Midnight Massacre in San Fran

I am not what you would call a superstitious person, especially when it comes to sports. I don't believe that anything I say or do can affect the outcome of a sporting event. My fantasy football partner, Brett, hates it when I predict victory but I have been doing it for 4 years and I've been right most of the time. That is until last night.

We were all out at a bar watching the MLB All-Star Game to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. My friend, Tuna, had a parlay on the American League giving 1.5 runs and the under at 10 runs. The score was 5-2 with 2 outs in the 9th and Dmitri Young at the plate. He was looking damn good. Only one out away from victory with arguably the worst "All-Star" at the plate. Out of nowhere I blurted out, "Tuna, I don't think I've ever seen you lose a bet." For all you non-gamblers out there this is pretty much the worst thing you can say to someone on the verge of winning a bet. I wasn't saying it to jinx him. The truth is after spending 3 days in Vegas with him, I could not recall him ever losing a bet. He'd wake up drunk, place a 6 team parlay on college teams he's never seen play, and end up winning. Nevertheless, I should have never opened my big yapper. The moment I made that statement everyone around me looked at me in disbelief. It was as if I had just taken a dump on the Mona Lisa while burning the American flag and raping an altar boy. "What the hell is wrong with you Colediggy?" "How the fuck could you say something like that?" The reactions were all pretty much the same. I knew I had fucked up. I was just praying that my friends' superstitions would not come true.

Then the unthinkable began to unfold. Young hits a dribbler in the hole and Brian Roberts can't get a handle on it. The slowest fattest man on the planet just beat out a grounder to the second baseman. Before another pitch was thrown, I declared myself mush. I told Tuna I'm sorry but with Soriano now at the plate, I had a feeling he was going to hit one over the right field wall. Deep down I was praying that wouldn't be the case but I just had this feeling. Sure enough with a 3-1 count, Soriano smoked one to right field barely eclipsing the top of the fence. I knew the second the ball hit his bat it was gone. There was no doubt in my mind. The score was now 5-4 and all hope was lost for Tuna. The parlay was dead. Everyone's jaw hit the floor. We were dumbfounded. Not only did I mush his bet, but I called the home run to the exact part of the park it was hit. Un-freakin-believable!!

Tuna went home a miserable man that night and deservedly so. A $300 bet that would have paid out $1000 was now thrown away faster than a prom night baby in Spanish Harlem. I felt awful and still do. I apologized again to him this morning but I can't see him forgiving me anytime soon. I deserve it.

But did my comments truly affect the outcome of the game? I still don't think so. And while I severely regret opening my mouth before the outcome of the game, I still believe Soriano was going yard regardless (It was a little eerie that I called the shot). Nevertheless, me and my big mouth learned a valuable lesson last night. Sorry Tuna.

What Do You Want To Do?

I was enjoying the company of an attractive woman with beautifully large breasts on a Friday night. I knew going in that this girl was well endowed but when she took off her jacket to expose God's greatest gift to man, I was in awe. There they were in the tight tank top begging for me to let them out for a breath of fresh air. I had to remind myself throughout the evening not to stare. "Don't look down Colediggy. Don't look down. For the love of God did she have to wear that shirt? Whatever you do don't look down. Despite the fact that every urge you have right now is telling you to look down, do not do it. DAMNIT! I looked down. At least she wasn't looking...or so I hope." The neverending supply of sangria and red wine made this one frisky affair. After dinner she invited me back to her place a few blocks away (FYI...if you want to get ass on a first date go out on the weekend and do it at a restaurant near her apartment). So far so good. We stuffed our face with licorice, watched an episode of Growing Pains, walked her 2 dogs, and then the action moved on to the bedroom. The things I do to get some.

I'm not sure if it was the site of Alan Thicke or my purple wine teeth that got her libido jumping, but things heated up quickly. There was some heavy moaning and rubbing against one another and before I knew it, we were both naked. As her beautiful naked body was carelessly sprawled across the bed she muttered that question that I've heard so many times before, yet still do not have the right answer to. "What do you want to do?"

I love it when a girl poses this question as if they don't know the answer. I think it's quite clear what every guy wants to do. I cannot recall the last time I answered that with, "I will pleasure you orally with the hopes that you'll return the favor. Unfortunately you're a prude so I'll be lucky enough to get you to touch my penis over my underwear. I'll attempt to fall asleep with my back towards you but you'll insist on cuddling. I'll attempt to sneak out first thing in the morning before you awaken so I don't have to go through the awkwardness of asking for your phone number when we both know I'll never call you again. Unfortunately it's impossible to sneak out with your jello arms draped all over me as if we're in love. So I'll proceed with the awkwardness, stuff my disheveled body into a cab, and go home to tell the story to all my friends so they can make fun of me." The question should really be, "What will the girl allow me to do?" We all know that the female is the one who dictates how far this sexual encounter is going. So before I answered this, I quickly weighed my options.

Option #1 - The Honest Approach

We all know this one is never going to work. Telling a girl you want to stuff her like a Thanksgiving turkey only hours after meeting her is not going to fly. That is unless she's a whore. Nevertheless, avoid option #1 in most instances.

Option #2 - Test the Rape Waters

This method is quite aggressive and should only be used on the loosest of women. Then again if she's asking you what you want to do she probably has plenty of tread on her beefy tires. After she pops the question, do not immediately answer. Continue to caress and dry hump her until you find the tip of your penis breaking through that vaginal wall. Actions do speak louder than words. Maybe this red snapper will take the bait. It's worth a try. And if she doesn't take kindly to your tactics, have a lawyer on speed dial.

Option #3 - The Confused School Boy

This is the most commonly used tactic. Since there really is no right answer to this ambiguous question, I just elect to throw the ball right back in their court. "I don't know, what do you want to do?" It's pathetic and cowardly but I can't think of a better option.

Given the pressure I was under, I went with Option #3. Now my fate rested in her hands. What happened next was every man's dream come true. Without saying a word she reached into her nightstand, grabbed 2 condoms and slapped them down on the bed. It was something out of a porn movie where the crafty cougar deflowered the naive virgin. My first thought was that God really does love me. My second thought was this girl is a huge whore. My third thought was stop thinking already and get that damn rubber on immediately! And so I did.

Unfortunately my fun ended there. She started getting some pains down below from a previous surgery, coupled with some sort of vaginal cyst, so things never got any further than a few pumps and a thanks for coming. Why she felt the need to share that info with me, I have no idea. Nothing says aphrodisiac like a vaginal cyst!

Granted my night didn't turn out exactly as I would have liked, but it was not a complete loss. I learned that being a wuss and throwing the ball back in the girl's court when they ask that question may not be so bad after all. Now if I could only find a chick without boils on her vag. Maybe next time.

Knockin on the Back Door

We all have different names for it. The poop chute, fart box, back door, service entrance, Hershey highway, leather Cheerio (love this one), badonkadonk, balloon knot, cornhole, bunghole, chocolate starfish, dumper, mud pie, rusty sheriff's badge (never heard that one before but it's pretty funny), poop pipe, sphincter, rectum, rump, fudge tunnel, crap canal - I could go on forever. But despite the differing names, we as men have one common goal - to shove our penis in as many girl's assholes as humanly possible, or at least one before we die.

I was at a friend's birthday party a few weeks ago. My friend and I had arrived early and didn't know too many other people at the party. We were enjoying a healthy glass of whiskey at the bar when an acquaintance of his approached him. It was a female in her mid-to-late 20's that my friend knew through a mutual friend. She wasn't ugly but she was by no means attractive. I was introduced to her, the 3 of us chatted for 5 minutes, and then we parted ways. After she left the bar area my friend mutters to me, "Dude, that girl is a huge slut. She takes it in the ass." I didn't need to hear anything else. I was immediately interested in her and smiling more than John Amaechi in a post game shower. Thirty seconds ago I wouldn't even have given this girl the time of day and now I'm begging my friend for her phone number. Why does a woman became instantly more attractive once you find out her service entrance is open for business?

Before I answered this question I had to do a little research. I did a little digging to the back of my twisted mind and enlisted the help of some friends (and by friends I mean the one friend of mine who actually helped me out. Thank you Pugliese. Your help is appreciated.). Personally, I have never clogged a girl's poop chute and neither have too many of my friends. Yet we all want to. So why are men so fascinated with the thought of anal sex? The answer is really quite simple. Empowerment.

For the remainder of that girl's existence, you are her daddy (that is assuming she doesn't make a habit out of farting blood with a different fella every night of the week). She will never forget that fateful night. You got to hear her moan and claw at the walls like someone was performing open heart surgery on her without anesthesia. No matter what she becomes professionally or who she marries, you can always look at her with that evil smile knowing that you wrecked that shit. Her excruciating pain was your glorious gain. And once it's done, there is nothing she can do to erase it.

Guys who fuck chicks in the ass don't get dragged around Bed, Bath and Beyond on a Saturday afternoon while college football is on. They don't have to offer their opinion on every outfit their portly girlfriend stuffs herself into in the dressing room at Bloomingdale's. They don't get yelled at for getting too drunk and hanging with the boys too much. Because no matter what she says to you, you can always throw the anal card right back at her.

