I'm drinkin' wine in the mornin', I just can't seem to stop snortin' blue collared gack off a black hooker's ass, the mirror ball's startin' to rock

Friend (after I read him an excerpt from the book Perishable): That's sort of like your blog.

Me: Except my blog isn't anywhere near that well written. Or that funny.

Friend: No, I just meant the part about drunk retarded midget strippers.

Let me see you stripped down to the bone

I encountered some former students at lunch today. They invited me to come sit down with them. In the process of catching up with them I asked one about her dental school applications.

Her: I only applied to five schools, but I should be able to get into one of them.

Me: I'm sure you will. You're smart enough. You should be fine.

Her: I'd better get in. I don't really have a back up plan, so if I don't get accepted I'll have to start stripping somewhere.

Me: Well, if that ends up happening let me know. I'll come buy a dance from you.

Her Friend: Maybe you could just tuck some dollar bills into her g-string.

Me: Either way works for me.

I'm going down down down down down down down to Pussytown

[Disclaimer: If you are any member of my family, you may not want to read this post as it contains what you would consider to be pornographic images. Unless, of course, you're my brother, in which case you're going to want to see this. Heh.]

Are they gone yet? Good.

I'm going to share with you a letter I received earlier this week. Well, it's not exactly a letter per se, but it was in an envelope in my office mailbox.

I grabbed a thick envelope with my name scrawled across it out of my box. Normally I don't receive letters at work, and things that people place in my box are usually in manila envelopes. Not this one. It was just in a regular old white envelope. And did I mention it was thick?

I opened it, and inside was a sheet of paper all folded up with something inside it. It looked like one of those notes you'd get in third grade. You know the kind:



It took quite the effort to open the paper as whoever had given it to me had it all taped shut. Nevertheless, I prevailed, and unfolded the note. What was wrapped up inside it? Why nothing other than about thirty-five advertisements for strippers and escorts (aka, those cards they hand out on the Las Vegas Strip) of course!

I've picked the "tame" ones to show you here (believe me, some of them were a lot more risqué).








The note itself just said:


I have no idea who collected all those cards and wrote the note. It's not exactly the sort of thing you'd expect to be delivered at the office. But, I think it's time I went and gave "Honey" a call.

If I press my breasts together and arch my back just so, I can ask for pretty things and they will not say no

A few nights ago I went to hang out with a few friends. One of them brought along a girl who I'd never met before. Luckily, she turned out to be cool as demonstrated by the following conversation:

Friend: You've got some glitter on your face.
Girl: I do? How did that happen?
Friend: I don't know. Have you been hanging out with any strippers lately?
Me: I think she got it from motorboating a stripper.
Girl: I don't think strippers have glitter between their breasts.
Me: Are you kidding? I'm pretty sure that strippers have glitter everywhere.
Friend: It's true! Everyone knows that! There's even glitter in a stripper's duodenum.

(You know you're in a room full of biology geeks when that joke has everyone falling out of their chairs.)

I've got to say, when it comes to glitter, it looks as though Demetri Martin was right (watch until the end):

I was wasting my youth on grinding down my teeth

I've mentioned before that I grew up in small towns, but you don't really get a sense of exactly how small until you see this aerial photograph on a postcard. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dutch John, UT:

You know the town you live in is small when you can just circle your house on an aerial photograph and expect people to be able to use it as a map. Sure this is a pretty old picture, and there are a few more buildings there now, but you get the point.

(I've circled the house that I lived in for three and a half years. Feel free to visit, but be aware that the family that lives there now might tell you stories about me that aren't necessarily true. Also, they might not be receptive to complete strangers coming up to the door to ask about me. On second thought, don't feel free to visit. If you feel that you must, just drive by and wave).

As you might imagine, when you live in a town that small, sometimes it's hard to find things to do in order to keep yourself entertained. I mean, sure there's world class flyfishing three miles away, rock climbing, mountain biking, hiking, river rafting, along with a 91 mile long reservoir where you can swim, boat, fish, etc., and it's all within ten minutes of your house, but who wants to do that all the time?

(Just like anything else, those things become commonplace and somewhat boring when you can do them anytime. Take living in Vegas for example. Sure, strippers seem like a lot of fun, but when you're seeing them every single day it gets a little old. Then you have to start looking for something else to spice things up - like snorting cocaine off a stripper's breasts. Strippers and coke: Don't try to tell me that's not a winning combination.)

Anyway, in order to ease the boredom of living in DJ, sometimes I would end up doing stupid things. Like the time when I knocked up my girlfriend and got married. Or the time when I did this:

My mom HATES that picture. The reason? I'm hanging off the edge of Flaming Gorge Dam. She's such a Quaker. But seriously, this is something that could have resulted in me being the recipient of my very own Darwin Award. Let me show you a different angle:

Sure there was a rock ledge about twenty feet below us, but if for some reason I would have slipped, and then missed the ledge, it would have only been about a 500 foot fall. Maybe you'll believe me now when I say it's a miracle that I survived to adulthood.

