiful southern belles.  It sounds almost perfect.  Friends have all stressed how far away it, but how gorgeous it is and would be to visit.  I can imagine driving to the beach and flirting and swimming with a beautiful girl whose voice is layered thick in that country accent.  But there are some problems.  Who is to say I would meet anyone like that?  I hear Pasadena, TX stinks because of the oil refineries and everything else down there.  It gets so hot that the cement cracks and tarantulas crawl out of the ground like something out of a horror film.  A guy I know tells me that the blacktop roads will literally melt and your car will sink down into it.  Then, by evening it cools off and returns to normal, encasing your wheels in a casket of “pain-in-the-ass.”  You cannot move your car.  You have to wait until the next day when it heats up again, the tar expands, and you can drive away.  I have a lot to think about if I want to call
Texas my home for 4 years.

What about National University of Health Sciences (NUHS) outside of Chicago.  The school is the only one in the nation that requires a Bachelor’s degree to get in.  Other chiropractic schools just want you to complete certain pre-requisites.  NUHS is the top of the line school for this field.  Chicago is beautiful as well.  It is right on the lake and plenty of beach time is available as well.  I am far away enough from home to be completely on my own—but close enough to drive home if something should happen (Lord forbid).  The school is more affordable as well.  The city life is amazing.  Night clubs bars, amazing shopping areas, and beautiful downtown area.  The Windy City is a place I would love to live.  I have visited the campus and the city, and I must tell you, the girls do not have accents, but they have style and are gorgeous.  But, just like TCC, there are some problems.  It is not as glamorous as Texas, the girls are not southern belles, I won’t end up with a cool accent because I will be encased in the culture for 4 years, and the weather is the same in Chicago as it is here.  I would still be in the Midwest.  The only light is that after I am done I can move to where I want and start a life there.  Maybe it will be in Chicago.  Maybe I will end up in Texas, California, the Carolinas, or maybe even over seas.  I guess I just don’t know.  I have alot to think about if I want to call Chicago my home for the next 4 years.

I have been thinking about this for days now.  It eats away at my mind.  It is rather comforting to know that I am worthy of finally pursuing my dream; but the question becomes where?  There are positives and negatives to both schools and to both areas.  I could live in either one without any reservation.  Big city life or small country living?  Southern Belles or Cultured Beauties?  TCC or NUHS?  If any of you who are my friends, or enemies, would like to offer up a valid opinion, I would love to hear it.  Thanks for listening to me rant and rave and taking a trip into my indecisive mind.  Please, offer up all the comments possible.  Until next time…

Deposit

This post is for the guys.  Usually, my writing is so offensive that my blogs are only of interest and entertainment to men.  But women, if you would like to, enjoy this and feel free to comment.  If you are like me, then you love to poop.  The toilet is the throne of all thrones.  This is not some epiphany, but I love taking a good healthy shit to keep myself regular.  By no means do I usually ever talk about poop, but you know what, the bathroom is a magical place.  You can have alone time, go with a few friends (as long as you obey the rules) or hell; you can make a friend sometimes.  I try not to do that, but hey, it happens, right?  So, let us talk about the throne.

I am not interested in the urinal.  That is a quick deposit.  I am talking about the extended session.  If you are me, every bathroom trip that involves a number 2 is an extended session.  There is no, “I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”  No way man.  I’ll see you in about 20…at least.  I have time to read.  Speaking of which, everyone knows, even if they don’t admit it, the bathroom is a sanctuary.  Here we go.  The toilet serves the purpose as a comfortable seat, an area of rest, a thinking rest stop, and a comforter.  If you have to take a poop, the toilet says, “Hey.  Sit down.  Take a load off.”  If you drink too much, the toilet says, “It’s ok.  Tell me your problems.  I am cool.  Rest your head on the side and calm down.”  The only problem is that if you get that nasty flu that destroys your innards, then stuff comes from both ends.  Well, that’s ok, too.  The toilet has a best friend—the garbage can.  Take a seat, throw up, and shoot a dookie.  No one in the toilet world is offended. 