Of course in order to anally conquer a girl, you and your sheets must be willing to get a little dirty. But dingelberries on your shaft is a small price to pay for complete control. Think about it. Every time you see that girl in public you can tell all your friends "Hey you see that chick over there? I fucked her in the ass!" God that sounds awfully fun doesn't it?

**Any girls interested in showing their rusty sheriff's badge to this officer can contact me at leathercheerio@gmail.com. Good day.

Is My Luck Running Out?

My friend Scott has this theory that all the luck I've had in my life is going to run out when I hit the age of 30. While I normally laugh and shrug it off, I'm starting to think he may be onto something.

It started last Wednesday at work. I was sitting in my chair about 10 feet away from my desk talking to a co-worker. When I attempted to slide closer to my computer using my legs to propel the chair, the wheels got stuck in the carpet. My body continued to move forward, however, the chair did not immediately follow. The next thing you know I am falling face first into my keyboard as the chair comes crashing down on top of me. I laid there for about 2 seconds before 2 of my co-workers were out of their seats and laughing hysterically at me. One girl had to go to the bathroom because she thought she might have peed herself. I heard her cracking up through the bathroom doors for over 3 minutes. It was extremely embarassing but as one who has dished out plenty of abuse for 29 plus years, I can take my lumps every now and again.

Then came Saturday afternoon. It was a glorious day to stroll around Manhattan and enjoy our first and short-lived glimpse of spring. The night before I had a conversation with my friend Tara about how much we love to watch people trip and fall. I've always taken pleasure in other people's misfortunes and tripping is high up on that list. Needless to say I was quite displeased with myself when I ended up walking into an uneven patch of sidewalk and nearly found myself with a mouthful of pavement. Despite the fact that I did not fall, it's still embarassing and there is no way to play it off smoothly amongst those around you.

Fast forward to Monday night. I was at a charity event at NYU with some friends. Eight of us were sitting around a table enjoying our salads and the neverending supply of cheap wine. The guests speakers were about as interesting as a girl from Jericho (no offense to any girls I know from there) so we were attempting to amuse each other quietly at the table. Out of nowhere, the wood leg on my chair breaks in half as the front left portion of my chair sinks to the floor. I avoided complete embarassment as the chair did not collapse entirely but my friends were once again getting a great laugh at my expense. How the hell the 275 pound guy sitting 3 seats away from me didn't break his chair was beyond me. Although to see the look on his face afterwards praying that he wasn't next was priceless.

Do I deserve this small string of bad luck? Absolutely. I'll be the first to admit it. Hopefully the bad luck will end there.

2007 Oscar Review

I've got a bloody mary, a glass of wine, and a bong hit waiting for me. I'm finally ready for another 4 hour miserable Oscar marathon featuring a horde of movies I haven't seen. In fact the only movie I've seen that has been nominated was Borat for Best Adapted Screenplay and we all know that has no shot at winning. I don't care who is wearing what and if I see another moment of the Glam-a-Strator with that silver haired fruitcake on the E Channel, I'm going to inflict severe bodily harm upon myself. Here are a couple of random shots from the red carpet preview show that I am forcing myself to watch:

My hatred for Penelope Cruz grows exponentially every time I see her. What is all the fuss for? Go do my laundry you hook-nosed skank.

Portia de Rossi is unbelievably hot. Too bad she plays for the other team. Regardless, I'd love to see Ellen strap one on and give it to her in the fart box.

John Travolta gets more hair every time I see him. Drop the weave you over the hill bum. I wonder if the homo erotic biker movie he made with Tim Allen and the other washed up slobs is nominated?

Marc Anthony is high on coke. He's babbling on like an imbecile about American Idol and looks like he is attempting to eat Ryan Seacrest's head.

Jessica Biel is overrated. Great tits and gorgeous body but if she wasn't famous, I wouldn't even notice her on the street. Loose the bee hive hairdo! We are not in Mayberry anymore. Then again I would give my left nut to see one of her titties pop out of the side of her dress right now. And I'd give my right nut to have my mouth waiting on the side of her dress for it to pop out. Alright she's hot...but still overrated.

Someone please tell Kelly Preston that only women who spend their days chain smoking menthols, drinking cans of Schlitz and getting gang raped by a pack of toothless rednecks in the back of a trailer should be wearing leopard print dresses.

Will someone please pick up Maggie Gyllenhaal's dress? I guarantee there is a dick under there.

Alright enough of this red carpet crap. Let's get this show going.

8:31pm - "Aaahh we awwready rowwin?" Is that English, Penelope?

8:32pm - I recognize maybe 3 people in this montage.

8:36pm - Shocker. Ellen is wearing a tuxedo. Where's her prosthetic sausage?

8:39pm - Already getting bored. This is going to be a long night.

8:41pm - Did they just excavate Peter O'Toole's body and stuff him in a cheesy tux rental? Who the hell did his make up? He looks like Chucky from Child's Play.

8:45pm - Nicole Kidman is disgusting. It's time she get a refund for that work she had done to her cheeks and lips. I hate people who think they are so much more important than they really are. You're a good actress. Big whoop, wanna fight about it?

8:46pm - What happened to opening the show with the awards for Best Supporting Actor and Actress? Who gives a rat's ass about Art Direction?

8:49pm - Hands down the worst start in Oscar history. A half white choir that can't sing, Maggie Gyllenhaal and her surgically inverted penis, and Nicole Kidman wrapped as a Christmas gift. If I wanted a freakishly pale, self absorbed whore who only marries fags and alcoholics, I would have told Santa so myself.

8:56pm - Is there anyone in Hollywood better than Will Ferrell? Love the new fro.

8:57pm - Helen Mirren is smoking hot for an old wanker. Definitely the best post 60 year old rack I have ever seen.

9:11pm - You gotta love how the producers of this telecast made Ellen apologize to Penelope Cruz for insinuating that she was Mexican. It reminds me of the racial diversity episode of the Office when Michael asks Oscar if he prefers a term less offensive than Mexican.

9:18pm - Nominees for Best Sound Mixing? This is absolutely horrific.

9:36pm - Jerry Seinfeld just got caught red handed picking his nose. Nothing like a billion people seeing you digging for diamonds.

9:38pm - Is Leo gonna blow Al Gore on stage? At least wait for the after party.

9:43pm - Did someone step on Cameron Diaz's face? She's another twat that pisses me off just by looking at her. And that dress looks like a cocktail napkin on steroids.

9:49pm - Not only would I change Helen Mirren's diaper but I'd probably eat the contents of it as well.

9:58pm - I just got teary eyed during the commercial for the Oprah Winfrey ABC Primetime Special - Building a Dream: The Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy. If anyone has seen my balls please let me know.

10:03pm - The costume designer for Marie Antoinette looks like the lesbian version of Rocky Dennis. I cannot understand a word she is saying.

10:08pm - It's official. Tom Cruise is shorter than every woman at the Academy Awards.

10:20pm - Hey Robert Downey Jr., tighten that tie you goddamn bum! Going for that "I drink whiskey out of a brown paper bag and smack my bitches when they act up" look isn't cool anymore. Then again, mad props to any guy who can rip on himself for being a junkie.

10:25pm - Nothing says comedy like the Asian guy from Letters of Iwo Jima attempting to speak "Engrish." The Academy is cruel and I like it!

10:37pm - Jennifer Hudson couldn't have done it without God. How about thanking your cow of a mother for getting drunk and sleeping with the entire staff at the YMCA.

10:45pm - Seinfeld is hilarious. Was that Sam Perkins in the front row?

10:46pm - When is the Academy going to present George Lucas with the Lifetime Achievement Award for Best Turkey Neck in Hollywood? Lord knows he deserves it.

10:48pm - I desperately need to see Jesus Camp. That looks hilarious!

10:49pm - Where and when did Al Gore get a personality? He's hotter than Hansel right now.

10:52pm - Has anyone seen Clint Eastwood's cue cards? Is the teleprompter down? That was just plain awkward.

10:59pm - What in God's name is Quincy Jones wearing? He looks like a thugged out geisha.

11:03pm - Hey Clint, here's a little word of advice...stay away from the Jack Daniels' Red Carpet VIP tent before presenting an award and being forced to translate some strange Italian homo's speech.

11:07pm - "Ba-tee-mo?" Penelope, I believe it is called "Baltimore." Did anyone else notice how gleeful she was to announce that a fellow Hispanic won an Oscar?

11:12pm - Kirsten Dunst looks disgusting. She looks like a senile 80 year old woman you'd see shoptlifting at Kmart.

11:22pm - I would definitely bang Jennifer Hudson despite the cankles, jello arms and floating device of fat around her neck. That is one big sexy black woman. I'm not really sure if that's the alcohol, weed and/or exhaustion talking at this point of the night.

11:24pm - Is anyone else sick of seeing Beyonce everywhere? Chicks with chunky thighs, big hips and small tits don't belong on the cover of Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue.

11:28pm - Add Queen Latifah to the short list of fat black women that I would let have their way with me.