Well I hadn't noticed but the people really noticed that they really didn't want us around

Last week we had our annual Valley of Fire campout. I'll spare you most of the details, but thought I'd give you the following examples of why the people I work with are hilarious.

Example 1
Guy 1: How long's it been since you last shaved?
Me: I don't know. Two or three days.
Guy 1: It looks like a pre-pubescent mustache on a kid.
Guy 2: He wishes!

Example 2
Guy 1: Look helicopters. I guess the strippers are finally here.
Me: I wish. Two helicopters full of strippers showing up would probably be the best thing that's ever happened in my life.
Guy 2: Yeah, it probably would.

Example 3
Or you get to hear exchanges such as this:
"I believe it."
"Yeah, but you're mormon. You'll believe anything."

Example 4
Or this:
I'm* gonna chili-whip your ass





*Happens to be one of the most 'proper' people I've ever met

They raise a paw - 4

It's finals week. Time to find out how many of you have been paying attention for the past few months. It's only one question, so it's all or nothing. Good luck!

Which of the following is the proper way to start a fire in your pants?

a) Raising an empty scotch glass toward the sun in order to concentrate the rays on your crotch
b) Carrying a 9 volt battery in the same pocket as your keys
c) Soaking your clothes in gasoline and walking around with flint and steel in your pockets
d) Having a stripper offer to be your sugar mama*


* I haven't told this story yet, but about two years ago I had a very exotic looking girl in my class. I suspected that she had a thing for me, because she'd always try to press her body up against me when I was showing her and her lab partners things they needed to know. It turned out that she probably just didn't have the same boundaries as most people do. On one of the last days of the semester she told me that she was a dancer at one of the strip clubs in town, that she had won some contest for Miss Las Vegas or something like that so there was a mural of her on the wall of the club that was about two stories high and that I should come check it out. I didn't (I'm guessing that's not a bad way to drum up business though). I did, however, run into her on campus a few months later and we started talking. She told me that she owned two condos in town, and that she drove a BMW. I told her that I thought she should buy me a BMW and she said, "Only if you marry me. I'll be your sugar mama." My response? "Perfect. I happen to be in the market for one of those." 'But Native Minnow, you're still single,' you say? That's because I haven't seen her since. It must have been an empty proposition.

You bring the razor blade, I'll bring the speed

Last weekend when we were celebrating my friend's birthday we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants (and by our, I mean my entire group of friends, not just he and I). When we had finished eating, we began talking about where the next stop was going to be. One of our friends announced that she and her boyfriend wouldn't be staying with us for the next stop:

Her: "We'd love to stay, but we have to get up early to catch a flight, and we haven't even packed yet."
Me: "So you're leaving?"
Her: "Yeah, we're tired and we've got to get some sleep."
Me: "It's like a five hour flight, just snort a line of coke off a stripper's ass and sleep on the plane."

They left anyway, but with it being Vegas and all I doubt we would have had trouble finding them a stripper, although the coke may have been a little more difficult to come by.

. . . you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey and you smell like one too

There is a recurring joke among my circle of friends where every time someone has reason to celebrate (birthdays, anniversaries, Fridays, etc.) they'll get asked about which strip club we'll be going to in order to do so. And it's usually me that does the asking. It never gets old. Never!

A friend of mine had a birthday last week, and sent out an email to those whom he wanted to join in on the celebration. He wanted people to dress for the occasion so he ended it with, "make sure you wear your drinking shoes."

I talked to him about it the day before:

Me (being facetious): "What exactly do you mean by 'wear your drinking shoes?' Does that mean shoes we don't care if they get drinks spilled on them, or are you trying to get us to dress up a little bit?"
Him: "I'm trying to get you to dress up a little bit ("Duh, you retard!" was only implied). After all, I only get to turn 30 once."
Me: "You mean I'm going to have to wear pants tomorrow, even though it's 105 degrees outside? That's practically going to kill me."
Him: "Hey, you don't have to go to a strip club, if we go to a strip club, when we go to the strip club if you don't want to go to the strip club."

That sure cleared things up.

Got a big surprise planned, in Chicago, that's my kind of town

I went out to watch one of the NBA games with a friend of mine. He was thumbing through a magazine and came upon an ad for one of the local strip clubs that was having a night with midget strippers. About that same time, our waitress came up to see if we needed anything.

Him: "What are your thoughts on midget strippers?"
Her: "I don't really think about midget strippers."
Him: "Really? Because I just saw this ad and was wondering if you'd be down."
Her: "I think I'd be down if they were stripping in creamed corn."
Him: "I don't think they like that. I think it gets places where it's not supposed to be."
Her: "Well, so does the pole."
Him: "Not if you're using it right."

I didn't add anything to the conversation. I think I was laughing too hard.