Redefining - "Beating The Sh*t Out Someone"

What are your feelings on dirty underwear? You’re probably not cool with it, right? And I’m not talking about your own dirty laundry. I’m talking about other people’s soiled briefs, boxers, panties, bras, gym socks, jock straps and more. Skid marks belonging to total strangers. Grossed out yet? Now imagine stinky, sweaty, filthy undergarments shoved in a bag and sold to you for top dollar! No, this is not some type of weird fetish specialty shop. This is Costco.

Rumor has it that the wholesale warehouse, Costco, is selling a punching bag that is filled with dirty underwear! Slice one of these bags open and what pours out will amaze you! Once this news gained media attention, Costco had to take a stance. Apparently, they’re not cool with underwear-filled punching bags either. This statement was taken from Costco’s website …

“We are issuing this voluntary recall notice for the TKO Sports Heavy Punching Bag with Speed Bag Combination, manufactured by TKO Sports, of Houston, TX. We have learned that the fill material in the heavy punching bag does not meet our high quality standards.”

Yeah, that's quite the understatement. If Costco's records reflect that you've purchased this bag, they're sending a box and UPS shipping label out to you right away. They're also sending you an Everlast punching bag (which in my boxing opinion is a far superior company) to replace the TKO one that is filled with used underwear.

Is there anything that would make this post any less gross? Maybe if it was not-so-used underwear punching bags? And who did they hire to pack the bags? Where did they get the underwear? Do these drawers belong to Texans, and if so, are there buttless chaps shoved in the bags as well? These are the unanswerable questions, or rather, I'd just prefer that they were not answered. If nothing else, this will make you think twice about the store where you can purchase ground beef and just two isles over you can pick up a new set of truck tires. Something just doesn’t seem right when you look at it that way.

Furthermore, it’s been brought to my attention that this recall is from June 23, 2005 and Costco has been on top of the dirty underwear punching bag epidemic for years! However, they’ve failed to do anything about it until now. Disgusting, in every sense of the word.

That’s Called Catch NOT Fetch. Totally Different Game.

I haven’t seen my sister since last Christmas. So when she recently came home for a visit, she was anxious to meet my new Bulldog pup Diesel. It was love at first sight as she couldn’t resist his waddle walk, excess skin wrinkles and of course those big brown puppy eyes.

Jen: “Does he play any games?”
Me: “Uh, yeah. He is a puppy. His life right now consists of nothing but playing. He will play fetch with you.”

(I hand her his ball.)

Jen: “He fetches? Ok. Here Diesel!”

She throws the ball directly at his flat wrinkly mug. It strikes him right between the eyes causing him to blink and tear up. His nose is now pushed more into his face than it was at birth. He sits there with a stunned, dumbfound look upon his puppy pus. He has no idea what just happened. He thought she was going to play FETCH with him.

Me: “What are you doing! Are you trying to kill him?”
Jen: “You said he can fetch.”
Me: “Yeah, FETCH. What you did is called CATCH. Catch = throw to. Fetch = throw away. It’s a totally different game.”
Jen: “Oooh. Sorry. Is he ok?”
Me: “As soon as I dig the bits of embedded rubber out of his skull he should be fine.”

For those unaware, like my sister, fetch consists of the human throwing a ball AWAY FROM the dog and the dog going out to retrieve it. Instead she confuses FETCH with CATCH and throws directly at Diesel who was in no way prepared to catch a fastball between his pupils. The next time my sister comes home for a visit, I will make sure my puppy knows how to play catch because I don’t think I could teach my sister how to play fetch.

Moral of the story…you can’t teach an older sister new tricks, but you can a dog.

Eh Oh, Fuhgedaboudit

Bada Boom. Bada Bing. It ended without a Bada Bang, the series finale of The Sopranos. We, know, we know. You hated the ending. It’s all people have been talking about for 3 straight days now! Can we all just forget about it and move on already? I mean, I’m as disappointed as the next guy, but bitching about it isn’t going to change anything. So unless you can put a hit out on the director of The Sopranos, wack the mother f*cker and dispose of his body in the Hudson River, then I suggest you just shut your hole. Despite the lack luster finale, I can say one good thing. Over the course of 6 years, we got to see that Meadow Soprano blossom into a major hottie!

You knew that once you got into this family, there was no getting out. You were hooked. You were a diehard Sopranos fan just like me. And now you are left. Left feeling hungry for more. Now you know what it feels like to be head of the Mafia – always hungry for more and frustrated when more doesn’t come.