11:41pm - Last I checked Ms. Winslett, the moment I am waiting for is not the nominees for Achievement in Film Editing. I'm waiting for this drawn out crap to end.

11:44pm - A warm round applause for Jodie Foster - the first lesbian to take the stage tonight in a dress.

11:51pm - Why the hell does this crappy awards ceremony run ridiculously late every year and there is nothing they can do to shorten it? Here's an idea - cut out all but the 6 Oscars that people care about.

11:52pm - All the money in the world and Philip Seymour Hoffman can't buy a brush. It looks like he just rolled out of a brothel at 7am after a 3 day heroine binge.

11:54pm - You gotta love the announcer adding the colorful facts about each Oscar winner as they walk up on stage. "The road to the Oscars was bumpy for Helen Mirren. An Indian hand reader once told her that her success would not peak until her late 40s." Last I checked she was 61 you moron! And oh so goddamn sexy!

11:26pm - Helen's salute to the Queen was kind of creepy at the end of her speech but she gets a pass tonight for being so damn hot.

12:01am - I was passing out but the site of the new look Reese Witherspoon has got my attention. She looks fantastic!! FYI...for those of you who missed my foreshadowing in last year's Oscar review read below:


"The look of nervousness on Ryan Phillippe's face as Reese thanked everyone in the room prior to him was priceless. It's only a matter of time before she dumps your loser ass, Ryan."

12:03am - How the hell is the Last King of Scotland a fat sweaty black guy?

12:05am - Does Forest Whitaker buy his glass eyes at the same place as Stuart Scott? That left lazy eye is frightening. Stop staring at the floor you freak!

12:08am - Gee I wonder if Scorsese is going to win. They certainly didn't bring out Spielberg, Lucas and Coppola to give the Oscar to Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu for Babel.

12:08am - Congrats Martin. You deserve it. Now go treat yourself to an eyebrow waxing.

12:09am - Please tell me that Jack Nicholson is playing Britney Spears in his next movie role.

12:14am - Scorsese looks like he wants to wander back on the stage after the Departed just won the Best Motion Picture. Did anyone else notice him asking why he didn't get an Oscar for this particular award?

12:16am - Wow what a grand finale. Some fat foreigner who looks like Shrek thanking Leo and Jack followed by Ellen's brief farewell. Thank God this crap is over.

Well another 4 hours of my life wasted. This was the worst Academy Awards I have seen to date. The Academy should be ashamed of themselves for putting on such a dull display. Thankfully I have another 364 days before I have to subject myself to this trash again.

Strangest Baseball Injuries

I was listening to Mike and Mike on ESPN Radio last week and heard them discussing some of the stranger baseball injuries of all time. As a baseball fan, I've heard of many of these over the years but thought I'd compile a list of them. In no particular order, I present to you the weirder side of Major League Baseball.

Charlie Hough broke his pinky finger while shaking hands.

Mickey Tettleton went on the DL with a severe case of athlete's foot (caused by tying his shoes too tight).

Jose Cardenal missed a game in 1972 because he was kept awake all night by crickets chirping in his hotel room. He also missed a game in 1974, because he couldn't blink. He swore his eyes were stuck open.

Bob Feller scalded himself with 200-degree water after he lost control of the hose in a whirlpool. He scalded himself from the waste down and couldn't do anything for a week.

David Cone missed a start after getting bit by his mother-in-law's dog, a Jack Russell Terrier.

Sammy Sosa missed a game after sleeping wrong on his shoulder. He also hurt his back while sneezing.

Adam Eaton stabbed himself in the stomach with a paring knife after attempting to remove the plastic while opening a DVD.

Jim Corsi slipped coming out of the shower and sprained his wrist. Corsi has poor eyesight, wasn't wearing contacts, and misjudged his step.

Marty Cordova once burnt his face so badly at a tanning salon that he was forced to miss a game after the doctors ordered him to avoid sunlight.

Bob Stanley missed a couple of games after slipping down the stairs while taking out the trash.

Jeff Kent broke a bone in his wrist while washing his pickup truck at a self service car wash in Arizona. Although later reports indicated he hurt himself while performing stunts on his motorcycle, he has denied it to this day.

Carlos Perez broke his nose in a car accident...as he was trying to pass the team bus.

Brian Anderson suffered nerve damage in his elbow after a cab ride.

Tony Gwynn missed a couple of games after he smashed his thumb in the door of his car on his way to the bank.

Rickey Henderson missed several games because of frost-bite...in August.

Vince Coleman missed the 1985 World Series when he got rolled up in the tarp machine.

Pascual Perez missed a start in Atlanta when he circled the city for more than two hours searching for the exit ramp from Highway 285 to Fulton County Stadium. Keep in mind this was his home stadium.

Kevin Mitchell strained a muscle while vomiting. Mitchell was also 4 days late to spring training in 1990 after hurting himself while eating a microwaved donut. Fat fuck.

Twins farmhand David Foster was knocked out for the season when a lightning strike through a phone line zapped him while he was making a call.

Pitcher Steve Foster injured his shoulder knocking over milk bottles during a segment with Jay Leno on "The Tonight Show."

Wade Boggs missed seven games after straining his back while pulling on his cowboy boots.

Paul Molitor dislocated a knuckle when it got stuck in another player's glove.

Milwaukee's Dave Nilsson missed part of this season with Ross River Fever, a mosquito-borne virus that annually affects 200 out of Australia's 17 million residents.

Twins general manager Terry Ryan required dozens of stitches when he was scouting a game and a bat flew out of the hitter's hands, sailed through a space in the backstop and struck him in the forehead.

Pitcher Jeff Juden had a start early in the 1994 season pushed back after getting an infection from a tattoo.

Outfielder Bret Barberie missed a game when he accidentally rubbed chili juice in his eye.

Ken Griffey Jr. missed a game after his protective cup slipped and pinched a testicle.

Doc Gooden missed a start when Vince Coleman accidentally hit him with a golf club in the Mets' clubhouse.

Mark Portugal missed a start because of food poisoning from eating bad mahi-mahi.

Pitcher Steve Sparks dislocated his shoulder while tearing a phone book in half, as he was trying to emulate a motivational speaker.

Reliever Larry Anderson strained a rib muscle getting out of a Jucuzzi.

Pitcher Ted Power pulled a hamstring jumping off the bullpen bench to join a brawl.

Kent Hrbek missed the final 10 games of the 1990 season when he sprained an ankle while wrestling with a clubhouse attendant.

Florida's Randy Veres hurt his hand pounding on a hotelroom wall trying to get the people in the next room to quiet down.

Dennis Martinez injured his arm tossing his luggage onto the team bus. He was diagnosed with Samsonitis.

Chris Brown missed a game with a strained eyelid after sleeping on his eye a funny way.

Former Seattle shortstop Rey Quinones was unavailable as a pinch-hitter because he was in the clubhouse playing Nintendo.

Braves outfielder Terry Harper injured his shoulder after giving another player a high five.

Texas pitcher Greg Harris injured his shoulder trying to flick sunflower seeds into the stands from the bullpen.

Glenallen Hill missed a few games after falling out of his bed while having an arachnophobic dream about spiders. He dreamt that spiders were devouring him, jumped off his bed, fell through a glass table, and crawled through the shards of glass.

Last but not least (and probably my personal favorite), John Smoltz once scalded himself ironing his shirt - while still wearing it. Priceless.

Hasselhomo

Just when you think David Hasselhoff can't sink any lower he shows up in drag. There is a God and he has one sick sense of humor.

That's What She Said

A special treat to those that are sick of me saying "That's what she said."

Granny Granny Why Ya Buggin?

(this post was backdated to last Wednesday, Feb 7, 2007)

As I sit in the boiling hot guest bedroom of my grandparents' home in Boca Woods Country Club, I can't help but thank the fact that I got the hell out of miserable New York this week. From what I hear it's pretty cold. Granted it's not all that comfortable in here as my grandparents have the heat on (it's currently 68 degrees outside) but anything beats single digits with a wind chill.

After 2 nights of debauchery down in South Beach over Super Bowl weekend, I came to Boca Raton to spend some quality time with the grandparents. This is the first time I've come to Florida since my parents moved away 8 months ago so it's a little different when you don't have a place to call home. And it's certainly an eye opening experience spending 72 consecutive hours at my grandparents' house.

Here's a couple of random shots from my experience thus far:

When are my grandparents going to learn that I know how to dress myself? I don't need a sweater when it's 74 and sunny outside. Furthermore, please don't bring the extra bright red Members Only jacket from the trunk of the car into the restaurant for me. Not only is the restaurant not going to be cold but I'd rather die of hypothermia than wear that. And granny, I hate to burst your bubble but the transition was made from dungarees to jeans about 30 years ago.

If I see another episode of Jerry Springer, Maury Povich, Judge Joe Brown, or Judge Mathis I'm going to stab myself in the eye with a rusty fork. Then again, the "Man Camp" episodes on Dr. Phil have been quite entertaining. That Dr. Phil doesn't take shit from anyone. Even if I wanted to avoid these shows and sit outside by the pool or in another room, the tv is so ridiculously loud that you can hear it within a 50 yard radius of the house.

