Middle Seat Lottery Gods -- Don't forsake me!

I'm about to hop on a plane and head home -- should land somewhere around 1 a.m. Due to booking my trip last minute, I will be stuck in a middle-seat for a coast to coast trip. Should ruin my back for the coming weekend and tie my stomach into a thousand knots. I won't mind it so much if I get placed next to a couple petite beauties who are on their way to a lingerie photo shoot on the East Coast.

I always feel like I have won some sort of lottery when I get placed next to a beauty with a low-cut top and matching low-cut jeans for a little down blouse while sleeping, and reaching-down-in-her-purse-for-some-gum thong and ass crack action. Or, maybe the equally nice prize of some nice tight-blouse -button-gap views of her Lacy bra. Or, the mother load jackpot for all business travelers -- the rarely seen, but always appreciated - nip slip!

Alas, I usually get placed between two fat guys, they smell like day old cheese, and their hairy sweaty arms hog the arm rest. Plus, they snore and fart as they sleep he whole way home. I suspect my next blog entry will be full of hatred and anger of some sort. Still, knowing what a voyeur I can be, I will probably try to look down their shirts too.

My Shit don't Stank!

When I walk into my office restroom to take care of some urgent business and it already stinks like someone just dropped a week's-worth of festering Taco Bell, Hot Pockets and Starbucks -- even if I'm all alone, I immediately leave and come back once the air is cleared. It's not so much that the foul smell offends me so greatly, but that I don't want to mistakenly receive the blame for the stench if someone else happens to walk in as I am leaving.

Let's face it, if you walk into a stinking bathroom and see one of your co-worker's leaving, you will forever associate festering stench with that co-worker. You can't ever look at him the same again in meetings, you can't eat any of the chips from the same bowl he has grabbed from -- you can't listen to him in a hallway conversation without the image of his grunting, grimacing face, and cold beads of sweat dripping off the tip of his nose, and the sounds of farts echoing through your brain. He was once a fine colleague whom you admired, but is now a disgusting and unsanitary slob who you have lost all respect for.

Don't let this happen to you! If you find yourself making a stink in the stall, and someone happens to walk in, lift your feet while he takes care of his business so that he can't identify you, because if you are like me, and you get a whiff of that smell, you automatically peek under the stall so that you can match the shoes with the stench later on in the day. Then, it is important that you get the toilette flushed, hands washed and sneak back to your desk without being noticed. Maybe swing by the copy machine on your way back, so that you have an alibi --

"hey, just got back from using the copier, did I miss anything?"

"I'm thinking I should probably go to the bathroom before this long meeting I have, since I haven't gone at all today."

If there was even the slight chance that they were thinking you may have been the perpetrator of an evil stench, those suspicions are erased.

See how slick that is? Career suicide avoided.

You're welcome!

Woman Penis

I was getting out of the shower and looking at myself in the mirror at my moist nekkid body and was liking what I saw. I was remembering my high school to early twenties days, when I was rail thin. My chest was as flat as a board. Girls wouldn't give me the time of day. I was always the funny clown guy, who had the comical body to match. Look at me now though, I was thinking. I have filled out quite nicely over the years. I don't exercise a ton, but I'm not fat. I'm 6'4 and weigh 195 -- that's pretty good right? I'm looking at myself and thinking, wow man, you actually have some nice pecks, a decent face, you keep yourself shaved and groomed, you have some cash in your pocket now and have a fabulous weenie! I might actually be at a time in my life where chicks are checking me out. You sir are a handsome son of a bitch!

Then, exit stage left. I turn to leave the bathroom, take one last look at my fabulous self in the mirror, and, god damn it! Look at those man tits! I don't have pecks. I have cottagy, floppy, white disgusting tits. And, holy fucking shit! Is that a poochy gut forming, or am I four months pregnant? How the hell did this happen? Where, between lanky youngster and filling out nicely in my 30's -- did I skip right to doughy-out-of-shape-mid-life-crisis piece of pooh? Still though, a pretty good weenie.

Women are always complaining. You men don't have to deal with half the shit we do. You don't have to get pregnant, you don't get cellulite in your ass, you don't surf the crimson tide and you don't have to worry about losing your looks as much-- blah, blah, blah, waa, waa waa. I say bullshit to that! You don't know what it does to the male psyche to deal with these man tits, always wondering if women are snickering at you as they walk by, or younger, stronger men looking at you and thinking to themselves, "I hope I never get tits like that when I'm in my 30's."

You don't get woman penis! I think if you did, you would then understand.

You're tits might get a little saggy, your ass a little bigger and your labia somewhat flappy, but those are all parts you are still supposed to have! To me, woman tits are always good, no matter what shape they come in. I'm as likely to peek down the blouse of an overweight woman as I am down a 27 year-old stacked beauty. I don't discriminate in my pervertedness. And, believe it or not, men still look at women as they are aging and changing, and we are thinking, "I'd still hit that sweet thang, flappy labia and all!" Women though, look at an aging man who hasn't been able to keep consistent in the gym as pathetic disgusting slob.

I would say that I'm getting back to the gym, but who am I kidding. I'm just going to get a boob job.

Dear Carmen Electra, Message Received!

WARNING! This post is really sciency, so all of you dense twats should probably move on.

I estimate yesterday on Valentine's Day that somewhere around 1,317,000 bloggers probably wrote that they had a great day/night because love was in the air. Put me down as 1,318,000, because I also had a great day/night, but for me love was literally in the air. It was actually lust, which I think is the same thing, just a different degree of love. I digress, love vs. lust is a debate for another day and another blog.

