Colediggy's Corner

Midnight Massacre in San Fran

2007-07-11T12:13:00.001-07:00

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?

2007-04-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T11:24:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-03-06T11:43:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-25T15:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-20T23:13:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-16T16:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-14T17:17:00.001-08:00

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

Granny Granny Why Ya Buggin?

2007-02-07T22:49:00.000-08:00

(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

2007-02-06T23:12:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-28T20:48:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-27T20:22:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-19T18:16:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-03T08:51:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-02T09:31:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-31T22:45:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-22T19:23:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-18T16:36:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Dirty Jerz

2006-09-20T22:33:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to post this for a few weeks now but as many of you know fantasy football can be quite time consuming this time of year.

If I told you that over the past weekend I crapped 10 times (bled anally for 8 of them), spent consecutive nights sleeping in a chair and on the floor, got lost in a thunder storm wandering back to a share house filled with strangers, and had an entire bloody mary spilled all over the backseat of my car, you'd think I had an awful weekend. But that couldn't be further from the truth. It's been over five years since I've been to the Jersey Shore and my return this weekend was nothing short of glorious.

I arrived at the share house around 6:00pm on Friday night. My friend, the Gimp, has friends from high school who do a share house every summer. They've been inviting me down there for years and I had finally taken them up on the offer. Upon my arrival, I was pleasantly surprised by the house and it's surroundings. Located directly on the water with a kegerator and beer pong table, I knew I was in for one hell of a weekend. Let the mayhem begin.

After 3 games of beer pong and still before sunset, I was feeling great. The miserably hectic work week was a distant memory. The crowd began to gather and the enthusiasm was mounting. I swore to myself that I would hold off until 8:00 to make the switch from beer to vodka Red Bulls. And while I stayed true to my word, it was already too late. There was no turning back from the amount of keg beer filled with dirty ping pong ball residue that I had consumed. As I mingled amongst the others in the house, I was immediately enamored with my new house mates as I discovered that they all love the word "cougar" as much as I do. I taught them all about the sounds of the cougar (aka the cougar cry) and most importantly, the cougatini. For those of you not familiar with the cougatini it is a drink that I invented in Fire Island a few months ago. It is 2 parts couga (pinot grigio), 1 part tini (Red Bull). No one in their right mind would ever order such a digusting concoction unless you are my friend, the Goose. But that is another story in of itself.

Fast forward to 1:00am. I am covered in sweat under a tent outside of this 80's bar shoveling a hot dog down my throat in an effort to regain consciousness. Much to my surprise it actually worked as I was back on the dance floor in no time. While the entire night is a bit foggy I do recall my trip home from the bar. After making out and attempting to lure back some girl who had the body of an NFL fullback but the face of a Maxim cover girl (slight exaggeration) with the tempting offer of getting high in a house of 32 strangers, I decided to brave the hurricane-like conditions and make a run for it back to the house. I was all by myself and had a good idea of where I was going...or so I thought. Five minutes later I am more soaked than a family of Haitian refugees floating on their dead relatives in the Atlantic. I had given up on running since none of the streets looked familiar. I begged some emaciated heroin addict to give me a ride home but she left me stranded outside of an Afghani deli in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't even take my cell phone out to make a call to the Gimp because it would have been destroyed within 3 seconds. Luckily I stumbled into a van of friendly cops who were kind enough to point me in the right direction.

My friends were quite amused upon my arrival back at the house. After getting the whole "we looked for you but you were nowhere to be found" routine, I took a little grass and went to bed - in a chair of course. The next morning was not as miserable as I anticipated. Sure I felt like Derek Zoolander in the fact that I could not turn left because my neck was in such pain, but despite the 4 hours of mediocre sleep in a chair, the rest of my body felt fine. A few eggs, bacon and home fries and I was as good as new.

It was a cloudy and misty day so the beach wasn't even an option. We piled into 4 cars and 17 of us attempted to go bowling. Little did we know at the time that we would end up sitting at a depressing bowling alley bar drinking $2.50 Miller High Lifes with the prospect of getting a lane within the next 3 hours slim to none. I felt dirtier than a priest fingering a choir boy's anus but I was having a good time.

After our failed attempt to bowl, we all split up to pick up necessities for the Saturday night BBQ. With approximately 30 people in attendance, the food and alcohol would have to be plentiful. We were hanging out back enjoying our first game of the beer pong of the evening when my friend's girlfriend said those magic words that I long for..."I have a friend coming in for the night and she has huge breasts." Say no more. I was already in love. An hour later my sweet little angel arrived. She was wearing a skin tight shirt with a bikini underneath and I must have looked at her for 30 seconds before I even got a glimpse of her face. I only had a couple of beers in me at the time but she already passed the test. I'm not gonna lie. She was certainly no beauty queen but for a drunken night in the Jersey Shore, she was perfect.

The introductions were met, the beer pong began and the playful teasing was well underway. This one was in the bag from the get go. I couldn't wait to see those puppies! The only problem was without a bed or even a room to sleep in, where was I going to see them? I would worry about that later. For now, it was off to the 80's bar. In an effort not to publicly embarass myself in front of many people I barely know, I curbed the drinking slightly compared to Friday night's performance. I emphasize the word slightly.

We arrived at the bar and I realized I left my wallet back at the house. Despite showing my bald spot to the bouncer, he still didn't buy the fact that I was of the legal drinking age and made me go home to get my license. Not the best start to the night but I sprinted both ways and was back in the bar in less than 10 minutes. I could barely breathe and was coughing up green phlegm but I had never been so happy to be surrounded by cougars, gumbahs, and 80's music.

