Miss(ed) Manners

September 29, 2006


Filed under: Humor,Music,Ramblings,The Fray — missedmanners @ 3:46 pm

So I’ve been listening to that band, The Fray, right? They’re really fucking deep, man. Like soundtrack to Friends deep. Like high school poetry mad at your parents deep. Like grand canyon at the center of the earth deep. Like heart stopping, adolescent dry hump makeout-fest inducing deepness.

How to Save a Life
Check out this video! You can tell it’s gonna be deep by the way they start it in that abandoned looking house place.

This video was so deep I spent all day in a near comatose introspective trance, contemplating shit.

September 28, 2006

My Girlfriend Said I Could Plagarize Her

Filed under: Humor,Life — missedmanners @ 6:03 pm

That’s what she just said to me and I COMPLETELY misread it as being a sex act, but then again, I’m always doing that.

Anyway, it’s still forty fucking below in my office and I’ve been complaining about it every single day over AIM to her. My fingers are losing feeling, I’m constantly on the verge of slipping into hybernation, not through winter, mind you, but until it starts and I can wear a tee shirt to work again because it’ll be TOO HOT.

Anyway I digress, this is what my lovely lady said I could write and say that I said it:

” i’m chilly just thinking of you freezing over there
you should post an update to your blog
something about your balls crawling into your abdominal cavity for warmth
you’ve tried to coax them out by placing a steaming hot cup of McDonalds coffee between your legs (free until the 30th!!)
but they just aren’t having it
you can plagarize me
go for it”

The funny thing about this is that it’s all true.

I’ve got a hot cup of coffee sitting in my groin. It’s steaming and free and from McDonald’s.

But my balls are not having any of it 😦 Stupid balls.

September 26, 2006

Meeting in the Middle

Filed under: Humor,Life,Personal,Ramblings — missedmanners @ 1:23 pm

Meetings are idiotic.

We just had our big year starting operations meeting, which is a fancy word for “three hour disagreement.” I hate meetings. In a small company everyone has their things that they do, and if you’ve been doing it for over four years you usually have a pretty good idea of whether or not you can do it well. But when you have a meeting you have to explain why it is that you’re doing the thing that you’re doing the way that you’re doing it and that just takes time that I would rather spend doing what it is that I am supposed to be doing.

Does that make any sense?

Ugh. The worst thing about meetings is what I like to call, “Non-arguments.” We’re a very small company comprised of four very strong personalities who never like to be wrong. However, we’re all reasonably bright, so we generally come up with the same conclusions to the same problems. This leads to non-arguments.


“I think we should this by utilizing Method A, it’s the most effective, both cost and time-wise.”

“I disagree, we need to be aware of Problem B in Method A while effecting Method A.”

“Sure, Problem B is a problem alright, but that doesn’t change the fact that we need to use Method A.”

“Well I think we can both agree that Method B has its merits.”

“Sure, but Method B is what causes Problem B.”

“That’s why we use Method A.”

I HATE this.

September 22, 2006

Miss(ed) Manners: Chit for Chat

Filed under: Column,Funny,Humor,Loud Talkers,Manners,Personal,Ramblings,Subway,Why? — missedmanners @ 12:25 pm

Say you’re a regular guy with a lot on your mind. You’ve got all these great ideas bouncing around inside that skull of yours and you just want to get them out. Your friends don’t really have the time to listen, everyone you know is just too busy… so where do you go to just get it all off your chest?

A rush hour subway car filled with people, right?

Makes sense I guess, train passengers are kind of a captive audience. They can’t really leave, not until their stop, and getting up and moving just because you’re talking, well, I mean, that’s kind of rude.

This basically outlines the situation I witnessed this morning on my way into the office. I’d gotten on the J, as usual and was leaning against the door as we rumbled towards the Williamsburg Bridge. Everything seemed really normal. People were their usual groggy, morning selves. Those sitting seemed to be meditating and reciting the popular mantra, “Friiiiiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, niiiiiiinnne houuuuurrrrs to goooooooooooo.”