If 25 year old girls felt the same way about me that 85 year old women do, I would bang a different girl every night of the week. Being paraded around the country club like the Stanley Cup certainly does wonders for your confidence. Maybe I should just settle for the old bags instead. I'll be the reverse of Anna Nicole Smith, minus the dead son and drug overdose.

I thought jappy broads from Long Island gossiped alot. You girls got nothing on old people. The moment they turn their back on each other they're blabbing away about what a gold-digging whore the other one is. Everytime someone walked by my grandfather and he gave them a big hello and smile, he'd mutter under his breath "I can't stand that cock sucking mutha fucking douche bag" as they walked away.

My grandmother was telling me a story about how a friend of theirs died and the wife was immediately sleeping with another club member 2 weeks later. It was quite entertaining to hear my grandfather correct her during the story. "Hey mama, he wasn't sleeping with her. He was feeding the old bitch his pickle." The future does not look bright for me.

For as long as I am alive, my grandfather is going to offer me his hand-me-downs. Granted my gramps was the sharpest dressed cat on 7th Avenue back in the day, but he still hasn't realized that I have not yet gotten to the age where I want to wear white loafers with gold buckles. Although I'm getting dangerously close. (Check out his MC Hammer glasses on the right. He offered them to me 5 times before he finally realized I don't want them)

I doubt my grandparents are the only ones who do this but everytime I sneeze or cough I have 9 different medications in front of me with a box of tissues. My grandmother does not understand that you can cough or sneeze without being deathly ill. (Insert sneeze here). "Are you catching a cold Bratley? (she still doesn't know how to pronounce my name). Let me get you some medicine."

I have never eaten more in my life. My first day here I had breakfast at 9:30 and by 11:30 I was at the club ordering lunch. And then as 4:45 rolls around, I need to be getting ready for dinner. We all know how imperative it is to beat the rush at every restaurant in Boca by over 2 hours.

If you don't want to instantly lose your appetite at the breakfast table, don't take a peek at your grandmother's cleavage while eating a bagel with lox. I didn't do it on purpose as her robe was just undone much further than it should have been. Nevertheless, I'm scarred for life.

Don't ever drive with your grandparents in the car. The old folks are getting up there in age and I made the executive decision that I would be driving everywhere. My grandmother would watch the speedometer and the moment I went over 25 mph she would yell at me to slow down. "They have cops that give tickets in this neighborhood!" When I replied that I highly doubt they give tickets for going 26 mph, she insisted that I was wrong. The sad part is that she's probably right.

All in all, my experience with the grandparents was a good one. They are still vibrant and fun even as they approach their 90s. Sure they are a little crazy but if I'm this crazy at the age of 29, then I'd be lucky to be in their mental state in 60 years. Despite the fact that the old man shut down his penis about 2 years ago, after 65 years of marriage the two of them are still madly in love. I hope one day I can consider myself that lucky.

Looks Don't Last Forever

I was dusting off the cobwebs from a debilitating Friday night out on the town as the sun peered through the my blinds on Saturday morning. Once I am awake, I rarely fall back asleep. In fact, I'm usually out of bed within five minutes of my eyes first opening. But this Saturday morning was a little different. I knew there was no sense in attempting to go to the gym as I would get there and vomit on the treadmill. I just felt like being lazy. I turned on the tv and with limited choices on the major networks at 10:00am on a Saturday morning, I began perusing the movie channels. I hadn't seen Weird Science in close to 15 years and was psyched to find that I was catching it from the opening credits. There is something refreshing about seeing an 80s movie that brings back fond memories from your childhood. And there was nothing greater than seeing a scantilly clad Kelly LeBrock for 94 minutes. I remember being enamored with her beauty as a pre-pubescent boy. I doubt it was the first time I discovered my fascination for the opposite sex but it's certainly one of the first instances I can recall. Damn Kelly was a fine piece of ass. She was perfect in every sense of the word. Silky smooth skin, a perfectly sculpted body, beautifully proportioned breasts that fit her flawless figure, luscious lips, a sexy British accent and vibrantly blue eyes that could make your heart melt. I must have watched that movie at least 20 times just to see her. I couldn't get enough. And here I was over twenty years later still finding myself mesmerized by her beauty. That is until I saw what she looked like today (believe me she looks even worse when she's not made up but I couldn't find any other current pictures online).

Now I see why so many women panic as the dust settles in on their 30s and they are still single. If one of the most beautiful women of the last 20 years could turn into some overgrown cow who's career has resorted to stuffing her fat face with donuts just to be eligible to star on VH1's Celebrity Fit Club 3, then what the hell is in store for the average girl?

I can be extremely harsh on women on this blog. Yes I drool over all the superficial things about a woman that every other chauvanistic pig does but the truth is nothing beats a natural beauty. Here's an idea for all you ladies - attempt to grow old gracefully. Don't stuff your lips with collagen, your B-cup tits with silicone, and your forehead with botox. Sure a little titty lift and some slight work around the eyes and turkey neck region never hurt anybody, but avoid keeping the plastic surgeon on speed dial. Do you really want to look like Joan Rivers? Hit the gym 4 times a week instead. Don't worry, they'll allow you to bring your US Weekly on the treadmill.

It pains me to see the woman I once admired look like this. But the fact is that's the reality of life. We all can't be beautiful forever. On a side note, I'd still titty fuck the fat slob.

The True Female Scale

Often we refer to the beauty of a woman by a number between 1 and 10. "Sure I was completely shitfaced last night but even if I was dead sober she was at least a 7." We all have our own versions of the 1-10 scale. This makes it nearly impossible to comprehend the beauty (or lack there of) of a girl when it is solely based upon your friend's judgment. Once you throw alcohol into the mix, things only get more confusing. We all have differing definitions of beauty. For instance, I define beauty as a woman with dark skin, delicious honey brown tatas, and a little bit of a booty on the backside. But that might not appeal to others. My friend Steve-a-rino claims that Heidi Klum is a 7 on his scale. Meanwhile he spends his weekends sipping dollar Red Hook drafts at the local TGI Fridays on the prowl for some chain-smoking, droopy-breasted battle ax whose labia resembles a Slip 'n Slide. That is why I am here to set the record straight.

1 out of 10 - If you were this drunk the night before then you're lucky to be alive. The fact that you didn't wake up in prison or in a hospital with some sort of rotten produce in your ass is a miracle in of itself. So what type of woman would fall into the "1" classification? If you're gonna start at the bottom of the totem pole then you might as well start with a nice thick stump. And nothing says stumpy like an amputee. Anytime you're messing with a broad without all limbs you know you have pretty much hit rock bottom. In an effort not to leave the amputees alone at the bottom of my scale, it's important that we throw in a few others that fall into the same category: burn victims, lepers (close enough to an amputee), and any other form of severe disfigurement. It's good to see that Paul McCartney finally wised up and raised his standards.

2 out of 10 - I struggled a great deal with this category. Retard or cripple or both? I've yet to see a hot retarded woman, and while I haven't exactly seen too many knockouts wheeling down the runway during Fashion Week, the possiblity is greater for a hot cripple over hot retard. Therefore the tards are all alone in category #2. Is it me or do all retarded people look exactly the same? I guess that's why they're retarded.

3 out of 10 - Well I sort of ruined the surprise for this one but as I stated earlier, all cripples fall into this category (no pun intended).

4 out of 10 - Now we're getting to the ranks that many people have delved into. Your typical 4 has a dump truck for a body and usually several things wrong with her face. Whether it be a hairy upper lip, grotesque moles, pock marks on her cheeks, a meat hook for a nose, or a fat roll on the back of her neck that is a breeding ground for sweaty residue, there is something severely wrong with this bitch that no amount of alcohol should be able to mask. Unfortunately by the time you've figured this out, it's 8:00am on Saturday morning and the sun is creeping through the blinds. As you open your eyes for the first time your heart sinks into your stomach when you realize that you're in a strange bed. That God awful feeling of not knowing where the hell you are and who you're with has made this for one rude awakening. All you see is the back of the beast next to you and you're praying that you can escape before she rolls over and wakes up. Before you can even lift the covers to gently sneak out of her bed, the manatee rolls over and smiles at you like she's in love.

Here's a little friendly advice: Avoid the ranks of the 4's at all costs.

5 out of 10 - When you first spot her on the dance floor of Mad River (dive frat bar for those non-New Yorkers who read this) you think that she could be Mrs. Right. You spank her around to Sir Mix-a-Lot and then head to the bar for some shots. The bar is slightly better lit than the dance floor but then again you're there to do shots and not inspect the acne scars on her face. She seems like a fun girl at first but then again 12 well drinks and a shot of Peppermint Schnapps tend to impare your judgment. You know you are wasted at this point of the night but this girl is annihilated. She's obnoxiously loud and flaunting her fat pale tits in that extra tight tank top. So you throw down a few shots on your own to make this night somewhat bearable. Fortunately for you that is the last thing you remember. You did not witness her throwing up in the women's bathroom only to come out 3 minutes later and make out with you. You wake up completely naked with your comforter on the floor. You have that feeling in your penis as if you had shot off a tremendous load at about 5:00am but there is no woman in sight. You know you didn't jerk off because your dick and grundle region are covered in crusty vaginal residue. You immediately check the call log on your cell to see if there is anyone that can fill in the gaps of your evening. While the details may be gone, just be happy she is as well. Nothing says class like a girl who leaves before you wake up.