Despite the fact that I was entering the bar for the 2nd night in a row, everything was new to me. The place was packed from wall to wall with Jersey cheese and the best music a fag from Boca could ask for. Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Michael Jackson, Madonna, Guns 'n Roses...you name it, they played it. After several beers and shots and some dirty dancing with Booby McGillicutty, things began to get hot and heavy. Our lips were about to touch for the very first time during the guitar solo in Jessie's Girl (hands down the greatest guitar solo of all time) when she decides to tell me that she doesn't like the public display of affection. While I admired her feeble attempt at respectability, this is the Jersey Shore and there is no need to kid yourself.

After 2 hours of dancing like a kid with ADD in a blender, my appetite was craving something far more greater than a mildly attractive dim wit with huge titties (even if they were the size of grapefruits and I could hear them beggin for my freshly ripened love banana to thrust between them). I was on a mission for a burrito. Luckily for me, I didn't have to walk further than a block before we passed the infamous late night burrito stand. Two burritos and 4 gallons of ranch sauce later, I was ripe for the taking.

The party continued back at the house until the wee hours of the morning. Beer pong, burritos and drunk chicks - I think it's safe to say I was fairly happy at this point of the evening. Another hour of beer pong had passed and the crowd was slowly dwindling. Booby McGillicutty was still on the porch playing beer pong when I decided to grab the last remaining bed left; and by bed I mean uncomfortably small love seat. I knew she'd come find me when she was ready as she told my friend that she wanted to find out if I was a really good kisser. Did we go back in time to 6th grade? That's funny because I was wondering if she enjoyed smelling her own anal beeds. To each his own. Sure enough after dozing off for 20 minutes, I was awoken to the lovely sight of some of the most tremendous breasts I have ever seen. Booby McGillicutty wanted to "take a walk."

We strolled outside to the front of the house and started going at it. I felt like an inmate on death row during his final conjugal visit before his execution. I had her pinned up against a pickup truck beneath a street light and pulled her top off. Had anyone walked by they would have gotten quite the show. I was shocked to see the impressive buoyancy that her mammoth-like breasts were able to maintain. I expected them to drop on top of my feet but tonight was my lucky night. The makeout session went on for about 15 minutes but quickly got old as even the biggest titties the Jersey Shore had to offer could only entertain me for so long. So it was on to the next stop.

We arrived back to the house to find the remaining drunks going to sleep. We hung out for one last beer with the few stragglers who were miraculously still standing and then snuggled up together on the love seat. The house had finally gone silent and Booby McGillicutty was still hungry for more of her late night honey brown snack. I'm not really sure how it all transpired but we ended up on the staircase of the house. Her breasts were once again exposed but this time things got a little more interesting. Keep in mind that from where I was on the staircase I could see the Gimp and his female companion passed out on the couch, amongst several others asleep all over the living room. And had anyone on the 2nd floor opened their bedroom doors they would have seen my penis in Booby McGillicutty's mouth. I told you things got interesting. There I was with my shorts and underwear around my ankles getting my bologna trophy polished amongst a house of sleeping strangers. Then came the horrifying sound of footsteps.

I nearly fell backwards down the staircase as I attempted to pull up my pants and save the morsel of dignity I still had left. Can you imagine how she felt? She raced to put her top on and pulled down her skirt. We tip-toed across the living room floor carefully attempting to avoid the packs of drunk people passed out everywhere. We both attempted to sleep on the love seat but after a half hour of tossing and turning, I cut my losses and slept on the floor. Sure I never got the chance to plant my seed in the back of her throat but it was one of the more exciting blow jobs I have received even if it didn't last very long.

The next morning came and this is when the normal depression of a fun weekend out of town kicks in. You are miserably hung over. The exhaustion and pain after spending 2 nights sleeping in a chair and on the floor makes your body ache with even the slightest of movements. Your smelly wet laundry is thrown all over the place and the last thing you want to do is pack it up and sit in traffic for hours. And if that's not bad enough, the impending doom of Monday morning being less than 24 hours away is a sharp reminder that the fun is over. Despite all of this, there was still time for a little more fun.

Booby McGillicutty and I hopped into bed with my friend Glenn and his fiance. I began to play with her breasts as the happy couple next to us was dusting off the cob webs from yet another disasterous night out. We hadn't been awake for more than 5 minutes so my burrito gas hadn't had a chance to kick in yet. Normally I wait months before farting in front of another woman (click here for that story), but for some reason I didn't even wait 24 hours this time around. Glenn and I let our burrito excrements come to a boiling point at the tip of our anus. And then all hell broke loose. The smell forced both women from the room and Booby McGillicutty nearly dry heaved on the floor. I attempted to blame that one on Glenn but later fessed up to it. It was horrifying but nevertheless, entertainment for all. And by "all" I mean "me." And yet despite my immature gaseous display, she was still not turned off by my disgusting demeanor. I guess we'll chalk that one up to my irresistible charm.

Once the fart cloud had cleared and everyone was all packed up, we enjoyed one final trip to the diner. We reminisced of the weekend that was and enjoyed a few final moments of careless immaturity. After 48 hours of straight chaos, our bodies had finally given up and we couldn't wait to get home. It took me a couple of days to recover but it was well worth the pain. I think it's safe to say that I'll be back next summer and I highly recommend you all do the same.