But something was different. Right in front of me I noticed some excited movement, hands flashing, head shaking, lips wagging, that sort of thing. This guy was talking very loudly at some poor little girl who seemed to be holding a newspaper.

I had my headphones on so I was missing the gist of the conversation. It was obviously one sided, so at first I assumed this guy was throwing some game, as the girl was definitely attractive by any means of the word. Reluctantly, I turned off my Goo Goo Dolls Greatest Hits Megamix and focused in on the exchange.

Calling it an exchange would really be incorrect. From what I gathered the guy, or Chat Stu as I began to refer to him in my head, had seen a headline regarding Iran’s nuclear program in the lady’s, or Extremely Uncomfortable Girl’s (EUGene), Daily News. This prompted him to launch into a seamless logorrheic tirade, extolling his opinions on a number of subjects.

It wasn’t even like Chat Stu was talking just to EUGene. Granted, he was sitting right next to her and his mouth was just two or three inches from her eye, no, he was shouting loud enough for the entire car to hear. Poor EUGene just sat there, smiling politely, trying her best to make every possible non-verbal attempt to let him know that she just wanted to get back to reading her paper.

Now, when I said seamless and logorrheic, I meant it. You know how there are people out there who will just talk and talk and talk about nothing at all until you literally look them in the face and say, “if you do not stop talking right now I will take the laces out of my shoes, ram them down your throat and then fashion a crude noose out the laces and hang you from a telephone wire by your toes and tell the local kids there’s a pinata outside full of useless thoughts.”

The only way to deal with people like this is you have to wait for a break in their mindless jibber jabber. Most often, this is when they pause for breath. That split second when their mind says, “oh yeah, I need to stop spewing completely inane information so that I can replenish my oxygen supply, then I can get right back to boring the fuck out this person in front of me.”

Well, Chat Stu didn’t breathe. I watched him for somewhere around twenty minutes and over six stops and not one pause. It reminded me of that guy in the movie, The Sting, who was reading the results off the high speed telegram machine, no pauses, no fear, no mercy.

All in all the behavior seemed so crazy, but Stu didn’t look or sound nuts at all. He was dressed fairly well, not fancy, but definitely not in hobo-gear. He was clean and articulate, just looked like a regular guy on his way to work. The whole thing was mesmerizing, especially his points of view.

There was so much filler in between his salient points that it was hard to pick out exactly what Stu was trying to say. He had started off with the nuclear situation in Iran but within a few minutes had strayed all over the political, social and sexual world.

Some memorable Chat Stu quotes:

“I’m not a black man, white man, rich man, poor man, right man, left man, up man, down man… I’m an Original Man, see.”

“Being gay is a choice, a lifestyle choice you make, like being a crack head, you can choose to be a crack head, you choose to be gay, you ain’t born a crack head.”

“The World Trade Center was bombed! Did you know they took out all the bomb sniffing dogs six days before 9/11? At the beginning of September there were no dogs allowed in the World Trade Center.” (This was the longest portion of his lecture, involving technical details of “bombs ‘n shit,” “melted steel ‘n shit” and “physics stuff.”)

“A man has got to be able to protect his family. If you don’t protect your family, you’re not a man, I don’t have a family, because I’m an Original Man, see.”

As we neared his stop at Chambers Street he began wrapping things up. He was talking to everyone now, not just EUGene, but anyone who would listen. I had taken a seat right across from him. As he got up to exit the car he began politely urging us to think about everything he said.

I had been thinking about what he was saying and all in all, none of it was real crazy-person talk. It was all a little misguided, sure, but they were just his opinions, a fact he kept mentioning, almost as much as his “Original Man” Theory.