There are books that exist solely for those who like to take a poop and have something to do.  Does Uncle John’s bathroom reader ring a bell?  That book has three sections, short stories, medium stories, and extended reader.  They cover everyone.  What about the avid TV watchers or gamers?  You can’t put a TV in the bathroom.  Well, you can, but for some reason people don’t.  Guess what?  My house will have one.  Anyway, the original design of the bathroom was made for those people who don’t like to read but don’t wanna miss their programs or stop playing their game.  Don’t believe me?  Then explain why there are mirrors on the doors.  EXACTLY!  You walk in, open the door, and look through the mirror, down the hall, and right at the TV!  Gamers have gotten even cleverer; they created wireless remotes.  That laser bounces off a mirror—I know!  People who created the TV knew that.  Look at the remote.  It works by reflecting off of a mirror too. 

What about if you are on the phone and nature calls?  Want to talk to a friend while pooping?  No problem!  Cordless phones are for that.  Walk in, take a seat, continue your conversation—just keep quiet.  Of course now we have cell-phones, too.  That satellite reaches right into the bathroom and your fellow conversationalist is none the wiser.  Unless it echoes, then you have to lie.  “No, I don’t know why it is echoing.  Reception is bad.  I’ll call you back in a minute.”  More like 20. 

You know that there are pranks that involve pooping.  Not gross though.  But, here is my favorite.  Go to the bathroom and drop a large, nasty bomb.  The kind of poop that you know when you open that bathroom door, people’s eyes will burn and a national public health advisory will be in effect.  Don’t light a match.  Don’t fire up a candle.  Don’t spray the potpourri.  Instead, walk out, and say, “Hey honey!  Why did you leave your purse on the back of the toilet?”   She will walk in and flip out.  You can laugh your ass off, and then go sit down and finish watching that TV program you shouldn’t have missed in the first place if you would’ve left the door open and used the mirror like you should have been using it. 

Anyway, I could go on and on.  But I won’t.  I hope that everyone, from now on, is not embarrassed to go take a poop.  We all do it.  Some of us just do it more than others, louder than others, and worse than others.  But you know what; women if you are reading this, get to know me!  I am sure while we date, we will close the bathroom door and pretend nothing is going on.  When marriage comes a callin’ we both will walk into the invisible wall of the love.  Like I said, I could keep going, but, I think I am going to go say hi to my friend the toilet—and play Tetris on my cell phone.

Environment

 

 

A while back, a buddy of mine got into this pretty deep conversation. One of those heart-to-hearts that can’t be forced only developed naturally. After much discussion and debate we decided to agree to disagree.

The problem: What is the best video game environment to live in? Specifically, on the original Nintendo.

 After some deep thought I decided that my ideal NES game environment would be in Tecmo Super Bowl. I choose this game above all the others for a few simple reasons.

 

First of all, the simplicity of football in that world is great, eight plays; four running, four passing plays. Having only eight plays to remember would totally make my life a lot easier, no more of this 60 page playbook crap.

 

Secondly, if I were kicking field goals, which I would be, I would only have to worry about the line of the field not how hard I kick it. Just so long as my kick was straight, it was a guaranteed three points.

 

Thirdly, the badass cut scenes. Every time I score a touchdown, make a pick, sack the quarterback, I would get rewarded with a sweet close up cut scene with my cartoonly-huge muscles.

 

 

Lastly and most importantly, the Tecmo angle. Whenever I had the ball, so long as I ran at a 45 degree angle, towards the corner of the end zones, the opposing players would dive right past me. With this sort of ability I would be able to rush for 2000 yards and receive for 1500 yards every season.

I now ask you, our 5 readers, to give their best NES environment to live in.