Another Day in the Life of a Honey Brown Man

2006-09-13T23:03:00.000-07:00

As a child, I was always different from the other kids; not because I was obsessed with breasts at the age of 5 or the fact that I thought Michael Jackson was coming over to play with my sister and I. I was different because I was a Jewish kid trapped in a Mexican's body. I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst my peers. I was forced to smile wide in all elementary school class pictures otherwise you wouldn't see me. It wasn't until my college years that I began to appreciate my different skin tone and the beauty of being a Sephardic Jew. Sure I took my fair share of heat from my friends during spring break in Mexico when I was asked to move lounge chairs, get more towels, and pour more margaritas, but it was all in good fun. That is until today.

I was in an elevator this morning at an Upper East Side building we are currently doing construction at. Being the gentleman I am, I held the door for an elderly white woman. She had her hands full of groceries and Depends so I kindly asked her what floor she was going to. She responded with "siete." While my initial reaction was to chastise this fucking old whore for mistaking me for a spic, I could do nothing but laugh inside. Then again didn't I ask you the question in English you senile cunt? I've been mistaken for a Persian, Mexican, Black, Arab, Hispanic, Dominican...you name it. I've had people come up to me speaking languages that I've never heard of assuming that I would understand them. I've been mistaken for delivery men at my friend's apartments buildings. So while some may get insulted at a comment like that, for me this was just another day as a Jew trapped in a wetback's body.

Move Bitch Get Out Tha Way!

2006-08-22T11:40:00.000-07:00

I was emailing with a friend regarding our plans for the weekend. He was having some people over for a poolside party on Saturday but was caught in quite the pickle. A female companion of his was sleeping over on Friday night and he did not want her to stay over for the party. So he told her that he was BBQing at his friend's apartment and that he had to leave his apartment no later than noon. Here is our email conversation (he elected to go with the pen name of Minority Muncher):

Minority Muncher: It looks like Saturday is going to be a good one, so I was thinking it might be a good day for drinks at the pool. Let me know if anyone is around and would care to join in on getting tipsy.
Colediggy: Goff and I are gonna come. We'll leave the city around 11:00am. Does that work for you?
Minority Muncher: Get here anytime after 12:00pm and I'm good.
Colediggy: You need to get your lazy ass up a little earlier. How about 11:30am?
Minority Muncher: Problem is I am having this lazy Puerto Rican chick sleep over and I told her I am BBQing at my boy's place, not mine because I don't want her around...nevermind, I'll do my best. If you leave at 11:00am, that's fine.
Colediggy: Isn't saying lazy Puerto Rican a little redundant? We'll touch base in the morning.
Minority Muncher: If I act or say weird things in the morning on the phone just bear with me, it means PR is still with me and I'm trying to shake loose from her. Ricans aren't used to sleeping in a queen size bed with a pillowtop mattress with just one other person in an air-conditioned room. She will try to sleep until Tuesday if I let her.
Colediggy: Normally I would say that email nearly made me shit myself except I read it on my phone while I was on the crapper at work because I was bored and waiting for the second log to come out. Priceless. I think I'm going to use that quote in a blog entry if you don't mind.

Once I was able to regain my composure and finish wiping myself, I began thinking of all the times I had been stuck in bed with a girl on a weekend morning racking my brain for some sort of excuse to get her the hell out of there. There is nothing worse than finding yourself shacked up with some cock-eyed sea donkey who wants to cuddle all morning, order in breakfast and watch the Laguna Beach marathon. You feel bad because you spent the previous evening violating every orifice she had but the misery you are experiencing far outweighs the guilt. She's lying on your shoulder watching tv and you can't help but think that you're gonna be here for another 3 hours. The cuddling quickly leads to heavy petting which results in morning sex. Now you're fucked. You had a shot of her leaving but now that you let your dick do the thinking, she's not going anywhere until at least early afternoon. It's at this time that you need a go to list of excuses when you find yourself caught in a bind. Below is a list of some of the things I have done to get rid of some buck-toothed heffer who just won't get the hint:

Horrible morning breath - Use it to your advantage. Constantly breathe on her until she can no longer bare it. And you thought you would regret drinking out of the toilet the night before. Keep in mind that you should only do this to a girl that you wish to never see again and one that is outside of your circle of friends. You don't want the nickname of "Shit breath."

A morning basketball game - Tell her that you and your friends are getting together for your weekly basketball game. It's not unheard of to have a 10:00am hoops game. She might even be impressed at your active lifestyle. She'll think you're a real go-getter. Little does she know that once she leaves you're gonna hit the old peace pipe, fire off some knuckle children (since she couldn't get the job done last night) and pass out for another 3 hours. I have used this excuse more than all others combined and I play basketball less than 5 times a year.

Family gatherings - While it's only been a few months since I've lived near my parents, that hasn't stopped me from making up tales of family BBQ's, cousin's birthdays, and great uncle's catheder removal parties. Anything family related will work because she'll never find out if you're lying. That is unless you tell her you're going to Long Island and she spots you frolicking around Central Park with some other bimbo. Make sure to stay inside for the majority of the day.

McDonald's breakfast - Never underestimate the power of an Egg McMuffin. Tell her you can't function without it. With the breakfast operations shutting down at 11:00am, she'll be out in no time. No girl will want to join you at McDonald's. Then again if she's fat, ugly and has bacne, you may want to use another excuse.

Helping a friend move - This one usually works best during the 1st and 15th of the month. She can't argue with you lending a helping hand to a friend in need.