When the doors shut there were about six of us who’d been in direct ear shot of Chat Stu and we all started to giggle. A girl next to me said, “I’m all for conversations, but someone needs to tell him, not on the train and NOT this early!”

“He certainly had a lot on his mind!” Said the woman to EUGene’s left.

EUGene was blushing furiously, “I just wanted to read my paper, I haven’t even made it to the local section yet.”

Two seats down an older man said, “Have you ever thought of reading People Magazine?” Meaning celebrity gossip is not nearly as inflammatory.

We all laughed.

There were only two stops left and we spent them trading light jokes and wondering what was the most polite way to deal with someone who forces you into a one sided conversation like that. How do tell someone you’d rather just sit in quiet contemplating the day ahead?

We all broke off to head to our jobs and the girl sitting next to me said, “Have a nice day.” With a smile I replied, “You too.” The warmth and genuineness of the exchange made me all smiles, but it was also confusing. Here we’d had a conversation, not the usual awkward, “Hey whatcha been up to?” random subway encounter mushmouth conversation, but a real friendly talk… about how you just don’t feel like talking in the morning.

If it hadn’t been for Stu getting all loud and opinionated we’d never have had that shared moment, however brief. The confusion didn’t stop me from smiling all the way to work, or even now.

I guess the moral of the story is that no matter how rude, inconsiderate, loud, bigoted or annoying someone can be, you can still bond with strangers and have a good time making fun of that person once with they and their whacko-loco speak are a safe distance away.

September 15, 2006

Miss(ed) Manners: Spaced Out

Filed under: Column,Funny,Humor,Personal,Ramblings,Subway — missedmanners @ 11:45 am

Personal space, the final frontier.

This is the journey of Dave, whose mission is to boldly sit equidistant from all those around him. To seek out a comfortable and respectable personal space without having to glare at the guy who smells like stale milk just to his right who refuses to move even though there’s no one else on the train and all it would take is just a shift of his fat little legs to move six inches away so that we’re not dry humping thighs every time the train goes over a new section of track, I’m stuck against the arm guard with no where to go but into your lap with my elbow, MOVE IT, JEEEZ.

That was last night, on the subway. I was sitting amongst many tired peons, all wanting to get home. It was just an hour or two past peak time and I was lucky enough to get a seat. Over the bridge we went and at the first stop almost everyone got off the train.

Right, so we’ve gone from train full of seated passengers to train with five or six passengers. What do you do? What DO you do?

The answer my friends is not blowing in the wind, but found in the basic principles of excited particles, which I guess technically could be blowing in the wind. The details are pretty technical and really don’t understand them, but basically when particles are in an excited state they bounce around to make full use of their particular enviroment.

So when you have about forty say, human-sized particles in a say, train-sized enviroment, they’re going be distributed evenly. But when you remove thirty of these human-sized particles a lot of space opens up and then remaining human-sized particles ought to bounce around (or slide their fat asses on the seats) to evenly distribute themselves in the now free space.

I got a C in physics.

Needless to say that when Mr. Milk Dud didn’t slide away from me I was in an excited state. I made all the huffing, loud exhales and grumpy shifting that’s necessary for just such a situation. Maybe he was confused and thought we were sharing a covalent bond or something. Three stops later I was off the train and he was in the same spot.

Behavior like this is unacceptable and highly un-American and let me tell you why. People from Europe like to tout one of the big differences between them and us as being the personal space issue. They just don’t seem to care if someone sits down next to them on an empty train and throws an unshaved leg in their lap. They’re just that much more evolved than we are, in their eyes I guess they think they’re being cosmopolitan.

In my eyes it’s total fucking bullshit. Europe is overcrowded. The same people have been living in postage stamp sized countries for a thousand years. Sure you don’t mind sharing a table with a stranger, we’re all human right? Garbage, you don’t mind sharing a table because there are three of them in the sub-basement cafe and they’re the size of candlesticks.

