TMI Thursday: Brownaconda Attacks

November 18, 2010

I’m weird. This is something the wife tells me all the time. People’s eyes tell me this all the time too, but my doctor said I should stop saying stuff about talking eyes.

(I’ll be here all week.)

Oh look the parenthesis are back. I don’t know why that started. I don’t know when either so don’t expect an answer or a link.

(Mostly too lazy)
(Shut up)

Whatever. You stopped reading after the title I’m sure. Now I’ve developed a fun (depending on who you ask) habit of naming my pooping ventures. Sometimes I announce the names to my wife as I head into the bathroom. Sometimes it doesn’t get a name until after the fact. This is usually based on amount, size, difficulty and or color. Oh and generally (read always) these excursions are named for some movie. For example:

Off to film The Hunt for the Brown October.
I just got done shooting Pooptanic.
Just got off the set of Brownaconda.
Indiana Jones and the temple of Poo.

The best instance had to have happened in Florida. After filming I come into the bedroom where kat and Pelvic Joann are and say:

Me (very seriously): “Have you seen Alec Baldwin?”
(Now after some initial ignoring I finally get a response)
Me: Yeah just finished shooting the sequel to Hunt for the Red October…Hunt for the Brown October.

I don’t do this every single time and I try to mix it up and not use the same one. Carissa—which if you aren’t reading here you should be—has convinced me to create a list. I am and so thank her for that disgusting list when it happens.

Anypooping back to the tmi. This happened late at night (like 2am) so there was no announcing of a shooting schedule. The wife was sweetly tucked away dreaming of sugar plum or murders. More likely she was dreaming of murders and kidnappers but that’s another story. Check one out here. So I went to the bathroom without being able to say some witty movie name.

(Poor jimi)

I’ll spare you the details of the actual event. I will say that there was quite a lot of it in the bowl afterwards. Now above the toilet on a rack sit her collection of duckies. You know the little rubber duckies? They have different versions. You know like punk rock duck, bad girl duck, Hitler duck,devil duck, irish duck, Jean Bonet Ramsey duck.

(Horrible jokes jimi)

So they’re up there. I finish my business and wipe and all that. As I finish I happen to put my hand up there. I knock poor Chicago duckie off balance and he falls. I like Spider-Man grab out for it. I catch it but the Green Goblin comes along and distracts me and Chicago duckie falls out of my hand. I almost catch it again but instead as it falls out into the air leaps the fabled Brownaconda and snags it into his jaws.
Sorta like this:

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Yes we apparently pee and poop into a misshapen bucket. We classy like that. It was horrible how angry it sounded as it grabbed poor poor Chicago duck. It fell pretty much directly into the poop and sunk in too.

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So I don’t know if it was because it was late, I was sleepy or the trauma of the brownaconda attack but I without hesitation reached right into the misshapen bucket the toilet. You know brownaconda and all. I grabbed Chicago duckie (sunk in a bit more as I did) and it I swear made a sort of plop-pop sounds as it pulled free. I managed to not get anything on my hand. I’m still not sure how because there was a ton in the bowl and poor Chicago duckie was covered in it. I tossed it into the shower and turned it on. After it was all gone I dried the poor fellow off and replaced him. I thought about not telling her about it but I did first thing the next morning. For 2 reasons I knew I’d use it on here and I wanted to gross her out. So I told her about the spin off to Anaconda.

Brownaconda: Dead Duck

I of course embellished some of the details of the story for her. I may or may not have said something about
pieces of food sticking to her duckie.
You’re welcome.

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Excuse me maam: Game time

November 1, 2010

First go check out the latest Monday’s Maniac over at The B Movie Brigade.

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Yep. I get called “miss”, “maam” or “her/she” so often that I’ve turned it into a reoccurring segment here. Hooray for easy peasy posts to bore you with. Because if jimi is one thing she’s lazy

Damn. I mean he. Crap. Moving on.

The Cheap Seats is littered with posts about being called a girl. Sift through em if you like.
No? Yeah I feel ya, I was too lazy to get em for you too. Oh well. Hooray lazy. What was the point of this again? I mean other than me wanting to make a stick figure have my head on it.