Community service - Believe it or not I used to give back to the community in my day. Whether I was tutoring Haitian kids or teaching job skills to people looking to get back in the work force, it's always a good excuse. It shows that you care about your fellow man, just not the fat beast you titty-fucked the night before. And seeing as I had to be at community service at 10:00am every Saturday morning, it was a a dream come true.

Brunch with your friends - I usually use this one when something so ridiculous happened the night before with this girl, that I can no longer wait to tell my friends the story. The story must be told in person so you round up as many of your friends as possible for a little get together. Here's the perfect example.

Football - This is the best excuse possible from September to January. Every guy lives for both college and the NFL seasons. It is how we spend every Saturday and Sunday for 5 consecutive months. No woman comes before football and if she does, then you're a pussy-whipped homo. If your woman can't understand the importance of you spending your Sunday at a sports bar with the boys, then you should dump the needy bitch. Give her $20 and tell her and her whore bag friends to go finger each other while enjoying the latest Richard Gere movie. And you damn well better make sure that dinner is ready when I get home around 8:00 for the Sunday night game because I'm going to be piss drunk and hungry. If I'm still conscience around 11:30 once the game is over, I'll let you blow me.

Speaking of football, am I the only one with a 24 hour erection just thinking about the start of the NFL season? Only 16 days to go...

My Father The Quote Machine

2006-08-08T14:43:00.000-07:00

I just got a phone call from my pops while sitting at my desk at work. As you can imagine, the old man is pretty fired up about the prospect of me going on a date with a 20 year old girl. Everytime I tell him I'm going out with a girl, if she's 27 or older I can hear the disappointment in his voice. "What do you want those cougars for sonny boy? You need a young honey brown woman with soft chocolatey nipples!"

During this phone call, I informed my dad that I was going out with the girl this week. I've never heard the old man so happy. "Can you imagine getting your ass eaten by a 20 year old, sonny boy? Go get 'em Ticki!! (we both were cracking up at this point). Your pants must be getting wet just thinking about a 20 year old. Do you believe you're talking to your father right now?"

It's tough not to love my old man. He's one of a kind.

A Gift From Above

2006-08-07T16:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life we find ourselves begging the good man upstairs for something that we crave so much yet rarely get the opportunity to do. You talk to your friends about it all the time but it's just a pipe dream. You can only imagine the joy it would bring to your life. And then one day when you least expect it, it happens. A 20 year old girl falls right into your lap.

I was enjoying a relaxing afternoon at a friend's pool in Jersey City with some of my high school friends. With a cooler of booze by my side, a clear blue sky, and a refreshing breeze coming off the Hudson, it was a perfect afternoon. After several hours of relaxation, a few glasses of vodka and a fat blunt, my friend was dreading the fact that she had the leave the pool to go back to work that evening. She is a part-time bartender at a hotel bar. When she informed me that someone had spent $30,000 to rent out her bar for their daughter's 21st birthday party that night, my boner nearly ate a hole through my flowery board shorts.

Colediggy: Did you just say 21st birthday party?
Melissa: Yep. This girl's parents rented it out for the night. $30,000 for 60 people.
Colediggy: You have to get me in there! Filthy rich 21 year olds...that's a dream come true!
Melissa: I can't. It's a closed guest list.
Colediggy: So get me on the guest list! Please, I'm begging ya!
Melissa: Sorry Cole Bole (that's what my female friends from high school call me - I know it's gay but who am I to tell them). There's nothing I can do.

I've always had a thing for younger women. Maybe it's because with my maturity level I'm better suited with someone with a little less tread on their tires. Or perhaps it's their perky titties that have yet to succumb to the laws of gravity. Or better yet it's probably because they have yet to be beaten down by this thing we call life. They haven't been used and abused by too many men yet. They are filled with such optimism. Call them naive but I call it happiness. That is what I need in my life, not some chain-smokin cougar with raisinettes for tits. But the problem becomes where can I meet a nice young girl? Every guy would love one but I don't know all that many people in their early twenties.

Fast forward to Saturday evening. I started the night off with 2 friends enjoying a relaxing dinner at the bar. As the night progressed and the crowd began to gather, things got a little rambunctious. After 2 hours at my favorite sports bar with no AC and tv's (they had gone out just after we got there yet we still felt the need to sit there and sweat to death for 2 hours), it was off to our next stop. We didn't really have a particular place in mind but knew if we walked a few blocks north, we would find something to wet our insatiable appetite for destruction.

We found ourselves at another neighborhood sports bar as our group continued to grow. We sat down at these large beer hall type tables and were immediately greeted by our lovely waitress. The second I looked at her I knew I wasn't leaving the bar without her phone number. There was an immediate attraction and we both knew it. After a few pitchers of beer and some playful flirting with the staff, I decided that we needed to inject some life into the party. That is went I went over to the waitress and ordered some shots of Patron.

Colediggy: Can we get 6 shots of Patron please?
Waitress: Do you want Patron Silver?
Colediggy: Sure.
Waitress: That is my favorite shot.
Colediggy: So why don't you do a shot with us?
Waitress: I can't. They won't let me drink here.
Colediggy: Why not?
Waitress: Because I won't be 21 until February.
Colediggy: What? Are you serious?
Waitress: Yep.
Colediggy: God bless you.

It was at that moment I realized there is a God and he loves me. The heavens had opened up and there was my angel. It was only a few hours ago that I was dreaming of attending a 21 year old's birthday. Little did I know I would be even better off this evening. 20 years old and so full of life. She had soft honey brown skin and flowing brown hair. She had a smile that could tame even the wildest of beast. Thank you God!