AIDS

I was born under the name Allen Iverson Dominic. I was quite content living in my humble home with a very nice African host. She was very polite to people, always loving them long time. Anyway, my home was gorgeous.  She was 5′4” tall, slender, dark skinned, and warm.  I have just recently moved in.  I’ve been here two years now.  She was a newly made home.  I think the guy who hooked me up with this new home said she was thirteen years old.  That means she has a lot of years left in her.  We lived together in Africa.  If you have never been I say you must visit as soon as you get a chance.  It is pretty hot here, but the sites are gorgeous.                    

                                               

One day we did get a visitor, he was from America. He was a dirty old man, balding on top but with long gray hair around the edges of his head. I generally don’t mind being part of the action, but once this guy said something about a Cleveland Steamer, I was out. Thankfully, my host rejected and I decided I was quite ready for an adventure (I stole that from Bilbo Baggins). Well when things got under way, it was smooth sailing.  I was done packing long before the waves set sail.  I set out of my home and made it to the docking station.  The ship kept appearing, but would soon set off again.  So I had to time my boarding of the vessel just right.  At last my moment had come.  As the ship made its last docking at the port, it decided to stay for an extra few seconds.  It unloaded all of the passengers.  The problem is that these things never wait for the boarding of new passengers.  It is almost like they are here only to drop off the sea men on a few days leave, and then take off from port.  But, sometimes, if you are lucky, you can hitch a ride on the vessel.  If you are really lucky, you can ride the waves in and stay at a new home for awhile.  My new home happened to be a mobile home of sorts.  The next decade or so of my existence was amazing.  This, my friends, is where my story, and my adventures, begins…

Ten years later and no one calls me by my full name anymore, just a nickname. People have really started to take notice of me in
America. I gain more and more attention each day and I continue to grow each day. People in America are so friendly and willing to give me and my friends rides. I have a feeling that I can really become big in this country and that people will embrace me with open arms and open orifices.

It is a struggle to the top, believe you me. All these old guys think they are the best just because they have been around so long. Syphilis, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia: psssh, they ain’t got shit on me! And herpes… don’t even get me started on herpes, gaaaross! I mean so what if he has Michael Vick? They made a movie about me, a little tale called “Philadelphia” starring Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington.    

Well, I guess I could stand around all day and boast, but this is a short story.  You have to believe me when I say I have had quite the lifespan.  I’ve spawned many new children in many new places, but I have my sites set on a few people in particular.  I recently hitched a ride on this fat chick named Monica.  I have never seen the White House, but I have seen the white spots on the dress.  She kept screaming Bill.  Well, I don’t know this guy yet, but Monica was nice enough to give a gift that keeps on giving—me!  Well, with that, you know my future plans.  I’ve been to the NFL, Hollywood, and now I am on my way to the White House.  I think my next stop will be in this new place I have heard about—the Hilton Hoe-tail.  

Casey and I decided to give a shout out to all of those people around the world during World AIDS day.  Also, this is our first (and seemingly very poor but hilarious) attempt at a combined short story.  Remember, if you found it offensive or you didn’t like it, no one told you to read this stuff.  Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we did coming up with it and writing it!  Until next time loyal fans…or…fan…

Pie

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving.  Before I get going though, I hope you all recognize the true meaning of the holiday.  How we slaughtered the Indians and stole their land.  Ok, not really.  That is a complete myth (kinda).  But really, I hope you all gave thanks for those things that God has blessed you with.  If you did not, maybe next year you should hear the story of the 5 corn kernels that the Pilgrims kept by their feast plates to remind them of what they had, and what they now have.  Anyway, I love this holiday.  As a matter of fact, it is the favorite holiday of many of my friends.  Yes, Shelly, I am talking about you especially.  However, I doubt that most of you have to endure the pain that I have to.  I come from a poor family.  So, when we cook the turkey, stuffing, and all the trimmings, it is not, for me, a one day affair.  It isn’t even a two day affair.  It becomes a meal that keeps on giving.  Thursday night, it’s turkey, stuffing, mashed taters, gravy, and whatever else you can think of.  Come Friday, you all go back to normal.  Me?  “Hey, what’s for breakfast?” “Eggs and turkey.”  Gross.  But later, “Hey, what’s for lunch.” “Turkey salad.”  Dinner?  Same thing as last night.  What’s for breakfast? (we’re on the second morning now) Biscuits, covered in turkey gravy with a side of turkey.  You get the point?  Good.  Because my answer is that of the gods.  “No thanks, Mom, I am gonna have PIE!”