6 out of 10 - As we climb the scale it gets harder to differentiate between the categories. Your typical 6 is what one would call a butterface. Smoking hot body and a face that looks the grill of a '57 Chevy. But at 1:00am do you really give a shit? You'd probably stick your dick in a cheese grater if it talked dirty and wouldn't plead with you to go out for brunch the next morning. There is no sense in complaining at this point of the evening when you can't even put together a complete sentence. Your friends will poke fun but they're just jealous that they are going home to their miserable whiney wives. Occasionally a nice set of legs, sweet juicy ass and bodacious boobies can offset down syndrome-like facial features and a hook nose. Sometimes as men/animals, we have to take what we can get. After all, a brotha's got to eat.

7 out of 10 - Many guys would consider themselves lucky to land a 7 on a nightly basis. You're sitting at the bar on a Saturday night as the crowd slowly begins to trickle in. You spot this attractive girl across the bar giving you the eye. After some playful staring you muster up the courage to go over and talk to her. As you turn the corner of the bar you get a glimpse of her back side and it resembles a rotten old honeydew dripping with cottage cheese. You knew it was too good to be true. This girl may be worth the long term investment assuming you can get her fat ass on the treadmill. And if she doesn't take the treadmill bait, there are other options. Only go to tapas or Ethiopian restaurants for all dates until she gets the hint. Bang her constantly until your penis feels like it's gone 10 rounds in a blender just so she gets a consistent work out. Once you knock off the extra chin, elbow fat and thunder thighs, you could be mixing hairs with a 9!

8 out of 10 - It's tough to find too many unpleasant physical characteristics with an 8. She's hot and she knows it. But what she doesn't know is that she has chronic bad breath. She's been wondering for the past 15 years why not many guys have spent the night at her place. You too would bail after giving this dog a bone at 4:00am if you ever got a whiff of her morning breath. Apparently her cocker spaniel isn't the only one drinking out of the toilet. Unfortunately countless years of empty meaningless relationships have really taken their toll on her. She immediately gets attached to you and insists on doing everything together after only one date. She'll profess her love for you in the cab ride to the restaurant on your 2nd date. She'll have pictures of you on her dresser after the 3rd date. You'll be spending weekends in Long Island wiping the drool off her grandfather's chin as the old geezer rambles on about the potato kugel at Zabar's. She'll ask you to paint pottery on a Sunday during football season. One word - psycho. Stay the hell away!

9 out of 10 - There is nothing physically wrong with a 9. She's got a gorgeous face, legs that run all the way up to her neck and an ass as tight as a conga drum. Her imperfections are slight. For instance, she forgets to spray air freshener after dropping a huge turd in your apartment. While she may be hot, her stock immediately falls when you go into the lavatory to take a leak afterwards and the stench hits you in the face like a Pedro Martinez fastball. Or perhaps her labia are slightly enlarged which causes an extremely uncomfortable queefing noise during sex. Sure you're psyched you are throwing your meat in her but do you really want the sound of cow farts with every pelvic thrust? Or maybe it's the fact that her second toe is slightly larger than her big toe. Sorry ladies but that creeps me out. Sure none of these are deal breakers, but something has to knock these girls down a notch.

10 out of 10 - The perfect woman - is there really such a thing? Probably not but if she did exist, she'd go a little something like this:

• Face of Jessica Alba, Lips of Angelina Jolie (as long as they are not attached to her brother or Billy Bob's old wrinkly cock), Tits of Keeley Hazell (as seen on your right), Legs of Jessica Simpson and Ass of Vida Guerra (tell me you wouldn't eat a corn dog out of that thing)
• Laughs everytime you fart and occasionally begs for a Dutch oven
• Her breast milk tastes like a Haagen Dazs chocolate shake and her vagina smells and tastes like a watermelon Jolly Rancher
• Enjoys getting high and watching countless hours of Family Guy
• Truly believes that you have to bust a nut in her mouth in order to get a good night's sleep
  
• Begs you to give her anal and never poops in your lap (and if she did accidentally poop in your lap, she would encourage you to tell the story to all your friends)
• Finds it charming when you leave the toilet seat up
• Won't make fun of you for watching American Idol
  
• Insists that you leave the house on Sunday to watch football and when you come home obscenely drunk 7 hours later, she is naked and eagerly awaiting your arrival for the 5 course meal she just prepared
• Every time you wake up hungover she is naked by your bedside with 2 Egg McMuffins and a lemon lime Gatorade
• She thinks a blumpkin is something you carve on Halloween
  
• And last but certainly not least, she mustn't speak a word of English

So there you have my version of the 1-10 female scale. You may not agree with everything on this list but I think it's a good start. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to go watch an all new episode of the Family Guy.

Finally A Cure For The Post Fuck Pee

We've all been there at one point or another. A night of carousing with your friends has led to a horrible hangover and a bladder that is ready to explode. The cotton mouth combined with the urge to urinate has almost gotten you out of bed, but you are simply too lazy to move at this point. Just as you are about to muster up the strength to roll out of bed, the girl next to you awakes and puts her arm around you. You attempt to shy away from her shit breath and make a dash for the toilet but there's no escaping this canoodling session. The heavy petting quickly turns frisky and before you know it, she's on top of you and ready to ride. She couldn't get enough of that man meat last night and her sexual appetite can only be cured by one thing - your 8.5" of raging hard morning wood. If you make the decision to throw her off you for the reason of poor bladder control then you are not getting any this morning. Besides your penis is so hard that you can't pee for at least five minutes without shooting a yellow laser on your bathroom wall. You know the sex is going to be painful but at this point it's way too late to roll her off you in favor of the john. So you go through with the most sexually horrifying seven minutes (on a good day) of your life not knowing whether or not pee or semen is going to burst out of your penis. And sometimes it hurts so much that you start to believe that maybe both will come out simultaneously in a fire hose-like fashion.

Alright so deep down you knew that you weren't going to pee inside her but now that the deed is done, you have that horrible feeling in your penis like you are going to explode with urine. Unfortunately with your pipes currently clogged with residual man chowder, there is no way for it to come out without excruciating agony.

You cave in for the 30 second cuddle after sex, but let's face it, if you don't go within the next minute or so, there's a good chance you may not survive. After excusing yourself to use the restroom, you find yourself standing over the toilet with a rock hard boner. Trying to angle your penis so as not to urinate all over the toilet and wall is difficult enough and then comes the unpredictability of the post fuck pee. The urine's travel time from the bladder to the tip of the penis is prolonged as a result of the flogging your dolphin just received. You stare at the tip of your penis eagerly awaiting that friendly yellow arrival. You wait and wait and alas, your moment of ecstasy has finally arrived. All you want to do is enjoy this 60 second piss but you can't because the urine is shooting all over the bathroom floor. In a desperate attempt to angle your penis towards the bowl, you adjust your stance and bend it in the shape of a banana. These swift in-game adjustments may be a temporary cure but there is nothing pleasant about spending the remainder of the urination awkwardly huddled over the bowl praying that your penis holds no more surprises. While the cockeyed stream can present a rude awakening, it's the multiple streams shooting in completely opposite directions that have haunted us men for thousands of years. How the hell can you possibly pee in the toilet when one stream is headed for the sink and the other is headed for the wall? You can fidget all you want to attempt to get one stream in the bowl but the next thing you know you are peeing on your tooth brush and down your leg at the same time. The only thing you can do is attempt to minimize the damage until the multiple streams have merged into one. It always happens but usually takes a good 5-10 seconds. That is plenty of time to destroy your bathroom. Soon enough you'll be headed out to purchase a new toothbrush, toilet paper and shower curtain. I swear to God one day it's going to get so bad that I pee in my own face.

You're tired, hungover, and you've just stretched your penile threshold for pain to the absolute limit. The last thing you want to do is get on your knees to clean up your own piss. Which leads me to the point of this blog entry. We need to invent a product that destroys the unpredictability of the post fuck pee. It can be as simple as a plastic tube that goes over the tip of your penis. It should be long enough to direct the pee into the toilet, or at the very least, somewhere within the vicinity. I think 6"-8" would suffice. Obviously this is not something that you would want to put in the dishwasher and re-use, hence something disposable would make the most sense. If we could somehow make it flushable and environmentally friendly, this could be the start of something big. Now the only thing left is a name. I'm thinking the PeePal. For starters, it's short, sweet and has a friendly connotation. We could team it up with PayPal to start a revolutionary marketing campaign. "Get your PeePal with PayPal." I think it has a nice ring to it.

Any and all other suggestions for this product's name are welcome.