The tequila shots certainly did the trick because the next thing you know I am throwing tater tots across the bar into my friend's mouth (who just happened to be begging like a seal for them). It was quite the scene for us mature 28 year olds. We decided to settle up the tab and head out to the next spot to meet up with my friend Black Rob. As I handed our waitress the bill, I asked her out. It's never easy asking out a girl who works at a bar because you don't want to come off as some drunk slimeball. These girls get hit on all day long and what differentiates me from every other douche bag (other than my irresistible boyish charm and funky fresh dance moves)? But with this girl I knew it was in the bag from the moment I walked into the bar. She happily accepted the invite as if she had been waiting all night for it. I have never seen someone's face light up like that before. It felt good.

With an extra hop in my step from my latest conquest, we headed to the next stop. At this point the party had dwindled down in size, or so we thought. My friend Jeff and I headed to the next bar where Black Rob was hanging with his group of friends from work and one crazy ass black woman. After watching this woman get playfully spanked by Rob and return the favor, I decided to join in on the action.

Crazy Black Woman (after I just spanked her): Come here you muthafucka! I'm gonna cut yo ass!
Colediggy: Say what?
Crazy Black Woman: I said I'm gonna cut yo muthafuckin ass!
Colediggy: You ain't cutting shit!
Crazy Black Woman: Don't tempt me muthafucka!
Colediggy: Bring it you crazy bitch!
Crazy Black Woman: Say what muthafucka? Look at you with your scruffy face. Tryin to act like you some kinda man! You ain't shit! (I snuck up behind her and smacked her again)
Crazy Black Woman: Oooohhh you done done it now!
(I know it doesn't sound like it but this was sort of playful fight...I think.)
Colediggy: C'mon baby. Let's get it on!
Crazy Black Woman: I will choke yo ass! (as she gets into her boxing stance)
Colediggy: Go ahead. Let's do this.
Crazy Black Woman: (For some unknown reason, I let her put her hands on my neck) I'm gonna choke you muthafucka!!
Colediggy: You ain't chokin shit!
Crazy Black Woman: (She takes her hands off my neck and pinches me cheek) Aaawww, how could I choke you with that cute smile and them dimples?
Colediggy: See I knew you were all talk.
Crazy Black Woman: Muthafucka, I will cut yo muthafuckin ass!

I said goodbye to Black Rob, slapped the crazy bitch on the ass one last time, and high fived a random black guy watching this fiasco as I took off into the night. Sixteen hours of alcohol consumption had taken it's toll on my body and it was time to go to bed. It was a highly unusual yet extremely entertaining evening. It just goes to show you that the lesser your expectations for a night out, the better time you will have. As for the 20 year old, I'll keep you all posted. I just need to make sure I take her to places that don't card people at the door. Someone pinch me because I think I'm dreaming. To be continued...

Random Thought of the Day

2006-08-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

I was stopped at an intersection this morning when something caught my eye. It was an attractive woman in her mid 30's wearing shorts that barely covered her labia. As I glanced over and began to undress her with my eyes, she bent over as if she was a puppet and I was pulling the strings. Every dirty thought racing through my mind was being re-enacted by this woman. And just when I thought things couldn't any friskier, as she's bending over I noticed a plastic bag around her hand. As you know from a previous post (click here to view it), I have an obsession with watching hot girls pick up after their dogs. Little did I know at the time that I was in for something much more appetizing.

As she slowly bent over and her balloon knot was nearly exposed by her see through white shorts, I noticed their was no poop on the ground to be scooped. My attention then shifted from her anus to the dog's. I noticed the dog was wiggling along the sidewalk because of a mini poop wedged in it's ass. Much to my delight the girl then put her plastic covered hand up to the dog's poop shit and pulled the crap right out. I was enthralled. This girl has taken the pooper scooper to a whole new level. In typical New York City fashion, the terrorist driving the cab behind me planted his hand on the horn the second the light turned green. Is there anything more aggravating? Here I am trying to find some sort of enjoyment on a 110 degree day and this fucking (insert racist Arab term here) is spoiling the moment. So I slowly inched through the intersection until the poop was gently placed into the trash can on the street corner. Circling around the block for 20 minutes looking for a parking spot can certainly pay off every once in a while.

With the image of this girl and her poo-filled hand ingrained in my brain, I began to daydream about dog poop. Which then led me to my random thought for the day. Are blind people obligated to pick up after their seeing eye dogs? It seems awfully cruel to make a blind person fish around the sidewalk on their hands and knees searching for dog excrement. While it would be extremely entertaining to watch, the term "cruel and unusual punishment" does come to mind when picturing this scenario. Just a little poop for thought on a Friday afternoon.

Roll Call

2006-07-29T16:37:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wish you were paralyzed or at the very least somewhat handicapped? Upon leaving my apartment for the first time last Sunday, I was a disheveled wreck. After only 6 hours of sleep and still recovering from my bad case of late night frat dance fever, I was on my way to a friend's apartment. The thought of showering briefly crossed my mind but I quickly shot down that idea when I realized that walking was a chore. The bacon, egg and cheese I had just wolfed down wasn't helping my mobility either (and just when I thought I couldn't do something dumber than that 3:00am Jack on the rocks). I felt about as comfortable as a black guy with a cross burning on his lawn.

