Hooray for boobies

I got a new roommate this week. His parents came with him to help him move his stuff in. I helped too. When we finished unloading everything, we went to get some lunch.

His mom was wearing a Chicago t-shirt. As we were finishing eating, I looked over and noticed that something had dripped onto her chest.

Me: Um. You've got something on your . . . Chicago, there.

She wiped it off.

My Roommate: Why are you staring at my mom's boobs?

Me: What do you want from me? She's hot, okay?

Roommate's Dad: Did you see how fast she wiped it up? She didn't even give me a chance to lick if off.


I think this roommate situation is going to work out alright.

Naked as a window

Since my life is relatively boring right now, I'm going to take a trip down memory lane to one of my life's most embarrassing moments.

My family moved to the place Flieswithoutwings so lovingly refers to as "Cow Country" near the end of my junior year in high school (you can read about my arrival here). As part of my taking the new school "by storm" I immediately joined the track team. Not because I was fast, mind you, but because I knew it would afford me the opportunity to attend track meets where I could ogle girls and potentially meet up with some of my friends from my old school.

I've talked about this before, but the new town was very small, and we had to ride the bus approximately forty miles of high, winding mountain roads to get to school. The regular bus left right as school got out, but they also ran a smaller bus so that the students who were involved with extracurricular activities could stay after school without forcing their parents to make the long drive to come pick them up. It was called the home-run bus. (How's that for a lame sports analogy?)

One day after track practice, my friends and I were riding home on the home-run bus. There were several girls on the bus as well. Some from the track team, some from the cheerleading squad, and others who had just stayed after to work on homework or to hang out with their friends. I was wearing sweats and boxers. A bad combination it turned out.

At one point I stood up to throw something away, and my friend, "Geppetto" made a motion like he was going to yank my sweat pants down. Knowing that I had on boxers, and firmly entrenched in the belief that boxers were essentially the same thing as shorts, I told him I wouldn't be embarrassed by that. After all, everyone had seen me in shorts* before.

Considering this a challenge, Geppetto yanked on my sweats. Hard. Down came the sweat pants, and along with them, the boxers (like you didn't see that coming). The problem was, I thought the boxers were still up, so it took a few seconds before I made a movement to rectify the situation. After all, I couldn't very well let Geppetto think he'd gotten the better of me, right?

Anyway, by the time I looked down to see Little Minnow and the Boys had come up for air, Geppetto had already burst out laughing hysterically. Everyone else on the bus had turned around to see what all the commotion was about. A girl on the seat right in front of where I was standing turned around, and literally almost got a face full of my junk. Seriously, she was about six inches away**. I'll simply name her Lucky since she was the first girl to see my penis. Another girl, who we always referred to as the Floating Head, also turned around in time to see everything.

Of course, all of this happened in the span of about five seconds, and I reached down and pulled up my pants as quickly as I could once I realized exactly what had happened. I then proceeded to repeatedly punch Geppetto for his actions. He laughed the whole time and just said he probably deserved it.

Lucky and the Floating Head were beet red, but I didn't let that stop me from trying to play it off.

I said, "[Lucky], [Floating Head], you each owe me $50."

They never paid up.









*And I do have me some sexy legs (or so I've been told).

**Had the bus driver hit the brakes, I may have received my first BJ right then and there.

I need a camera to my eye, to my eye, reminding which lies I've been hiding

This isn't really my story to tell, but I don't care, I'm telling it anyway.

I have a friend who awoke one night with a literal pain in his butt. He felt as though he had a hemmorhoid, but didn't want to wake his girlfriend to make her inspect things for him. Instead, he grabbed the digital camera and snapped a picture of his anus. He looked at the picture and was relieved that he didn't have a hemmorhoid. Rather, he attributed the pain to the fact that he'd been eating a lot of spicy food.

Fast forward to later in the week when they had a small gathering at their apartment. He walked into the kitchen from the back room, and saw the camera sitting on the counter. He remembered that he hadn't deleted the picture the night he took it, so discretely picked the camera up and got rid of the file. Who could blame him? Shortly thereafter, one of the girls at the party motioned for him to come over and talk to her and her husband.

Her: Tell [Husband] he's crazy. He's trying to get me to believe that there's a picture of your butthole on this camera. He swears up and down that he saw one on there, but when I looked through your pictures there was nothing.

My friend had to come clean and tell her that her husband was right, that there had been one but he deleted it before she looked. I'm guessing her husband would rather have been wrong in this instance.

Cut a slab of melon and pretend that you still love me

If there's one thing Thanksgiving is good for, it's bringing people together so that they can be humiliated in front of a large group. At least if you're in my family.

For example, this year I learned that over the years my ex-wife . . .

- showed my mother the first place she and I ever had sex.
- bragged to my sisters about the size of my penis.
- talked to my mom about how I had a knack for "getting [her] there every time."

I only wish I were making this up.