 

If it was not for pie, I would never have survived the days after Thanksgiving.  On the flip side, if it wasn’t for pie, I would not put on the extra 20 pounds.  My mom made 5 freaking pies this Thanksgiving: Apple, cherry, key lime, pumpkin, and cheesecake (fuck you, it’s a pie).  I did not get my favorite pie.  I like poontang pie.  It’s best served warm and moist, but it is tasty and I could eat it for hours.  But no one offered me that this year.  Oh well.  But my second favorite is pumpkin.  Man, I must have eaten a whole pie by myself.  I love it.  Anyway, back to the post.  As I said, I would have been fine if it wasn’t for the pie.  It sustained me because I was sick of the same food for five days.  But, after every meal (which was substantially small), I would stuff myself with two different pie slices.  Cherry and Apple, Key lime and Cheesecake (IT IS A PIE!), Pumpkin and Pumpkin.  It did not matter.  I mixed and matched like a champ.  I love pie.

      

Anyway, I rambled on for a bit.  But I wanted to let everyone know how much pie means to me.  Ok, ok.  My Savior Jesus Christ, my family, my friends, my enemies, strangers, my neighbors, and my dog all mean the world to me.  I said a little prayer for everyone.  For those as fortunate as I am as well as for those who were not.  So, let’s raise a slice of pie and say, “CHEERS!” to those who know our pleasures, and hoping that everyone who does not know them will soon.  God bless y’all.  Happy Holidays! 

Failure

Those of us poor souls that live in Michigan, which accounts for approximately 98% of our (4) readers, know that these are tough times. New employment opportunities are tough to come by, many of those with jobs, especially in the “Big 3,” are not too sure of their security, and America’s youth are stupid. These are indeed tough times for many Michiganders. This is not, however, an entry on the state of the economy of Michigan but rather on one of the most embarrassing things about Michigan…The fucking Detroit Lions.

The Lions organization is quickly on its way to becoming one of the biggest jokes in sports. For me, it stems from the top. The Lions have Matt Millen as its General Manager. In his day, he was a badass linebacker for the San Francisco 49ers, I know this because he was awesome in Tecmo Super Bowl for the NES. However, his reputation is being tarnished because he fucking blows as a GM.

People around football know that to build a championship-caliber football team from scratch, which is what Millen started with in 2001, you build a defense. It’s the old adage “Offense wins games, defense wins championships” and I whole heartedly agree. A solid defense will keep any team in the game for all four quarters and give the offense chances to win. However, the lions have choose to use 7 of their last 12 first and second round draft picks to draft offensive players. Furthermore, all six of their last first-round picks have been offensive. Let’s highlight a few of these first rounders:

Mike Williams – Useless. If Mike Martz says he isn’t good enough to play offense, damn it, he isn’t.

Charles Rodgers – This guy is great. Even after his release, he is so arrogant about his abilities that he tries out for the Dolphins and refuses to run the 40 yard dash. Furthermore, Nick Saban, his old college coach, chooses not to pick him up when his team is desperate for receivers. Also, his brains are on drugs.

Joey “Check down” Harrington – This guy will light up the Lions come Thanksgiving day. I am calling it – 25-35 375yards 3 TDs 0 INTs.

Furthermore, Millen fires coach Steve Mariucci after pressure for change. However, most of the fans were calling for someone else’s head.

This franchise will continue to blow until William Clay Ford stops giving Millen mustache rides and gets someone in the front office willing to take this team in the right direction, like me.

Shine

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDjnYuVnqq4&mode=related&search=

 Casey, I am not trying to steal your thunder.  But, I thought everyone needed to see this.  This was inspired completely by my co-creator and partner, Casey.  He is the man…and this is the Kiwi.