As I crossed 74th street, I saw an elderly man in a wheelchair getting pushed across the intersection by his wife. I couldn't help but think to myself, "What a lucky bastard!" Here I am struggling with every step in this unbearable summer heat while this old geezer has hit the jackpot. Is there anything better than sitting on your fat wrinkly ass and having a woman cater to your every need? Not only do they wheel you around all day, but they even help you get in and out of the wheelchair. Do you need to take a leak? Then why not have the old hag help you? After all who the hell wants to deal with the hassle of constantly getting up? And I'm sure by the time you hit that age you have to pee 30 times a day. Shouldn't 60 depressing years of watching your wife's tits gradually sag to her ankles and the steady buildup of wirey gray facial hair on her turkey neck warrant some sort of reward? I think so.

Then there is the man who has it all - none other than Stephen Hawking. Beauty, brains and the most pimped out wheelchair money can buy. Why bother with some whiney old whore yapping your ear off about how last night's Bingo Bonanza at Century Village was rigged when you can cruise around town with the simple push of a joystick? Throw in a comfortable extended head rest as well as a voice synthesizer and it's every man's dream come true. No wonder why the guy is always smiling.

Some might take pity for those unable to get around without the assistance of a wheelchair or a loved one. In reality I would never trade the ability to walk, skip or dance for constant comfort but one has to imagine what life would be like if you could cut all amusement park rides. Actually I can imagine because I once rented a wheelchair with my friends at Disney World and we took turns pretending to be handicapped. I even went so far as to accidentally drool on myself. Yes my fate in hell was sealed even as a 12 year old. Other perks of being confined to a gimp mobile include the privilege of forcing the lazy fat bus driver to get off his/her ass to roll out a ramp and strap you in, top of the line bathroom stalls, free admission to all national parks, never being forced to be the designated driver, not having to stand in church or temple, great seats at a ballgame, prime parking spaces, and most importantly pity and generosity from everyone around you. It's not all that bad. Just look at the joy on this woman's face as she's escorted into the back of a minivan.

It's time we stop feeling pity for the handicapped. If anything we should be envious. They have it good and with God's help, hopefully one day we all will too.

More Memorable Colediggy Family Quotes

2006-07-20T20:07:00.000-07:00

I spent this past weekend up in CT with the family. With every visit, I am continually reminded of the abnormality that is my family life and I love it. Below are a few memorable quotes from the Colediggy household (not all from this past weekend):

"I don't want some old bag who's had 1,000 dicks in her!" (This was my father's response when I pointed out a shriveled old cougar dining at the same restaurant as us.)

"Look at this old whore sonny boy! It's looks like she's been up all night sucking dick." (My father said this to me as we walked into some furniture store. We spotted a desheveled woman probably in her late 20's who looked like she spent the previous evening gargling booze, cigarettes and semen in her mouth.)

"I swear to God mama would drop her pants for you." (This is without a doubt the grossest quote imaginable. My grandfather has been telling me this for years. His point is that my grandmother would do absolutely anything for me. Now if you'll excuse me I have to puke.)

"Any guy that likes Asian girls is a creep." (Believe it or not this one was my sister. I don't know what she has against Asians but it's pretty funny.)

"Ticki, I like it when it rains because it cleans up all the Puerto Ricans' spit on the street." (My father at his finest.)

Pour Some Cougar On Me

2006-07-18T07:44:00.000-07:00

As my friend Felch loves to say, there is no match for the luck of the Colediggy. If with a single $20 bet I could cure the 86 year curse of the Red Sox, then anything is possible according to my pigmently-challenged friend. My friend Scott believes that my luck is going to run out on my 30th birthday. He claims that I've had a lifetime of luck jammed into the first 30 years while everyone else has it spread over their lifetime. I guess what happened to me a few weeks ago may not fall under the luck category but it just goes to show you how the good man above is on my side.

It was almost midnight on Friday and I got a text message from my 35 year old cousin telling me he was coming up to my neighborhood. I threw down my fair share of Jack Daniels at this point of the evening and didn't plan on doing much else. I had a few friends over my place for a crazy game of poker and I wasn't going any further than the bar downstairs in my building. Fortunately, my cousin was coming to the bar in my building, so not much effort was required. After going all in on a pair of kings, I was out of the poker tournament so I went downstairs to meet my cousin. Once I made my way through the meat market to the dark bar in the rear, I found my cousin and his friends. Upon realizing that he was shrooming, I felt I had a little catching up to do so I had a few shots of tequila. Who the fuck still eats mushrooms? Especially at the age of 35? God I love my family.

It was quite the festive atmosphere as nearly everyone in the bar was trashed. Lionel Richie was blasting throughout the bar and I could not have been happier. Well I guess I would be happier had I been getting my weekly tongue rectal exam from Jessica Alba while eating an egg mcmuffin and watching midgets perform in the Ice Capades to music of Meatloaf and Celine Dion but for 2:00am on a Friday night, this was just fine. I met several of my cousin's female friends, all of the cougar descent. There's not much small talk to be made in a bar where you can barely hear the person talking next to you so I did what I do best - grabbed the old hag and hit the dance floor.

The fact that she was 46 did not deter me in the slightest bit. I quickly realized that this was an opportunity to shatter my record for oldest cougar (my previous record was 42 and I was 21 at the time). Opportunities like this don't come knocking every day so I did everything in my power to seize it. I'm not sure if it was the way my genitalia rubbed up against her leg as we grinded on the dance floor or the purple lights reflecting off the sweat on my brow, but it was on. I'm not a big fan of the public display of affection (Fire Island doesn't count), but the display that occurred on the dance floor was pornographic. Attempting to suck out each others tonsils, we were groping each other as if it were my final conjugal visit before my execution. She didn't even care that I was trying to pop her tittie out of her shirt on the dance floor. And why should she? She's a cougar.