You ask, how can love be literally in the air? Until my amazing discovery yesterday, I would describe love like most, it may have a lot of different meanings to different people, but it is an emotion within, it isn't really tangible. It's not like air, which you can see, feel, smell, hear -- and, even taste if you happen to be around me on taco night. To say that love is in the air, would mean that it was physically placed there somehow and travels via air. That is exactly what happened to me yesterday!

I was catching up on a little reading, because I have been traveling for work a lot lately and have been missing some good creative stimulation that a cleverly word-smithed article can provide. So, I was thumbing through the pages of my January Playboy. I, of course, subscribe to the magazine for the cleverly word-smithed articles. Every now and then I will stop and look at one of the pictures. I'm not particularly sure what it is about the pictures in Playboy, but they have caused me to pause my reading on more occasions than other magazines. The picture of Carmen Electra, posted above, happened to be one of those rare pictures that made me take a break from my much needed stimulation from a cleverly word-smithed article, and take a look.

I noticed in this particular picture, Carmen was looking straight at ME! I know that most of you would say that she was looking into the camera, you dumb ass! Maybe this is so, in many of her other pictures, but not the case with this one. She was definitely looking straight at ME. She was sending a clear message to ME with her pose, her demeanor and even her outfit.

Her serious, yet warm stare is clearly a message that she has something to offer ME, but I will need to put in some work to make her smile and get her to open up to me (both literally and figuratively... hehehahahoho). Her head tilted back oh so slightly, is a gesture motioning ME toward her direction, as if she is inviting ME to jump on a plane and fly to Beverly Hills and enjoy an Eggs-Benedict breakfast with her on her front porch (no kinky metaphor intended).

She is sitting straight up with arms propped behind her clutching the sand, legs spread open. A pose that is a clear invitation to ME to explore her beautiful body, because she is comfortable in her own sexuality and she is holding on and readying that body to share with others who tickle her fancy (and yes, by fancy, I mean her love button). Again, it is clear this is an invitation that is directed toward ME, and perhaps another female of my choosing that I happen to bring along.

The outfit she chose to wear and send this message to ME is very interesting, a Playboy Bunny suit just big enough to cover all of her pink parts. Clearly, she is trying to tease ME. Notice how there are no straps on the bunny ears to keep them from falling down and exposing those soft, round, yet real-looking tits. Even the slightest nipple erections could toss those ears forward and totally embarrass Carmen in front of millions of readers. Then, the bunny face itself appears to be strapless, which leads me to deduce that she is holding it in place on her pussy with some sort of kegal technique. At least that is how I imagine it. Obviously, she will be completely exposed when she jumps up and down from the excitement of seeing me, along with my other female companion in tow. She obviously knows that my scientific mind would easily detect the message her outfit was trying to send. Again, clearly a very deliberate and calculated message to ME.

The thing is, this picture was actually taken back in 1996, so Carmen has been patiently waiting for ME and my other female companion for a very long time. She has been waiting for ME to receive her message of LOVE. All those nights she spent with Dennis, Tommy and Dave, she was probably imagining it was ME. Imagination can only take you so far though, which would explain her inability to keep a lasting relationship.

Unfortunately, even if she were to have her way with me and fulfill her decade long dream, I am in a committed relationship and she would not be able to have me more than once, twice or at the most three times, because I would have to cut her off due to my deep commitment to another. At least, those four or five sweaty nights of unadulterated passion and pleasure would give her fuel for her future fantasies. If she can not possess me, she can at least imagine me and dream of what she felt could have been.

Back to my scientific point. Love, is in deed tangible and can be sent via through the air to another, as is clearly the case with Carmen and me and is now proven and ready for my peers in the scientific community to state their skeptical opinions and try and prove me wrong.

More importantly, the lesson I have learned here, is that I really need to pay more attention to the pictures in Playboy and other magazines, because there are a lot of women trying to send me messages out there. Who knows how many years of torture I have inflicted with my non-response to the likes of Carmen Electra, Cindy Crawford, Elle McPherson, Kathy Ireland, Vanessa Williams and the Queen of England.

I will see all of you ladies soon. Try to hold on just little while longer.

Support PETA or else you're an asscork!

I'm a huge supporter of PETA. Mostly because I really appreciate air-brushed nekkid chicks. Their protests are real funny too. I especially like the chicks in yellow bikinis who lock themselves up in cages to protest cruelty to egg-laying hens (wish I could see them in person and poke a stick at them). Anyone who thinks their efforts are in vain are insensitive assholes. Hotties like Eva and bimbos in cages really make a difference in the world.

Boners and laughter prolongs life... that's a scientific fact.

Morning Wood

Aaah yeeeah! Early morning wood, a hotty laying next to me, and nowhere to go. I love Saturday mornings!

Hopefully the dog won't wake her up with all that licking noise on the sheets. She deserves her beauty sleep.

Rabbit, it's whats for dinner.

Hey vegetarians! Get off my case. Why is it you can go on and on about the yummy Mandarin orange, won ton Asian salad you had at lunch, and how healthy it makes you feel, but you carry on and judge me when I tell you about the tasty rabbit and noodles I had for dinner last night. Rabbit is lean and low in fat, and the noodles were whole wheat. I felt pretty fucking healthy too, so you can just suck it! Next time, I may just order the guinea pig pot pie and not lose a second of sleep about it. Though, it does give me the winds something terrible.