Here in America we’ve got space. We’ve made a national history out of forcing indingenous people off of their space just so we could NOT use it. When the pioneers saw smoke from neighbor’s chimney four miles away it was time to move. We love cars where EVERYone has a captain’s seat. We don’t have stores, we have SUPER centers. We’re a nation built on spreading our legs like the mayonnaise we so love.

Most practioners of American Etiquette will tell you that the optimal personal comfort zone is three feet. Why three feet? Because that’s the average length of a human arm or leg. A good test to see if you’re comfortable? Randomly throw out a limb violently in any direction, if you hit someone in the teeth, then you’re not really at ease, and that person shouldn’t have been there.

To me the whole personal space thing is very much an issue of respect. As in, “I respect you enough that I want you to be able to spread out and display your groin region for all to see.” That’s comfort and respect.

If someone doesn’t do the butt slide away from me when a space opens up, that doesn’t say to me, “well Dave, you finally showered, you must be smelling good today and this person obviously wants to bask in your radiant cleanliness.”

Nope, instead I’m thinking this person doesn’t respect American values of expansion, gratuitous waste of personal resources and comfort at the cost of conservation. So take a hike, Commie, these legs were made for spreading and that’s just what they’re going to do.

September 14, 2006

Working Stiffed

Filed under: Criminal Behavior,Employment,Humor,Life,Ramblings — missedmanners @ 6:14 pm

“I agree to be deemed acceptable for employment based on character, general reputation, personal characteristics and mode of living, discerned through employment and education verification, personal references, personal interviews; my personal credit history based on report from any credit bureau.

“I also authorize you to obtain any and all information from my bank accounts, credit card accounts, stock accounts, investment accounts; my driving history, including any traffic citations, a social security number verification; present and former addresses; criminal and civil history; drug screening (hair and/or urine (5 and/0r 10 panel)) any other public record.”

This is just an excerpt of the paper work my girlfriend had to sign and agree to today when she accepted a position with another company. We’re both super stoked that she got this new job considering her old job was with a flatulent, pompous windbag who talked down to her and generally made her life miserable. Her new job is with younger, nicer, smarter people and pays a hell of a lot more. Cheers to you babe.

Anyway, doesn’t that sound a little draconian? Apparently it’s not, especially when dealing with a large corporation or any financial services firm. All in all it just further reinforces my commitment to never working in a company with more than 10 or 20 people. Why? You may ask, well here’s how my pre-employment evaluation would look:

Applicant Name: David C.

Applicant Evaluation:

Character: Lethargic

General Reputation: Lascivious

Mode of Living: Slovenly

Employment: Breaking even

Education: Sporadic and uninspired

Personal References: Former girlfriends given as references would not corroborate applicant’s claims to good nature or giving bedside manner.

Personal Interview: Applicant wore white socks with a suit.

Credit Score: 32

Bank Account: Overdrawn

Credit Cards: Maxed

Stock Portfolio: Ten shares of IBM bought in 1984, applicant is unaware of their existence.

Driving History: Applicant filled out riveting accounts of the two times he has fled from the authorities in a vehicle.

Criminal History: Refused to answer, began fidgeting nervously and explaining fifth amendment before sprinting out of room, tackling mail-room worker and fleeing the building.

Drug Test: Hair: Applicant claimed to have rubbed his head on homeless junkies for a week as a post graduate thesis still in development.

Really now, do you need to know this much about the people you work with? What the fuck are you supposed to talk about when network TV goes back to re-runs?

September 13, 2006


Filed under: Announcements,Humor,Life,Personal,Ramblings,Why? — missedmanners @ 12:43 pm

So my employers made their triumphant return to the office today after a summer spent enjoying the upstate beauties of the Berkshires. This is always an odd time of year for me. The slowness of the summer begets a certain lethargic state upon me, kind of like how if you stop eating your stomache shrinks. Well my stomache for work has shriveled up to the size of a pea.