A Time To Be Thankful

For the first time since I was 9 years old, I spent Thanksgiving outside the state of Florida. And for the first time since I can remember, our Thanksgiving feast was free from my annoying and aesthetically unpleasant relatives. While Thanksgiving is usually a time for large family gatherings, I was thrilled to spend it with just my parents and sister. Granted I did miss those moments when my mom and I would sneak into the garage to get high while my dad and sister entertained the rest of the family and vice versa. My dad's side of the family is that unbearable that you constantly have to be stoned, drunk or both when in their presence. So rather than reflect on everything in my life that I am thankful for, this year it was a time to give thanks that I was 1500 miles away from these people. Below are the reasons I am thankful that my family was not in attendance this year:

• I no longer had to look at my uncle Benny's oversized man tits as they came close to falling into his plate everytime he reached for the stuffing (and believe me that was often). And my sister is probably thankful that she no longer had to have him rub up against her and beg her for kisses. The guy is a creep. FYI...we call him Uncle Belly.
  
• No more little buck toothed cousins jumping on me for 5 consecutive hours when all I want to do is sit on my fat ass with my hand down my pants and watch football.
  
• I no longer have to explain what I do for a living to my relatives who seem to get off on creating small talk.
• I no longer have to struggle to interpret what my deaf uncle Jack is mumbling to me. Yeah I know you used to play soccer competitively in Europe some 65 years ago. I also know that you sound like Helen Keller in a muzzle. Go mumble to someone else you deaf mook.
  
• I don't have to look at my wanna-be Puerto Rican cousin, Rosie, who has had more black cock in her than a urinal at the Apollo. If I see those filthy milky fat tits in a tight tank top one more time I'm gonna rip my eyeballs out of my head. Ditch the hoop earrings and the Hispanic accent and shave your fucking arms for the love of God!
• I didn't have to pretend to eat a deviled egg that my cousin's gentile trailer park wife made. Nothing like some creamy egg yolk to go with that glass of red wine.
  
• I don't have to listen to my Uncle Belly blab on about his show business days and hanging out with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Get over yourself you fat slob. You were a broke lounge singer who sold used cars to keep your family afloat. You were a nobody and still are. If it wasn't for my grandfather's generosity, you'd be sucking dick in an alley somewhere for Milk Duds. And here's a novel idea...you might want to lay off the 17th helping of gravy after already being pronounced dead once in your life only to survive for 14 more bypass surgeries.
• I no longer have to look at my uncle Harold's shit stained teeth and listen to his imitations of bird noises. By the way, this delirious old fuck ran over an 88 year old lady in his beat down Mercury Marquis last week in Boynton Beach and killed her. No charges were filed since apparently the hag did not have the right away. My family never ceases to amaze me.
  

Despite the fact that I was pleased to spend the holiday with my immediate family there were 2 notable absentees...my grandparents. Unfortunately this year my grandparents were forced to spend Thanksgiving alone in Florida. My cousin Dave, Uncle Belly's douchebag son, told my grandparents that there was not enough room for them at his house. Actually he was too much of a coward so Uncle Belly made the call. The nerve of these people. My grandparents made Thanksgiving for years and always opened their door to these scum. This is the thanks they get in return. Then again I'm sure after all these years they probably noticed my grandfather muttering under his breath for the entire meal as he looked at the people around him in disgust. But I can't blame the old man. These people are an embarassment. As we all know, you can pick and choose your friends but you can't pick and choose your family. I'm stuck with these low lifes whether I like it or not. In the event that I can meet a girl who doesn't have oversized gums and actually get married, perhaps one day you'll meet these douche bags too.

The Old Man Is At It Again

Ever since I sprouted my first pube my father has been trying to get me laid. The man would go out for a cup of coffee with my mom and come back with a girl's phone number on a napkin. He'd call me from a restaurant and next thing you know I'm talking to the waitress. He even set me up with a hot Brazilian that worked at my cousin's office when I was down in FL for a week. While these all may seem slightly out of the norm for a regular father, what he did yesterday trumps them all.

For the past few months my father has been telling me about this news anchor on a cable network (I'll leave out the details for her sake). She is a young attractive girl in her late 20s. "Ticky, that is the type of girl you need to be with," he has repeatedly told me. That's great and all, but where am I supposed to go with this? I've never even seen her, don't know her name, and how would I go about meeting her?

I get a call from the old man yesterday around 1:00 in the afternoon. It went a little something like this:

Dad: Ticky, remember that girl on tv I was telling you about?
Colediggy: Yeah. Why?
Dad: I just sent you a picture of her. Check her out and let me know what you think.
Colediggy: I'll check my email right now.
Dad: Alright, I'll hold.
Colediggy: Whoa! She's smoking hot.
Dad: I know. You gotta get with this girl Ticky. I found out where she lives.
Colediggy: How the hell did you do that?
Dad: I have my ways.
Colediggy: Okay so what do you want me to do? I'm not going to camp outside her apartment building.
Dad: Just thought I'd pass along the info. Keep your eyes out for her.
Colediggy: Thanks Pops. I gotta get back to work. We'll talk later.

I dismissed the conversation the moment we hung up. I was busy with work and just chalked this one up to the fact that my dad is nuts. Around 7:00pm my cell phone rings.

Dad: Ticky, you're never gonna believe this!
Colediggy: Oh jesus.
Dad: This is gonna blow your mind!
Colediggy: Just tell me already!
Dad: Are you sitting down?
Colediggy: Actually I just got out of the shower and I'm drying off my balls in front of the fan in my room.
Dad: Perfect.
Colediggy: So what's this news that you are dying to tell me?
Dad: I just got off the phone with the girl's father.
Colediggy: What?
Dad: I got his phone number online and gave him a call. I left a message on his machine and he called me back.
Colediggy: Are you fucking nuts?
Dad: A little bit.
Colediggy: What the hell did you say?
Dad: I left a message saying that I have a single son living in Manhattan. I think your daughter is a very sweet and beautiful girl and I think they would make a good match.
Colediggy: And he called you back?
Dad: Yep. We talked for about 20 minutes. He wants me to send him a picture of you and he will pass it along to his daughter.
Colediggy: You can't be serious?
Dad: Ticky, would I lie to you?
Colediggy: Did the father think you were insane?
Dad: He thought it was unusual but he was very receptive to it.
Colediggy: You really are nuts.
Dad: You just leave everything up to your old man. I'll take care of it. Now send me some pictures of yourself.
Colediggy: I feel like I'm in India with the two fathers getting together to arrange the marriage. This is absolutely insane.
Dad: Did you see how beautiful her luscious lips were?
Colediggy: Oh yes. They would like great around my cock.
Dad: Be nice sonny boy.
Colediggy: Look at you getting all high and mighty on me all of a sudden.
Dad: Just send me the pictures already!
Colediggy: Alright I'm heading out but I'll send them when I get back.
Dad: Hurry up!
Colediggy: Alright I'll talk to you later Pops.
Dad: Later Ticky.

I returned home around 10:00pm and sent my dad a few pictures. He was already fast asleep so I figured I'd speak with him in the morning. This morning around 8:00am my cell phone rings:

Mom: Did you get the pictures that we sent you? (My parents had emailed me 4 pictures they had of me from my friend's wedding)
Colediggy: Yes I did.
Mom: What do you think?
Colediggy: I liked the 2nd and 4th one.
Mom: I think daddy already sent them out. I think he sent out the 1st and 4th one.
Colediggy: What? Put that lunatic on the phone so I can scream at him.
Mom: Okay, hold on.
Dad: Ticky?
Colediggy: What the hell is wrong with you?
Dad: What?
Colediggy: You ask me to send you pictures, and then you just end up choosing ones you already had without consulting me?
Dad: Trust me on this one. I'm running the show here.
Colediggy: For Christ's sake you sent him a picture of me and another guy with a fucking rainbow in the background. It doesn't get much gayer than that. Why don't you send him one of me getting my ass pounded by a 300 lb black guy?
Dad: Pipe down Ticky. I thought you looked good in that picture. Just trust your old man on this one.
Colediggy: You fucked it up Pops.
Dad: Just trust me on this one.
Colediggy: Well I don't have much of a choice now.
Dad: We'll wait and see what happens.
Colediggy: I'll tell you what's gonna happen. He's gonna want to set me up with his son. I can't believe you sent him that picture.
Dad: Relax sonny boy. Leave it up to me.
Colediggy: Alright well keep me posted.
Dad: Ticky, you'll be the first one to know.
Colediggy: I'll talk to you later.
Dad: Later Ticky.

I really don't know what to say about my dad. He has no shame and for that I am grateful. I remember when I left the NBA in 2001 he placed a call to David Stern to let him know that he was losing a valuable employee. Sure enough Stern called him back a few days later and they spoke about me for 15 minutes. That afternoon I received an email from the commissioner wishing me the best of luck in all of life's endeavors. So while my father has a track record of interfering in my life, I could have never expected something like this. Regardless of the outcome of this story, I felt I had to share it. My father is one of a kind and I'm lucky to have him.