After an hour of swapping spit and grabbing tit on the dance floor, we found ourselves outside for a breath of fresh air with my cousin and his girl. It was after 3am and the night was winding down. I attempted to lure the cougar back to my lair with my sexy piece of man meat but she was a little apprehensive. This coming after she told me "I could teach you things that you never even imagined were possible." I wasn't about to tell this old bitch that my sick ass has seen it all. I figured if she wanted to play the role of naughty teacher while I played the geeky unsuspecting student then I'd let her have her fun. Unfortunately the prude cougar was all talk. When push came to shove, she bowed out and got in a cab with my cousin and his girl. My cousin was even pleading with her to spend the night at my place. Oh well, it was her loss.

I wake up the next morning with a voicemail from my cousin. Upon their departure from the bar, my cousin and the 2 girls were riding home in a cab down 2nd Avenue. The cab slammed into a parked car with the 3 of them in the back seat. He was sitting in the middle and was unharmed. His girl had a welt on her head and a black eye. Unfortunately for the 46 year old cougar, she suffered severe neck sprains along with some bumps and bruises. They kept her in the hospital overnight because they originally thought her neck might be broken. Upon her release from the hospital the next day in a neck brace, the first thing my cousin said to her was "See, I told you you should have spent the night with my cousin." Real classy.

While I never had any intentions to get in the cab with them to continue the party elsewhere, it's not inconceivable that I would travel 40 blocks out of my way to get a spicy taste of an authentic cougar. Had I gotten in that cab, I probably would have been in the front seat and seeing as I was pretty drunk, there's a good chance I wouldn't have had my seat belt on. In which case I would have flown through the windshield and might have been dead right now. While that would bring a smile to Felch's face as he'd be $6,500 richer and free from a lifetime of my verbal abuse, there's no such luck for the pale fella.

After an experience like this I think one thing is very clear...if you don't come back to my apartment and blow me then God will show you no mercy. The temporary pain of smelling my grundle as you taste my stromboli is nothing compared to sporting a neck brace in this stifling heat. Bow down to my drunken commands and you will live a long prosperous life.

Serenity Now!

2006-07-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

To say that today sucked more than a queer with lockjaw the day after Valentine's Day would be a tremendous understatement. I haven't had too many bad days in my life but today has to rank up there as one of the worst in recent memory. It all started out when I awoke an hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off because my stomach was rumbling. After 2 healthy battles with diarrhea, it was time to hit the shower. I won't bore you with the details of my frantic work day but let's just say that making 3 separate trips from the Upper East Side to the West Village in the sweltering heat and then a journey out to Long Island City to sit in a scaffolding factory for an hour talking to toothless obese people is no way to spend your afternoon. Then upon my return to the Upper East Side I got harassed by some blabbering superintendent who feels the need to call me every 3 seconds to ask me questions about the construction job I am running at his building. Did I fail to mention that I got splashed by a city bus? Oh and I was so busy that I didn't eat one morsel of food the entire day. All I did was drink from some slimy water fountain on the roof of a building which was like blowing one of the Mexican construction workers on our job site.

I don't think I have ever been so happy to arrive home to my apartment. Drenched in sweat, I immediately got down to my underwear (which by the way has a hole so big in the crotch it's like wearing a skirt), cranked the AC and jumped in front of the fan. I was finally home, far away from all the smelly Arab cab drivers honking at me and the chaos that is Manhattan. I was finally at peace with the universe. And then it happened. I shit in my pants. My stomach was uneasy all day and every fart was an adventure. I had lucked out throughout the afternoon as I attempted to ease the gas out of my anal cavity. Unfortunately, this time I was not so lucky. The moment I farted I grabbed my ass because I knew if anything came out it was going to fall through the hole in my boxers. There was a brief second where I thought it was a false alarm and then I felt my underwear getting warm and wet. Son of a! I ran to the bathroom cradling my asshole like an aborted fetus was about to fall out and I let my toilet have it good. Then came the degrading task of carrying my shit stained drawers in a garbage bag to the trash. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or kill myself. The funny part of this is that I was just telling a co-worker of mine yesterday that it had been over 2 years since I last sharted in my underwear. I was proud of myself that I made it so long and felt the need to share that with those I work with. I also felt the need to engage in a playful game of homo phone sex with my boss but that's another story in itself.

After letting a little steam off at the gym and attempting to forget the nightmare of a day that I just had, I came home to order pot. Unbeknownst to me, my home phone can dial out but no one can hear me speak on the other end. So when the pot dealer called me back after I paged him, he could not hear a word I was saying. Needless to say, my home phone has not stopped ringing all night and there is nothing I can do about it. Well at least on the bright side, I have to wake up at 5am tomorrow to drive 2 hours to Connecticut for a work training program, only to drive 2 hours back to the city to pick up my sister, and then drive another 2 hours to my parents place tomorrow night. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take the much needed bong hit that I deserve.

Family Ties

2006-06-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

My parents recently moved up to Connecticut to be closer to their 2 wonderful children. Most people move to Florida to get away from the cold weather in their retirement years but my parents did the exact opposite. Then again they have been down there for the past 18 years so it was time for a change. I spent the weekend with my sister and parents up in Connecticut for Father's Day. My sister and I have always had an extremely close relationship with our parents. They might be the 2 coolest people I know. When you read this blog and attempt to figure out how I became so abnormal, I think it's very important that you understand where I came from. As you can see from the picture on your left, even at birth I was a wise ass with my tongue hanging out in every picture (not to mention a handsome little devil). The Colediggy family dynamics are unlike any other family you have ever seen. Welcome to my dysfunctional world.