Now that they’re here I’ve got to hop right back into busy, productive, responsible me. Not fun to say the least.

Well, one good thing is that we’ve moved into this new space which means I have my own private office. This of course has its positives and negatives. Pro: I like the thought that I could work in the nude. There’s something about planning a benefit luncheon while resting your balls on pleather that really speaks to me. Con: They could be naked too.

Anyway, far be it from me to begrudge working at a job that pays the bills and makes me very happy at the same time.

September 8, 2006

Miss(ed) Manners: Step Up, Fall Down Drunk

Filed under: Column,Dancing,Drunk,Humor,Life,Personal,Ramblings,Step Up,Tatum Channing — missedmanners @ 1:21 pm

Once in a great while a movie comes along that will make you rethink your views on class, culture and art. A stirring narrative that will have you talking about it for weeks or maybe months.

Step Up is NOT that movie.

Last night I embarked upon my second (but third attempt at) drunk movie review. This tradition is quickly becoming both my favorite and most hated past time. For those of you who are in the dark, the first movie review can be found

The premise is simple, imbibe dangerous amount of vodka then travel to a movie theater and see the worst movie showing there. Last night, however, I decided to throw in a twist, I brought a friend.

No, the friend’s name wasn’t cocaine, you people make me ill.

His name was Dale! Dale is one of my favorite people in the world because he loves to drink almost as much as I do. We’ve both been known to tote bottles of liquour around parties and then be found face down in a bathroom some time later. Who better to bring along on a DMR?

We got things started early, around 8 in Washington Square Park where we threw our bottle of Tito’s Handmade Vodka into a brown paper bag and chatted about everything from tits to asses.

What? We’re guys, that’s what guys talk about.

About half way through the bottle we decided to pregame a little more at a bar with some beer and pool. At this point I felt like we were overcompensating a little with the manliness considering we were about to go see a movie about dancing, together, after 10pm. I stole a pen from a bar tender, blatantly, and then we headed out.

Eventually we made it to the theater and bought two tickets to the 10:30 show. Then I started to take stock of how drunk I was getting. The teller mentioned that the movie was on the fifth floor and I mused aloud that those were a lot of steps to walk. They have escalators you dumb ass.

Things really start to get hazy here. We’d consumed nearly the entire bottle of vodka and with two pints of beer a piece in us we were staggering by the time we got in the actual theater.

Lo and behold there were actually people ready and waiting to watch this drivel. In the back corner there was a homeless guy who figured this would be the best place to catch a nap, considering the movie has the entertainment factor of chewed celery. There was the requisite child molester-looking guy two rows behind us. And then there were two girls, probably NYU freshmen, who were about to get their first dose of New York, Miss(ed) Manners style.

After getting settled, taking a few more pulls on the bottle and deciding we’d write our notes on our brown paper bag (which I subsequently lost), the theater went dark and the movie started. It should be noted however, that by this point I had lost complete control over my motor functions and I wasn’t even writing, it was like controlled fits of Parkinson’s with a stolen pen.

Step Up takes place in Maryland, a fact explained to me by Dale after I shouted at the screen, “this looks NOTHING like New York!” Street wise Tyler (Tatum Channing) loves to dance, a fact we’re reminded of during the opening scene. Potatum and his boys are at a club, he’s out on the floor getting all krump on some girl and then he almost gets shot. This obviously frightens the boys as they then run out of there and immediately break into a dance academy to steal some shit to buy some guns to go get the guy that almost shot Tater. They get caught and convicted and Totem Pole has to do 200 hours of community service by being a janitor at the school.

Toast’em then spends a little time complaining about how this world is so different from the world he grew up in. He is after all, very authentic and hasn’t coopted any culture at all. The Ballet school is not Krump enough for him.

And then we meet our female protagonist, Nora (Jenna Dewan).