The Return of EJ

For those of you who don't know me well, I can often times come off as an insensitive animal on this blog. I find myself going to great lengths to entertain my demented bunch of readers and that often times offends many along the way. I have poked fun of retards, cripples, midgets, vegetables - you name it, I've probably said something horrific. Today is going to be a little different (I promise it's just for one day).

As an avid NBA fan since the late 1980s and ex-employee of the league itself, I've been around the game for a long time and often times, extremely close to it. I've met virtually every star player over the last 30 years. I've played one on one with Michael Jordan. I've been in the locker rooms during championship celebrations. I've had players' moms hug me in the green room on Draft Day as they experienced the ultimate joy in seeing their own son fulfill his life long dream. While baseball and football remain my first 2 loves of the sports world, I will always be a fan of the NBA.

Tuesday night marked the start of the 2006-07 NBA season. With an opening night matchup featuring my two favorite teams (Chicago Bulls at Miami Heat), it was an ideal way to kick off the season. And while I was excited to see the Heat collect their championship rings and Big Ben in a Bulls uniform, for me the highlight of the night was Ernie Johnson's return to the set of Inside the NBA. Ernie Johnson (commonly referred to as EJ) has been the face of the NBA on TNT since its inception.

In August of 2003, Johnson was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma (or as Larry David would say "the good Hodgkin's"). He continued his on-air work despite his illness. I remember watching him on the air and thinking to myself that something looked wrong with his face. As it turns out, his lymph node near his left ear was noticeably swollen. TNT did not show any close ups of EJ for the remainder of the season as he continued to work all the way up the NBA Finals.

Johnson took a leave of absence from broadcasting over the summer to spend time with his family as he received chemotherapy treatments. With a mother and sister that have both survived cancer, there was plenty of reason for EJ to fight. And that he has. Tuesday night EJ returned to the studio with co-hosts Charles Barkley, Kenny Smith, and Magic Johnson. Despite the lack of hair on his head as a result of the chemo, EJ is back to his old self.

Over the past month, the headlines for sports broadcasters have been devoted to an ignoramuses such as Michael Irvin for running his mouth on the Tiki Barber situation or better yet, Lamar Thomas for making light of what was the most disgusting display in college football history. It's an unfortunate part of our culture but controversy sells newspapers.

In a sports broadcasting world that is rapidly becoming populated with loud mouth arrogant ex-athletes, it is refreshing to see a man such as EJ. His character, class, and hard work have led him all the way from a small radio station in Athens, GA to an Emmy Award winning sports broadcaster. He wasn't handed the job because he used to dunk a basketball. He made his way to the top because he is great at what he does. As broadcasting jobs continue to shrink for the common man, we are reminded that the true professionals are the ones that should be providing the country with their insight on a nightly basis. It's good to have you back EJ.

Why I Don't Have a Girlfriend

It's difficult to pinpoint the main reason why I am currently not involved in a serious relationship. I am picky when it comes to choosing a girlfriend. I have an unusually vulgar sense of humor. I enjoy the smell of my farts to the point that I give myself dutch ovens on a nightly basis. I can't stand being told what to do. I'd rather get bitten in the testicles by a rabid dog than travel to Long Island every weekend to break bread with the in-laws. I don't want to hear about her emotional day at the office. I could care less about what so and so said behind her back. I don't want to watch Laguna Beach marathons. I don't want to go apple picking on a Saturday afternoon during the Michigan game. I don't want to go shopping in Soho in 30 degree weather. I don't want to get dragged against my will to her friend's sister's cousin's birthday party in Tribeca. I refuse to ask my friends if they want to get set up with her portly roommate from college who spends her days posing as a stunt double for Camryn Manheim. This list could go on for a while but if I had to narrow it down to one it would be because I don't want to be forced to dress up in a couples costume on Halloween.

Halloween is a day to express your individuality. It's the only day of the year where it's acceptable to dress like a fool, act like a putz and still get laid. Anything goes on Halloween. If you dressed up as Steve Irwin, Cory Lidle, or Jon Benet Ramsey on any other day, people would look at you in disgust. But not on Halloween. You can be offensive as you want and people will shrug it off in laughter. Well, most people that is. Several years back I was asked by a random girl what my costume was and when I replied "retard" she was outraged. "I teach special ed and I find that very offensive!" she replied as her face got redder by the second. Lighten up you whore! (I didn't really say that but I should have). Although some might argue that the shit stained pair of tighty whities I was wearing over my plaid pants probably wasn't necessary, to me it was the perfect touch. Calm down everyone...it wasn't real shit. It was chocolate. But it was applied by a drunk girl licking my ass crack in front of several of my friends at the pre-party. Where was I again? Aaah yes, the couples costume.

The main problem with the couples costume is that most women opt to go with a slutty (fill in the blank with anything). So that narrows it down to a slutty nurse, cop, cheerleader, beer wench, maid, Mrs. Claus, prostitute (a little redundant), construction worker, bunny, biker chick, witch, sailor, cow girl, army girl, devil, etc. While these are all acceptable outfits for women, the matching costumes for men suck. They are all played out and dull. If you end up getting these costumes at Ricky's or any other Halloween store or website, you'll be one of 50 people at your party with the same costume. For me it's all about the originality. It's not about plunking down $49.99 for some generic costume. It's about putting it together piece by piece. It's about taking the time to do some research online in order to find that perfect accessory (God I sound like a flaming homosexual). It's about going that extra mile to make yourself appear as ridiculous as possible. Sure this might not work for everyone but that has always been my goal on Halloween. And while I would give into the idea of a couples costume, it would have to be on my terms. Finding a female counterpart willing to stoop to my level has not been an easy task. But when that day comes when I find a woman who is willing to go that extra step with me and dress up like Scott and Laci Peterson, I'll know I will have found Mrs. Colediggy.

(I mean no offense to all of my friends that dressed up with their significant others. It's not my fault you're a pussy whipped fag who can't think for himself! Just kidding. I got nothing but love for you all. Please accept my meager attempt to beg for forgiveness after insulting 75% of the people I know.)

The Greatest Clip in the History of Talk Radio

I realize that with a title like that I might be hyping up this clip a little too much but I really don't think so. I've listened to it over and over for the past few weeks and it never gets old. Here's a little background before you listen to it:

The clip is from a sports talk radio show called The Sports Inferno on AM 1270 in Michigan. Mike Valenti (aka Mikey V) is extremely passionate about Michigan State football. When MSU blew a 17 point 4th quarter lead to Notre Dame on September 23rd, the man went absolutely nuts. Words cannot describe how crazy he went. Despite his co-host begging him to calm down, the man is incapable of regaining his sanity. The clip is 15 minutes and it just gets better as it goes on. Do yourself a favor and listen to it in its entirety when you get a chance. Enjoy.

http://houserockbuilt.blogspot.com/2006/09/msu-radio-host-melts-fucking-down-on.html

Heartbreak Hotel

I know it's only supposed to be a game. And I know that in the grand scheme of things it's not that important. But ever since they first captured my heart in 1986, there is something magical about the New York Mets. Sure they don't win all the time but when they do, it's always dramatic. Whether it's a ball trickling through Buckner's legs, Todd Pratt's walk-off homer, or Robin Ventura's grand single, when the Mets found a way to get it done nothing made you happier. Years of anxiety and disappointment were erased with one swing of the bat. In the bottom of the 9th inning last night I had this crazy feeling that they would somehow pull it off once again. At first I thought the hobbled Cliff Floyd was going to rock one out into the Queens night on one leg and send the crowd into a frenzy. Then I thought with the bases loaded and Beltran's mole up at the plate that he would become the newest Mets hero. Despite the no name starting rotation and the surprisingly unreliable bullpen, the Mets had all the chances in the world to win this series. And then came strike three. Striking out to end the game has to be disappointing for Carlos but to go down without even swinging the bat is downright awful. The hopes and dreams of 55,000 had instantly vanished. I have never heard a stadium get so quiet so fast. Three hours of screaming until I could no longer form a full sentence without coughing up phlegm and I was speechless. My head was so heavy my neck felt like jello. We filed out of the stadium to the sight of the Cardinals celebration. I couldn't even look. Six months of hope and promise were gone. They always say "we'll get 'em next year" but that seems like eternity from now. Granted not many would have given the Mets a chance to beat the Tigers but it would have been nice to get there. A night with so much buildup and excitement had left us all devastated. And then came the commute home.

After cruising home in the back of town car after Game 6, I knew there was no chance I was fighting the million man march to the subway after Game 7. My friend Salis and I decided that we were going to somehow find a car ride home in the pouring rain. When we strolled by the area outside of Shea with all the car services I noticed a driver holding up a sign saying Beasley. I told Salis to follow my lead.

Colediggy: Aah yes hi sir. We are Beasley.
Driver: Oh great. (He put the sign down and started walking towards the car)
Salis: We have no idea where this car is going.
Colediggy: Don't worry about it. Just get in and we'll tell him there's been a change of plans.
(The driver's cell phone rings)
Colediggy: Oh shit. This can't be good.
Driver: Mr. Beasley, I'm waiting right outside the stadium.
Colediggy: Salis. RUN!