To remedy the problem, I don’t suggest counseling with Dr. Melfi. I don’t even suggest banging a one legged Russian chick. Instead I suggest you get yourself a nice big plate of canolies and have a sit down with all the other disgruntled Sopranos fans. Clear the air, hug and fuhgedaboudit. Just remember…

“Mama always said you'd be the Chosen One. You're one in a million you've got that shotgun shine. Born under a bad sign, with a blue moon in your eyes. You got yourself a gun.”

In Memory Of Huniii

I was shocked and sadden to learn a friend of mine passed away this weekend from lung cancer. Huniii was just 26-years-old. She leaves behind a mother, a father, 2 sisters, numerous friends and a 5-year-old son. You may have found her blog thru mine, or found me thru hers. But if you knew her, there is no doubt she made you laugh. Her honest and witty writing would draw you in and keep you coming back to read more. She had that talent...and the talent to make me laugh. Huniii, you will be greatly missed.

Below is an exert from her blog. You can see why I could relate to her.

"This is my blog. I write it for my benefit. If you get something from reading it, then more power to you. Even if its just to piss yourself laughing at my crapness. I will not write something in here for the sole reason that you want me to. I will not omit something in here because you dont want me to write it.

I dont always express myself perfectly. Writing is particularly hard because it can be interpreted so many different ways, 90% of which depend on the READER not the WRITER. If you have an issue with anything I write here, double check with me that you read it how I intended. We may have had a misunderstanding.

I take ownership of what I write."

I’m leaving the link to Huniii’s blog up, so for those of you who didn’t have the opportunity to know her, can enjoy the words she left behind. And laugh. Laugh alot because that’s most likely what Huniii would of wanted.

I Don’t Like Him

I don’t really know him, but I don’t like him. It’s as simple as that. It might sound unfair. It might sound childish. But it is what it is and I won’t deny its truth. A hint of jealousy may ring thru when I mutter the words - I don’t like him. You might want to know why. One day you may even ask why…and if you do, my answer will be simple. I don’t like him because he likes you.

To Read Me Is To Love Me

No one cares about my blog, or is it just that no one reads it? You can’t care about something you don’t know exists and there lies my problem. I switched URLs. I thought it was a good move, but in hindsight I see it may have been a mistake. Search engines lost me. I have to once again register my website with Goggle, Yahoo, MSN and others. I do this with hope that my little corner in cyberspace will once again appear in search results. Broken links float thru the World Wide Web from those that did link to me, but have yet to update to my new address. I’m not one to scrutinize and obsess over Site Meter statistics, but I can’t help noticing a drastic and abrupt drop. I’ve gone from 100+ visitors a day to averaging just 20 hits a day. It’s pathetic and a little disheartening. Now don’t cue the violin music for me just yet as I do have something positive to say…

I’m not looking for Blogosphere Fame, if such a thing even exists. I don’t write for other people. I write for myself, as an expression of myself. So I guess it doesn’t really matter if anyone reads me. Of course it’s nice if they do and even better if they enjoy the time they spent doing so. And to think they heart me so much that they would come back to read more, on another day! That, that right there leaves my skin feeling like it’s covered in a layer of warm fuzzies. (deep sigh)

It’s the old cliché, I blog therefore I am. It’s true for me, to a certain degree, although it doesn’t consume thee. (Like that rhyme? Don’t worry, I promise not to do it all the time.) Blogging doesn’t define me as a person, but it is a part of me. The words I write…er, type. This is me – the good, the bad and the ugly.

Oh crap. Now I realize why no one is reading me – the lame rhymes. I must resist the urge to rhyme in a moronic-like fashion. I think I can do that. My next post will be better...or so I'll try.

Man May Never Fully Evolve

Need more proof that we are closely related to monkeys? In both man and beast, primitive needs must be met. They include food, shelter and of course sex. Primates of yesteryear share many of the same wants and needs of today’s modern man, although we may never fully evolve past the BJ…and personally, I wouldn’t want to.

Every time I go to the zoo, there is always one perverted orangutan jerking it for the 2nd grade field trip class. I can't help but giggle as teachers and field trip Moms scammer to shield young innocent eyes from the dirty exhibitionist on display. Now is anyone really surprised to see monkeys engaging in oral sex? After all, they’ve always had an obession with the banana. Think about it.

Click on the photo for a closer look at the monkey's face. It's priceless!