She’s sad in this picture because she’s just realized that she looks like Vincent from TV’s Beauty and the Beast. Well, that and her partner (who is apparently the only one in the school strong enough to lift her beastly, mannish figure) got hurt and he needs to take some time to ice and practice his tights stuffing skills.

What follows next is a whirlwind romance and clashing of high society dancing and street moves. Break dancing and ballet! Holy shit, what a great idea for a movie! Do you think… maybe… they might learn from each other and perhaps make a stupendous dance routine that blends their specific styles of dance into one, but without losing the traits that make them unique?!

Unfortunately we didn’t get to know. At 11:00 I received a call from my mother. What was I to do? I was plastered drunk by this point, unable to talk effectively and in a movie theater, what’s the correct thing to do?

Well I answered the phone of course! It was my mom!

I started the conversation off with the ever popular (and very loud), “Hi Mom! I’m really drunk and in a movie theater with Dale!”

“That’s nice honey, tell Dale I said Hello, do you want to buy a piece of land?”

I covered the receiver and whisper-shouted to Dale, “My mom says Hello! She wants me to buy some land!”

My mom is a real estate agent and she’s constantly trying to get me to buy land with money I don’t have. I make about enough to eat and drink (as can be seen) and I’m happy. But apparently my mom thinks I would be happier owning a few acres of undeveloped land upstate. I usually counter this argument with something about the noose of land ownership and my being a free spirit that needs to pay overpriced rent to feel validated.

That’s the gist of the five minute conversation I stammered and slurred at full volume in the theater. It got pretty heated and she ended the phone call angrily with, “Call me when you’re sober, David!” It was so Jerry Springer I almost cried.

It should also be noted that never at any time did anyone tell me to shush. I must seem like a violent drunk.

By the end of the phone call the vodka was bearing full force on me. I could feel the walls of drunkness closing in on me and I was swaying visibly. We tried to write notes and follow the movie, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Add to that that this movie is more formulaic and trite than an episode of Real World and we felt like there was nothing left to watch. I made the following predictions in my head for the movie before we left:

The original dance partner guy would come back and Beastlady would choose FacTatum over him.

One of Tatumstatumtum’s friends would get shot.

She-ra the Animal Queen would make a killer dance routine and do ballet to hip hop music.

All three of these things happen of course. Basically, you could go to this movie with an Urban Fish Out of Water Movie Plot Bingo Card and win in the first twenty mintues. When we realized we’d seen the movie already in our heads (a much better version of course) Dale and I decided to hit the bricks. I was losing consciousness slowly but surely and needed to sleep it off.

I woke up, as usual, still slightly drunk.

My Rating: 2 out of 5 Drunk Rambling Phone Conversations with Your Mom
(Not reccomended, drunk or otherwise)

September 7, 2006

Top of the Pops

Filed under: Friends,Humor,Life,Personal,Top 8,Uncategorized — missedmanners @ 4:03 pm

So I was looking at my Myspace page today and realized it was woefully outdated. I don’t mean outdated in the sense that I need to put up a four megabyte background image and blare out some classic O-Town riffs. I mean outdated in the “Top 8” sense of the term.I had people up there who I hadn’t talked to in ages, and probably wouldn’t be talking to them any time soon, yet there I was just leading them on, letting them think that they’re Top 8 quality. Anyway, couple that with an angry message from a childhood friend threatening to take me off of his Top 8 since I keep on forgetting to call him, I decided to put off calling him and rework my selection of BFF’s.

Dave’s Top 8:


My girlfriend. Obvious choice here. Extending her Top 8 status keeps me in, how you say, “good loving.”

#’s 2 and 3)

My little brother and sister. They’re in my Top 8 so they know that I’m watching their every internet movement very carefully. Every non-obviously gay guy that comments on my little sister’s page gets both a threatening call from myself and the local authorities. On the other hand, all girls that comment on my little bro’s page get a boquet of flowers from me and win him, Dan, a pat on the back.