And just like that our perfect plan was foiled. I had always wanted to try the old Costanza/O'Brien trick. Even if it did lead me to a Nazi rally I didn't care at that point. I just wanted to get home. So now that Plan A had faltered, it was time for Plan B. Unfortunately for us, Plan B was to wonder the streets around Shea stadium begging for people to give us a ride home. I even considered asking a van filled with cops at one point but came to my senses. After what seemed like an hour we finally gave up and fought our way onto the subway (yes it was still jammed at this hour). We were lucky enough to find seats and were both fast asleep 3 seconds after the train left the station. Unfortunately we didn't wake up until we were in Times Square, 2 stops past our final destination.

When I awoke this morning to find my sweatshirt and jeans soaked and carelessy thrown on my bedroom floor with my Mets hat, the depression set in. Ample run scoring opportunities had been squandered. The excitement of Endy Chavez's spectacular catch was a distant memory. Had they won it would have gone down as one of the most memorable defensive plays in baseball history. But alas it was nothing more than a brief moment of absolute ecstasy that was shortly followed by the sour taste of defeat. I'll eventually get over this disappointment but today is not the day. For the past 2 nights I gave everything I had to the New York Mets and they let me and the entire state of New York down. I screamed like an absolute lunatic from the opening pitch to the final out. My throat is killing me, I'm beyond exhausted, and the only thing I want right now is my bed. The thought of watching SportsCenter makes me want to vomit as I can't bare the thought of reliving last night's disappointment over and over again. There is plenty of reason to smile and the future is certainly bright. But today is not a day to look towards the future. It's a day to reflect on the season that was. And while it ended in disappointment, the fun times in between will not be forgotten. Let's go Mets!!!

Talkin Baseball

It's been a while since I've blogged on sports and just thought I'd ramble on for a few about the my experience at Shea Stadium last week. But before I do I would like to say a hearty "FUCK OFF" to all Yankees fans. When I began writing this post last Wednesday I had a line in which I said the only thing that would have made me happier than a Yankee playoff series loss would be if the Yankees team plane crashed. Kind of eerie that less than 24 hours later Cory Lidle flies his plane into a building 2 blocks from my apartment. It's a harsh reminder of just how precious life is and to cherish every day we have. But enough of the mushy shit, let's talk baseball. Keep in mind that there is no method to this writing, just random thoughts as they spit out of my head.

I'm the only Mets fan in my family. My father lives and dies with the Yanks and when I told him that I was rooting for the Tigers his response was "Ticki, what the hell is wrong with you? A Yankees loss would kill me! Do you wanna see me die? Just remember without my penis you wouldn't be here today!" To which I replied, "Sorry pops but my hatred for the Yankees is greater than my love for you." Not the nicest thing to say to the old man but he knew I was kidding...I think.

There is nothing more exciting than attending a playoff baseball game. I was at Game 1 of the NLCS last Wednesday night and when Carlos Beltran hit the game winning 2 run homer, I had never felt joy like that in my life. I've always poked fun of that fat beer guzzling loser that sits in front of you at every sporting event and insists on hi-fiving half the people in his section everytime something good happens. But when that baseball left the yard of Beltran's bat in the 6th inning pandemonium broke out. Beers were flying everywhere as I was hugging the 2 gay Asian kids next to me and hi-fiving the 300 lb girls sitting behind me. I know it doesn't sound like much fun but it was. Hopefully I'll experience that same joy at Game 6 tonight.

Can someone in the Mets organization please tell Carlos Beltran to remove that golf ball-like mole on the side of his head? It looks like a little chihuahua took a dump on the side of his face. I think the $119 million contract he signed could cover that.

Never listen to your pudgy little friend who insists that taking the F train to Shea Stadium and then transferring at Roosevelt Avenue to the 7 is the way to go. It took us over an hour to get the game and smelling a fat woman's armpit as she hangs on to the handrail for 45 minutes makes me wish I was in that plane with Cory Lidle. Is it too early for Lidle jokes? I apologize.

When commuting on the subway to a baseball game, always bring a roadie. For those of you not familiar with a roadie, it's any form of alcohol in a non-alcoholic container. For the ride up to Game 1, I had a Diet Coke can filled with Red Bull and vodka. During a Yankees/Red Sox playoff game 2 years ago I ended up drinking a margarita out of a cardboard soup container with a hole in the lid for the straw. Not the most inconspicuous way to consume alcohol in public but the cop on the subway didn't even notice. The bottom line is that if you're going to be surrounded by smelly minorites in a confined area for long periods of time, alcohol is a must.

Avoid taking the subway home from a game. Split a cab with your friends, hitch a ride, or even walk but the grueling 45 minute subway ride with indigestion from the beers and assorted pork products is the worst experience imaginable. Even if you're "lucky" enough to get a seat, being wedged between 2 people who's favorite hobby is competitive eating does not make for the most comfortable commute home.

Regardless of whether or not you pee before you leave the game, the moment you step on that subway you will have to pee again. There are only 3 options here: don't drink beer (not really an option), bring a catheder, or strap on a Depends before the game. All options suck so just face the fact that you will be near death by the time your train rolls into Grand Central.

Disaster Averted

Much to Felch's dismay, I am still alive despite the plane crash on the Upper East Side that was 2 blocks from my apartment. The poor pale fella was hoping for the worst when he heard the news but I am still standing. So fuck off Felch! The death bet must go on!

Queer Eye for the Straight Dad

Unbeknownst to my family, I made the decision to consistently write about them on this blog because they are highly unique and entertaining. I think it's clear at this point that my relationship with my parents is much more of a friendship than your typical parent/son relationship. Well my father took that to new levels last night.

I was on the phone with the old man talking about the usual - sports and women. Once that talk had died down, he asked me about my sister's friend who was in town for the weekend. FYI...he's gay and somehow got the nickname "Disease" during his teen years. I don't know the origin nor do I care to find out. I've known the kid since he was in high school when he and my sister became friends. My mother and father have always liked Disease and have been a 2nd set of parents for him since his parents are dead beats. They've helped him with life altering decisions and have always been there for him. But that doesn't mean that my pops can't kid around every now and again.

Pops: How's Disease doing?
Colediggy: He looks like he packed on quite a few lbs in the offseason.
Pops: Really? See sonny boy, that's what happens when you drink cum all day long.
Colediggy: What?
Pops: He's sucking that dick baby. Sucking that dick.
Colediggy: You are a sick man. I hope you know that.
Pops: Why am I sick? He's the one sucking dick?
Colediggy: Good point Pops.

After our laughter died down, the conversation continued as if everything was fine. We went back to discussing how bad the Mets and Giants are and how both of us are insomniacs. It was a small speed bump in our conversation, but certainly one worth crossing. My father obviously meant no harm in our conversation. He was just having a little fun with his son. But yet again you are all reminded at why I had never had a prayer at normalcy.

Another Special Colediggy Family Moment

I was sitting at my computer last week killing time before karaoke night at Bounce. As I'm scrolling through my emails, I realized I had forgotten to forward an email to my father entitled "Best Tits in the World." It's a compilation of photos of Keely Hazell, a smoking hot 19 year old British model that I would chop off 3 of my 4 limbs just for an opportunity to smell her poop stained panties. I honestly don't think you can comprehend how beautiful her 32E natural breasts are. I would lick her shit pipe clean until my throat was so clogged with dingleberries I could barely breathe. Click here for pictures of her. As I was forwarding the email to my pops, he happened to call me at home (complete coincidence). Keep in mind my sister was in the living room listening to this conversation.

Pops: Hey Ticki.
Colediggy: Hey Pops. What's going on?
Pops: You seem them Yanks today? They're rollin.
Colediggy: Fuck the Yanks. All about the Mets baby.
Colediggy: Pops, I just sent you an email. You have to check it immediately. It's the sweetest set of titties you've ever seen.
Pops: I'm on the computer right now. Let me check.
Colediggy: Hurry up nigga!
Pops: I'm going as fast as I can.
Colediggy: You're gonna go wild.
Pops: Weeeeeeeee doggies! Damn look at those titties! Those are unreal!!
Colediggy: Oh they are real pops.
Pops: Ticki, I'd love to suck them titties. Can you imagine putting your dick between those tetas? You need to find yourself a woman like that.
Colediggy: Don't we all.
This is when my sister decides to chime in.
Sis: You are a fucking animal!
Colediggy: What the hell did I do?
Sis: Stop showing our father filthy porn! What kind of sick fuck shows that to his father? (My dad is laughing in the background)
Colediggy: It's nothing he hasn't seen before. Pipe down you tramp! This is why the internet was invented. To share smut with the ones we love.
Sis: You are fucking disgusting! You really are an animal.
Colediggy: Oh get over yourself.
Sis: How would you like it if I showed mommy pictures of big fat black cock?
At this point my father and I broke down in laughter as he could hear everything through the phone.

My sister's distaste for porn is well known amongst the Colediggy family. She is certainly the most conservative of the 4 of us and we like to remind her of that all the time. I don't see any harm in giving the old man a little material to pitch his tent every now and again. Apparently she does. I say the hell with that prude.