(Horribly done by the way) Oh there he goes with the parenthesis again. What are those suppose to be an aside or something?

Notice the prominent beard?

Don’t worry nobody else does either. The Rizza, the pole smoker and yours truly had just walked into the crowded lobby area of the Q. She (The Rizza) went off to the “you have a purse so need to be checked out line. We being men went to the quick lanes.

A side note: The Q (Quicken Loans Arena—where the Cavs, Monsters and Gladiators play) and its staff appear to enjoy holding me up. Almost every single time (or actually whenever I attend with the Rizza) they’ve found another reason to slow me down. The pens in my pocket, my belt buckle, a notebook and etc etc.

This night was no different. In terms of holding us up I mean. I walked self assuredly (but with a manly brisk walk!) to the ticket scanner.

“Good evening my dear.” Ticket in one hand pointed at the scanner and keys in my other hand for the security to see as I pass through the detector. I left all pens and belt buckles at home. Success!

Scan.
Blrrrrrp.
Scan.
Blrrrp.
“Hmm.” She pulls the ticket into her hand. Scan.
Blrrrrp.
Scan some more.

“I knew I should have brought my personal ticket scanner.” Flash my hairy smile. Her face does not brighten however. “Damnit Jimi did you flash the grimace again instead of the smile?” I thought as she pointed over to the side.

“I’m going to need you to stand off to the side over there sir.” And then she was already on to the next customer.

Soon a squirrely looking guy walked over to her and she talked to him and pointed over at me. “Could you see him please sir.”

“For you anything.” I walked over. He smiled. I smiled (perhaps grimaced?) and the dance began. He took the ticket. He used his big boss ticket scanning scanner and of course our old buddy

Blrrrrp.

Yeah, so he looked at the ticket some more. He scanned it again. Nothing but blrrrp. He looked up into my face and presumably my hypnotizing dark brown eyes. He chuckled.

“HMMM.” A stronger version of their go to answer. He read the ticket and then ripped the bottom part of and handed it back to me.

“Well okay that was fun.”

He looked up at me from the scanner and then tapped “Florence” which is probably not her name but I don’t really care.

“Okay you can go on and let her through now. She’s good to go.”

I tugged my beard once. I tugged a second time. He stood there. She stood there. “Well thank you Flo.” I said as I passed through her line one last time.


The one with Vodka and hate

October 18, 2010

The night progressed as every other night fueled by free vodka would. This is to say much quicker than normal. It started with me not going and then somehow ending up on a bar stool drinking Finlandia next to the two people I’m always drinking with.

On my left there was an open seat and the bar was occupied by my star wars bag which I instinctively held anytime someone, not refilling my empty glass came near. The bartenders were nice, attentive and generous with the vodka. I made two new friends that evening.

Finlandia Tangerine and Finlandia Mango.

Mr. Grapefruit wasn’t too bad either. We only met through other acquaintances though.

There were shots. Plenty of them actually. I know that the number of shots I had was plenty because the guy in the bathroom told me so. Me and the nice warmth slowly filling my head made our way to the bathroom. I pushed the door open with what felt an inappropriate amount of surrealism. It swung open too easily and with a force that bolstered my ego. The music the DJ refused to let die faded just a bit. My thoughts were once again free.

“I am superman” I thought! Shook my head strongly no, not superman he is a douche nozzle.

“Why would you choose Superman?” damn you thoughts and your warm blanket of vodka. First you choose my arch enemy and then you try to overthrow my mind and accuse me of the horrible crime you in fact committed.

“Did I ask that out loud?” Damn.

Oh man did I ask the Superman question out loud? No I couldn’t have, because surely if I had there would be someone in here to hear it. Of course there was nobody in there with me. It was just me, my rebellious thoughts, the Finlandia and the sticker of someone’s face inside the urinal.