My surrogate little sister. This is the girl that took over for all little sister harassment when my real sister fled to college. Since she hand made me a card for my birthday this year I like to go around saying that she’s my favorite little sister in an effort to further emotionally damage my biological sibling.

Propcat. This is a stuffed cat that we’ve had in my apartment for ages, after a few (really) late nights and parties, my roommate, myself and our crackhead friends gave her a personality that involves transgender surgery and gratuitous use of the word, “pussy.” Having her in my Top 8 shows how much I love pussy. Additionally, my #1 lady has taken it upon herself to be Propcat’s personal stylist, sewing her fancy outfits for parties and taking her out places, like to clubs and road trips. We’re really not as weird as it sounds, I promise.


My shady persian jewish diamond merchant friend. He’s in my Top 8 for the odd chance I might need help buying someone’s daughter or something.

My old college roommate. Another person I constantly forget to call. He’s there to slowly add a few teaspoons of guilt to the already Everest-sized mound of self loathing in my stomache everytime I log in to Myspace.


Ubiquitous celebrity DJ/producer. People from my crowd like to put up a lot of these for bragging purposes, as if to say they’re friends with these celebrities. Hey, dickwad, just cause you and Sasha railed lines off a sub woofer in the basement of Pacha doesn’t mean you know him. That wasn’t even Sasha, that was his dad, and he does that with everyone. Anyway, I don’t know this DJ, I put her up there because I think she’s muy caliente (but I put her down at the bottom of the Top 8 so that my girlfriend wouldn’t see her, ain’t I clever?).

September 5, 2006

Things That Made Me Sore This Past Long Weekend

Filed under: Humor,Life,Personal,Upstate — missedmanners @ 3:00 pm

Just got back from a magnificent journey upstate to see my parents along with six of my friends and my lovely girlfriend, Eileen. We went to the Columbia County Fair to see the following: White Trash, Fried Dough and Sheep Balls, not neccesarily in that order.

Anyway, due to inclement weather and our over-appreciation for water-bottle bound booze we ended up getting a little silly and now I’m wicked sore, in some really weird places.

1) Bowling – Soreness Area: Arm and back.

Never go bowling with free Genny Beer and a bottle of vodka. Four hours of chucking a fifteen pound ball at a set of pins equals me not being able to brush my teeth because my arm has gone completely dead. I’ve been typing this with just my left hand and it’s taken all day to get this far.

2) The Change in Weather – Soreness Area: Face

Apparently summer now ends as soon as September begins which means I’ve got a ton of druids to beat up. Solstice my ass, it was 60 degrees and rainy all weekend and all of a sudden I’ve got a scratchy throat and a headache, wtf? I’m a little tired of all this talk about global warming and no results. I want icebergs floating down the Hudson River for my mid-November daquiris! Get on that, Big Oil.

3) Carnival Food – Soreness Area: Don’t Ask

Chocolate milk shake, pepperoni grinder (Extra Large), Coors Light (Extra Watery), Zeppoli, Blooming Onion, Funnel Cake, Cheese Fries and then rides called: The Fireball, Rock ‘n Roll Screamer, Gravitron, etc. You do the math.

4) Bungee Trampoline – Soreness Area: Crotchal Region

Okay, so at the Fair there was this ride. Well it wasn’t so much a ride as it was a collection of trampolines with bungee attachments above it that allowed you to bounce into the sky and do flips and shit. The Head Carnie in Charge (HCIC), warned me that as an adult male the tightness of the harness may cause me some discomfort. I scoffed at him, having gone rock climbing once or twice. Well as it turns out, he was right, about twenty seconds into my bounce-run the nylon straps started digging into my inner thigh and jamming up a couple pounds of flesh into my delicate regions. The resulting cinching effect on my pants made it look like I had severe elephantitis of the nutsackalicious area, which I guess was alright.

After about ten jumps total I started crying very lightly, asked to be let down and then limped away, bow-legged.

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