Dictator

When I was a child, I had no idea what the real function of it was.  When I got older and entered high school, I knew what it was for, but was afraid to use it.  When I got into college, it started to rule me.  Now I am a bit older, 24 to be exact, and in graduate school.  Although I have not used it in quite a while, well with anyone else, it still controls me.  It makes most of my decisions.  Women do not understand it.  It seems trivial to them.  But, the funny thing is, women cannot get enough of it (not mine, but every guys).  This is where you usually think I am going to say something funny—like ice cream.  But no, I am, without a doubt, talking about my penis.

 

I took a friend of mine, or an acquaintance, to the vet for her little bunny.  Then we went to a few stores.  We just hung out.  It got me out of work, and since she is cute and Chinese, I was all about hanging out with her.  Our time together came up in a conversation to another female friend of mine.  She said, “I was talking to (name), and said, ‘I don’t know why we take (Chinese girl) anywhere.  We should just let the boys do it.”  I said, “Hey, I like her.  She is cool.”  Her response was, “You men and your penises.” *** I laughed out loud.  I had no rebuttal.  Even though I had nothing to say, it sent me into a deep thought that I had never been to before.  I called Casey to tell him about the conversation.  I told him to expect this post.  Here it is bro.

 

My penis has complete control of me.  Although it does not have a brain, it makes most of my decisions.  Any woman who reads this will be disgusted and think I am a pig.  Any woman who talks to her man will tell him her thoughts about my post, and he will agree I am a pig and he is not like that.  Rest assured ladies, your men are liars.  Any man who reads this will laugh and know I am right.  Any man who reads this and talks to his woman will save face and lie like a little bitch.  I will not.  You women listen to me now.  I know you will not believe me.  Why should you?  You and your man have a real relationship.  So when he reads this and quietly cheers under his breath and then goes to the bathroom to shake hands with his best friend in private, be confident he will look at you in the eye and lie; telling you that is not true and he is not ruled by his penis (which I bet my life he has named) and you will take this lie as the truth.  Good, I am glad you feel that way.  I am glad he has you fooled—because when he lies and says, “Yes dear, he is a pig,” a little later he will have his penis in your hand, mouth, panooch, or if he is really lucky (and you are kinky) your ass; and he will be thinking to himself, “works every time!”  He agrees with you, but he makes it sound like it is his own thoughts.  Truth is they are his penis’ thoughts.  Think about it.  If he agrees with you and tells you how amazing you are and he never thinks like that, his penis does not think for him–his heart does, you will scream like a baby banshee and throw your arms around his neck and say, “I am so lucky to have a man like you; who respects women and loves me for me.” He will know you are ready to thank him for being your mind-bitch by letting him get his pee-pee wet.  Would he say that if he knew at some point his penis would not get what it wants?  Please, do not fool yourselves.  Women, your man cares for his penis more so than anything else on the planet.  Men, do exactly what I have said.  Read this and agree, then tell your woman no way.  Lewis is an ass.  That way, you can get what you want for your penis.

 

My penis is the basis of my existence—of your existence.  Sure, if women did not exist, no one would.  But, the same holds true for men.  Without us, you have no more of you either.  When a man is powerful or displays acts of immense power and/or defiance, he is said to have “big balls” or “testicular fortitude.”  When we bomb another nation or country, we use bombs shaped like huge dicks.  Any electrical appliance that has a plug-in and is inserted into a socket is said to have a male part and female part.  The Washington Monument; a huge, pointed shaft.  Buildings; tall, slender, and erect.  Men are in the highest positions of power in America and our symbols are all based on our fucking hogs.  I am not writing this to be nasty, but I want people to realize a man’s penis is his favorite possession.  Without it, he is not a man.  A man would allow you to take anything from him but his penis.  Hell, you could have his balls as long as he had a penis to stick into something or to jerk it off.  So, is it really a surprise that men allow their penises to control them?  By no means am I saying that the penis always makes the best decision.  By no means do a man and his penis always agree.  But honestly speaking, a penis has the final say in what happens.  Ladies, do not be discouraged.  A real man will not force sex on you.  He will wait.  He will marry you.  He will love you unconditionally and forever.  He will make your dreams come true.  In the later years of life, he will be fine without using it and just having wonderful conversations will be enough.  But please realize the underlying theme is in our nature.  Every man that has full use of his penis will use it.  It does not matter if he is 90 and the girl is 20, he will use it.  If he has a Christian faith and morals, or beliefs that align with these, he will try not to use it until he is married.  But when he is married, he will make up for lost time.  The penis is Gods greatest gift to man, followed by the gift of the one to use it with. 