The room was one step from the bathrooms with one weak light bulb swinging from a chain you see in horror movies. The walls sported the typical bar restroom graffiti. What would we do if there weren’t any drunken sentences scrawled on the walls? The thing that always gives me pause (and did yet again that night) is the words carved into the mirrors. This act would involve effort. Said “artist” would have to crawl up in some instances and at the very least leaning over an endlessly wet sink. Plus the work it has to take to cut into it.
I stood in there soaking the entire room up. Not that there was much. Said mirror with all sorts of meaningless things etched into it. A pink flyer leaned on the side wall like a drunk. I kicked open the stall door and I’m still not sure why.

Nothing of note.

Just a bit of toilet paper looped lovingly over the handle. Suddenly the stall was filled with sex. I could see the shoed foot pushing up against where the stall and its door connected. It pumped. The leg bent and lengthened. Her dress pulled up and tucked with a neatness not matching what was happening.
I was writing a poem starring into the stall at bar on Coventry. Was this actually happening? My notebook was out and I was scribbling away. I heard the music start to get loud and turned. The poem would have to wait. I stepped up to the sink and slid my notebook into my bag. It thumped in against my leg and a line screamed out.

“Hey buddy nice night huh?” That was the dumbest line I ever heard.

“Deep in thought?” the intruder continued. He was wearing skinny jeans and a “Killers” shirt. Over this he wore a button up shirt, unbuttoned and yet somehow still tucked in. I explained off that I was lost in a poem. He nodded and grunted an approving-esque sound.

“Hey we shared a shot together didn’t we?”As I dried my hands he made his way over. His eyes were brown and he wore beat up Adidas. I knew he’d be the guy banging the girl in my poem. He’d let her pay for the shots and then fuck her talentlessly in the one dirty bathroom stall of a men’s room. She’d have to finish herself in the parking lot after the two minute warrior was long gone. I hated him. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted out of here. I wanted my glass refilled, and the warmth in my head to burn brightly instead.
The free vodka hour was over though.

“Uhm yeah I think the whole bar got shots.” I said.

“Right. Who was the girl that did it?” He shifted. I really hoped he wasn’t getting any that night.

“The bartender?”

“She bought them?” It was a gargley voice. It was as if each letter poured out of his throat. Did he whisper wet nothings into her ear as he used her? Surely she’d vomit all over his checkered shirt?

“Well the bar bought them.” I hate you. “The girls on the other side of the bar asked for them and the bartender included us all.” I hope yours was poisoned!

“Oh.” He washed his hands with a violence that was almost pretty. Water splashed the floor, the mirror and him. “I only got one shot. What about you?”

“4.” I felt the warmth being taken over by the coldness in my chest. I would not write the poem if he was portrayed in a good light. Muse be damned.

“That’s plenty.” He wiped his fucking hands on his jeans. “Don’t you think?”

“I could always use more.”

I pulled my ninja turtle stocking cap down tight around my head. I’d trap the disdain inside there if I could.


The one with the Mount Everest of poo

September 16, 2010

Today is Thursday and you know what that means. Well yes it does mean Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia returns. That was a mean thing of you to point out. I mean I can’t compete with Sunny. Why even bother?

It also means it’s time for another TMI Thursday. I know I know you can hardly contain your excitement. It’s been a while (not really) and technically I should begin some of the chronicling the Key West roadie.

But it is our first Thursday back and well when I told Pelvic Joann and the wifey the story they were thoroughly grossed out.

So I’m back. I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack in the saddle again.

So as I was thinking about what joke to make about Steven Tyler (drugs and alcohol being too easy) something hit me. This freaked me out because there’s nobody else here.

Heyoooooooooo!

I was going to go with how he resembles a (wide mouth) vase when he sings and doll up some vase with hair and scarves but that seemed like too much work.

Lazy ftw!

As I looked at pictures of Mr. Tyler there was a joke that wanted to come out but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Because of the restraining order it has out on me. Heyoooooooooooo!
(What?)

He looked awful familiar to me—but who? And then I figured it out:

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Am I right? He is so creepy.

Anybeautyandthebeastjokes I should probably move on. This TMI Thursday took places on the Three Shillelagh’s Hunt for the Key Master Tour (2010)

(Uhm what other year would it be?)

Sorry I digressed yet again. (I do that a lot.)

I’m writing this as we make our way into the rainy Florida night (10:33pm) on the final leg of the trip (to Key West). As we do we are listening to Katy Perry so yeah there might be some more digressing.

(Roar)

(See.)

We decided it was best to stop at a gas station and fill up the tank right before truly hitting the way to Key West. The rain was slowly coming down as we headed into the store to stock up on some drinks and what not. We bought a couple big pineapple (there were no big peach like in GA) to mix with the pinnacle whip vodka.

As Pelvy and I paid for our stuff the wife grabbed the key to the bathroom (it was outside) and took care of the diet Pepsi max she drank on the drive. I figured after I paid I’d head on over to the crapper and drain the lizard (make a sissy—take that wife!) My turn finally came and as I waited for it to be approved I felt the annoying (and often terrible) rumblings.

This did not bode well.

I mean the stomach rumblings and grumblings at a crappy looking Florida gas station late at night. Unfortunately it wasn’t going to be up for discussion. It wasn’t urgent or anything but I didn’t want to start a 3 or so hour drive with the need to film The Hunt for the Brown October.

I paid grabbed the grubby looking keys and handed off my purchases to the wifey. I made my way to the bathroom and switched the lights on. There was trash (empty candy wrappers and soda cans) on the floor. The rain from outside (or at least what I hope was mostly rain) had tracked in and made the floor very slippery.

One step in and I almost fell.

Woah.

2nd step inside as the door closes and yet another slip. This time I almost fell. I mean one foot came way up and I had to grab onto the sink to stop from falling. This is the time that my head went down near (not too near thankfully) to the toilet. Of course I was not too happy with what I saw. In the watery grave was a hill of poop and brown tinted toilet paper. It was high.

Some dick head didn’t flush this I thought to myself. Well just flush it first.

Oh.

There wasn’t even a handle. Or any other discernable way to flush either. Whatever. I can probably hold it. Maybe just take care of the pee part.

I peed.
I thought maybe I’d save someone else by destroying the fortress of poo and tp. The water in the bowl muddied a bit but otherwise the hill did not change. Washed my hands grabbed the key and made my way out.

Slip.

And as I caught myself for the 3rd time there was another slip. This one of the insides variety and it became apparent that it’d be best to take care of the filming of the sequel to the Hunt for the Red October right then and there.

Someone call Alec Baldwin!

I looked back in to the toilet. I sighed and decided that sitting down (the seat amazingly looked pretty clean) was not really an option. The hill of poop looked dangerously close to where the butt would rest. So I hovered and let go.

And let go some more.

And a little bit more.

Then I wiped and looked down.

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If it was a math equation it would look like this: pre poo + jimi poo = poo hill over the brim.

Yes kiddies that picture isn’t exaggerating all that much. The poop reached a bit over the top of the bowl. I washed my hands, returned the keys and jumped in the car.

Of course I told them right away. The Katy Perry was momentarily replaced by a chorus of disgust by the ladies. I knew I had a tmi post for when I returned.

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when snot attacks

August 19, 2010

Gather round everyone. Yes come closer and prepare to be entertained and enlightened. Oh and by entertained and enlightened I mean grossed out (probably) and wishing they no longer read me (more likely).

The family (and maybe most of you others) will be glad to know that this post is sex free. Although the post still has penis in it. Hooray Penis! Oh man that really came out wrong.

(that’s what she said!)

Anypenis (damnit I’m straight I promise) I should set the scene a little bit. It’s a hot muggy Cleveland night. The wife is ready for bed and I decide it’d be good to go be a good husband and snuggle with her till she falls asleep. My allergies had been acting up a little during the day and a bit worse at night but right before bed time they went all terminator on me. It was horrible. My nose felt like it was filled to bursting and no matter how I blew nothing came out.