 

Men, when you read this, do not be ashamed of your penis.  Instead, be happy you have one and it works.  Use it wisely.  If you use your penis well, it will reward you.  Pleasure, children, health, etc.  Ladies, enjoy the penis of the one in which you want to enjoy it.  I am not an ass or a pig, I am just honest.  And as always, if I offended you, I extend my warmest and most heart-felt fuck you—only this time literally.  HAH!  Until next time…

 

*** There is much more to this conversation.  But, this is the gist.  And yea, the Chinese girl knows that if I had a chance, I would use my penis with her—as with every female.  I usually tell them anyway.

Kiwi

Damn flightless birds creating emo all over the place.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdUUx5FdySs

Discuss.

Traci

Lewis: Casey, I was thinking about something today. We have a sweet blog page. We have gotten a good fan base already. A mutual friend, Tracy, wants to know our thoughts about Oreo cookies. She is obsessed with Oreos. That is freaking weird. But, they are tasty. When I think of an Oreo cookie, I think of the most perfect cookie ever made. Two pieces of chocolate cookie with a white cream on the inside. But you know what? The taste is only the beginning. The eating is where the fun comes in. An Oreo is a blast to eat. They are good frozen, at room temperature, or deep fried (don’t judge me, try it). You can peel them apart and eat them in sections, stuff them down one by one, or nibble. They go good with milk, chocolate syrup, peanut butter, or by themselves. They can be dressed up in chocolate and candy corns to make little turkey thingies (if you haven’t seen these, come to my Thanksgiving family parties), dipped in fudge, or put in ice cream! Now that I think about an Oreo like this, it’s a pretty versatile cookie. Only one downfall; they may be delicious just about anyway, but they will make you a fat ass.

Casey: I know a lot of people grew up eating Oreos, so the obsession may come from trying to recapture your youth. I, however, was not that lucky. Every now and again my Mom would bring home Hydrox brand cookies and that was a special treat. If you weren’t so lucky to get these dollar-store treats, let me enlighten you. First off, unlike their competition, Hydrox were not surrounded by two chocolate cookies but rather two dried-up wintergreen Skoal dips. And the creamy center, yea well you can just forget about that because after 1985, the Food and Health Commission refuses to let Hydrox use their special recipe.

Lewis: You know, it is funny you mention Hydrox. I am a poser for sure. I was pretending that I knew what a true Oreo tasted like. I am from the hood. I grew up poor. So, I know what you mean by dried up Skoal dips and a special recipe in the middle. The only time we got Oreos was on Christmas. AND GUESS WHAT? They were for Santa Claus. Like that fat bastard needed anymore. This is why I believe in hunting. Hopefully someone shoots Blitzen in the heart and Santa in the ass.

Casey: I love Christmas but hate all of the movies that portray Santa Claus as a real person. It’s great for the kids, sure, but they are living a lie and we are selling it to them. The real Santa is the host of the local hit show “Tool Time.” That show was great and Heidi was hot. To tie it all in, I think I saw Al eat an Oreo on the show once.

Lewis: I love that show “Tool Time.” Santa was a jail bird then came into comedy because he made his cell mates laugh a lot. For some reason, Hollywood tapped him to be the bearer of gifts. Speaking of fat man, Oreo cookies will make you fat. Hydroxs will just give you cancer.

Casey: This concludes our discussion on why “Tool Time” rocks.