(That’s what she said)

It was permanently stuffed (twss) and getting really annoying. I was tossing and turning the whole night and making horrendous sounds as I tried to breathe. It was gross and annoying. Eventually I tumbled headlong into dreamland. I woke up around 4 my nose still stuffy and sinus pressure building. I got up to make a sissy.

Side note: I like to use the phrase “make a sissy” to say peeing because it bothers the wife. Yeah I’m a nice guy like that. She married me.

So as I’m peeing I can no longer take this nose that feels like a stuffed pepper. I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. The only problem is as I blew there was considerable collateral damage. That’s right we lost two fingers as they were covered in a nasty string of snot. I tossed the tissue that as the front line of defense let the rest of the troops down into the toilet. Of course now I had to deal with the wounded troops of my right hand.

Sleepily I decided to fling the enemy snot into the toilet. It would’ve worked fine too if it was for those meddling kids or you know if the snot hadn’t landed right on my wang.

I had to work wang into it at least once.

(That’s right you guessed it: That’s what she said.)

So it sort of went like this:

Fling. Splat.

Me: Oh…oh…you evil enemy bastard. You dare bring this to our shores?

You see and you thought I only act/talk like that on here. Oh no it happens 24/7 baby. So I cleaned off my totem pole and sort of just stood there sleepily thinking. You know thinking about how this is gonna be a tmi post someday. Then the enemy began to attack again. I tried to clear my nose and breathing in but all that did was help the enemy infiltrate my throat. The enemy made its slimy way into my mouth and I decided it was time for a swift attack. I was gonna kill them quick and easy. I looked down at the enemies soon to be pee watery grave and spat.

Sabotage!

Like 24 this seemed to help their secret other plan along. It landed you guessed it write on my jimmy crack corn. In case you are wondering why it was not safely tucked away—it’s because I sleep naked. It’s factoid #2. Scene:

Thibbt. Splat.
Me: Fuck! The villainy!

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So after another cleaning of the bishop in a turtleneck I headed back to bed.

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Is this recap on?

August 16, 2010

And here we go. We need to rush right into the weekend recap because there was so much going on.

Wait I mostly sat on my couch all weekend?

Okay then. Those days can be good too. You know just sitting on the couch with your sweetie relaxing.

Oh it was mostly sitting on the couch with my laptop by myself? Well okay then.

Look can we just get through this recap without you asking so many questions? I mean rude. Give me a chance without all these accusations you keep throwing at me. I don’t need this type of abuse!

Anynotfunnyjoke the weekend was a strange mixture of doing things and sitting around. Friday night we had tickets to the Beck Center for the Arts production of ‘The Producers’. There will probably be a bigger post with my thoughts on the show tomorrow (no promises!) It was a fun time though. From there we made our way over to Parnell’s Pub to help the two soon to be newlyweds celebrate but since that plays is like 3 hours long we of course missed them. It was still a good time as always and we celebrated (read drank) with them in spirit. The wifey had 2 Strongbow and got a cute little buzz. She normally holds it better than that but it’s cute when she gets a little loopy up there.

Bed time a robust (what the what?) 2:30am.

And then Saturday we slept till noon. Yeah, for no real reason I slept that late and because of it woke up with a headache. This was a day for complete and utter uselessness. The wifey was on the phone with Dell for a long while (shocking I know.) I tried to get some writing done and shake the headache. I watched some English Premier League matches. We enjoyed our new French press.

Later in the day we went to see A night at the Opera (Marx Brothers bishes) at the Cinematheque. I’m digging the Cinematheque. A good place to watch flicks you can’t find elsewhere and you can bring your own food and drink into the theatre. I still don’t think the membership is all that worth it though but I love the place.

And I’m the Mayor bishes! (I’ll wait while you all yell your hatred for 4square out)

Afterwards we went home and had some delicious dinner. Of course the meal following the diets guidelines of:

1 protein
1 veggie
2 cups of lettuce
1 fruit

4 pounds lost last week which can be added to the previous 6 to make a decent start. Long ways to go but I know that and plan to make it there. It’s been easier this time because the wife has made a good variation of what we can have.

They say variety is the best way to make money in the prostitute business.

Something similar to that. Anyhooking from there we went to you guessed it Parnell’s! This time it was to meet some friends who now live out of this awesome state. We had a few drinks and a bunch of laughs. I got a few good overheard tidbits too. From there it was pretty much home and to bed.

Bed time: 1:00am

Sunday we woke up earlier but it was a lazy day for me (what else is new?) as I watched some more EPL and tried to write. I mostly just worked on some editing and what not which counts.

Right?
Right?
Is this thing on?

The wife did some cleaning and of course there was the Star Wars marathon on Spike TV. I can’t pass up Star Wars. It was fun to see her bust out with the appropriate famous line for whatever scene was on when she entered the room.

By fun I mean hot. Sexy sexy.

Anynerd then we went to her dad’s house for some grub and family time. Which is always fun, especially since he floated the idea of us going to a Brown’s game. We headed to the big bird for some quick fix to a food for the next day problem. Then we came home made sure to dvr the roast of Hasselhoff and I watched the end of Summerslam.

She went to bed pretty early and I stayed up writing and then doing the dishes.
Don’t ask.

Then I wrote out a post card to send to my Uncle who is in jail. It’s been a while since wev’e talked and I wanted a quick way for him to get something to know I’m thinking of him.

How was your weekend?

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My wife will punch you in the kidney or the Dinosaur Jr. Show

November 23, 2009

On Friday there were Dinosaurs in Cleveland!

No not that—thankfully. Wow that show was so damn bad. God I hated that baby. It made me want to build a time machine or (buy a DeLorean) so I could go back in time and punch baby Dinosaurs in the face. Anydooozle….Back to the Dinosaurs at the Grog Shop okay technically it was Dinosaur Jr. You know these guys:

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Errr actually these guys:

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A slightly older version, but they sort of prove the fine wine theory. That’s right in my vague, way off the beaten path way I’m saying that Friday the missus and I went to the Dinosaur Jr. show. It had been a long time coming—In more ways than one. Dinosaur Jr. was one of my fav bands as a ute (OH snap a My Cousin Vinny reference!), and a clear inspiration to Kurt and Nirvana. I of course like too many bands never got to see them. Then they disbanded in 97. What is this a history lesson in Dinosaur Jr.? Screw that go do your own leg work! It’s called Google people! We bought the tickets for the show like 6 years ago (more like June or so) but it seemed to take forever to arrive. So the big night approaches and how do we prepare for it? Well none other than the Rock mantra of sex and drugs! Yeah that’s right the wife and I got home from work and took a nap! Now that’s a swerve! Could I use anymore exclamation points? We slept for about two hours and then headed over to the show. The place was packed with a unique mixture of cool 40 year olds, teens and the douche kind of 30-40 year olds (The “I was at their first show man” types.) We survived the wannabe Dresden Dolls band that opened for them—who were a lot better (read as not as sucky) than their MySpace page led us to believe. As the band took the stage what happened? A herd of mutant giraffes swooped in front of us. Fuckers. I mean we are smurfs here and from where they were there was no real difference of sliding in front of us on the d-low. I’m pretty sure they were just 12 year olds on steroids! Here are the results of part of the show being behind these urban Giraffes. You know the hold the camera high over ya head and wave it like you just don’t care and snap away?

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Then we were invited in front of some cool people (and fellow smurf people) Side note: God damn you Microsoft Word acknowledge Smurf is a fucking word!

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Anydiddle. This is when the shit hit the fan and got fun. Nearing the end of the 2 hour show the moshing began. Nothing is lamer than old farts and young idiots slamming into each other. So as this got out of control (when is it in control) my wife decided to police it. You know my tiny barely 5’2 wife? Then the smurfettes that were alongside of us were inspired by her spunk and decided to chip in. First they just pushed the idiots away but this of course made the idiots think they were playing along. Enter the kidney punching. There really is nothing as hilarious as three short girls punching giants in the kidneys, backs, and necks. It was sort of hot too.

A crude recreation of the event:

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