I'll start off with my father. At the age of 56, he probably has the maturity of a 2nd grader. My father was always around when I was a child and taught me everything I know about life, women, sports, and black people. He was always a man of the people. People love my dad, especially children and minorities. When I left to go to the University of Michigan, my friends that stayed around in the Boca area for college used to go to my house to hang with my dad and watch football. I can recall one time I was home for Thanksgiving during my freshman year of college and my friend and I had just gotten really stoned in my living room. The doorbell rang and it was a 4 year old neighbor of mine. He asked me "Can Steve (my father) come out and play?" I looked at my friend, there was a moment of awkward silence and we broke down laughing. He was friends with every person in the neighborhood. He used to buy beer for all the Mexican gardeners and would invite them over after a long day of sweating in the unbearable South Florida sun. The black guys that worked for him in the garment center would have taken a bullet for my pops. He invited over a Haitian guy with a gold tooth to spend Thanksgiving with my family because his family was still stuck in Haiti. He even let him carve the turkey. He relates better to the simple working man than your typical Wall Street douche bag. My father taught me at an early age that all minorities, in particular black people, love us Colediggys. I don't know if it's a result of our dark complexion, but they all gravitate towards us. (I put this theory to test my freshman year of college. I was standing in the hallway with my friend Scott talking about how many fat girls we made out with the previous evening and how many times we vomited that morning. There was a black kid walking towards us. I said to Scott "I guarantee this kid says hello to me. I won't even look his way and he'll say something to me." Sure enough as he walked past us he looked at me and said "What up dog?" and didn't even glance at Scott. Scotty was amazed. To this day random black people say hello to me wherever I go. I can't explain it. I think an ex-coworker of mine said it best after my Michael Jackson dancing performance at the holiday party. She was a 300 pound black woman named Rose. She said "Colediggy you may be white on the outside but honey, you black as night on the inside." That is the nicest thing a black person has ever said to me.) Anyway, to further prove this point over the weekend my dad got a phone call from an elderly black man who used to maintain a lot of the homes in my parents old neighborhood in Florida. The man has more children than teeth. He called to tell my dad that he misses him dearly and wants him to move back to FL. My parents always gave him clothing for his children and helped out in any way they could. My father actually gave his son my game worn Charles Woodson cleats from his Heisman trophy season in 1997. He thought they were my old cleats just laying in the closet collecting dust. So somewhere on the football fields in Delray Beach a little black kid is wearing a pair of $1,000 cleats.

One of the first lessons in life my dad taught me was how to spot a douche bag. Whether it's the blatantly obvious toupee, the racing gloves he wears when he drives his Porsche, the obnoxious gray chest hair portruding from his shirt which is barely buttoned, the offensive stench of cheap cologne, or their overall attitude that everything they do is the best, I was able to spot these douche bags by the age of 5. He also taught me the difference between a douche bag and a hard on. A hard on is one who aspires to be a douche bag but he's not quite there yet. Instead of a Porsche he drives a beat up Celica convertible. He hasn't sprung for the toupee yet so for now the come over will do. You catch my drift.

My father never shyed away from knowing all the details about my sex life. From the time I was 7 years old, my father always said "Sonny boy, I want a phone call from you the moment you lose your virginity." Sure enough 10 years later he got that call. It was one of the happier moments of his life. He has always stressed the importance of a woman's feet and toe nails. He's even gone so far as to kiss my mother's feet in my presence and still does it to this day. As he says "Cared for feet is a cared for person." I've shared with him almost all the details of my sexual escapades and will continue to do so. In fact over the weekend I told him the tale of the innkeeper from Fire Island. His response: "Ticki, I think I might need a young broad to start sucking my dick. I'm getting tired of banging an old woman." (Ticki is my father's favorite term for penis and Ticki Marone has been my nickname since I can remember).

My father rarely drinks but he does enjoy a good doobie. I'm convinced that smoking pot with your spouse is the key to a healthy relationship. My folks have been going strong for a long time and they are just as in love today as they were when they met in a bar in NYC 32 years ago. I can recall my parents rolling joints when I was 5 years old. When I asked them what that was they said "These are vegetable cigarettes. They are much healthier than regular cigarettes." I had no choice but to believe them. I was 5 years old! While they didn't purposely smoke in front of me, I often times walked in on them rolling and smoking their vegetable cigarettes. I didn't realize it was pot until I was at my first concert at the age of 12. The Miami Arena was covered in a cloud of smoke. I knew that smell but I couldn't figure out from where. Sure enough I put 2 and 2 together after 7 years of inhaling that scrumptious aroma. I first smoked pot with my parents at the age of 19 and have been doing it ever since. My father has a 20 x 30 framed picture hanging in the house of him smoking a bowl with myself and 4 of my friends surrounding him. It was the first time we got stoned together and he couldn't be more proud of that picture. On Father's Day, we smoked a few bowls before we went out to lunch. When my sister said she doesn't like smoking during the day because she feels like a degenerate, my parents and I hazed her until she gave in. I can't think of too many households in which the parents are hazing the children to smoke but such is the norm in my household. My dad would much rather have his children smoke than drink. According to him, beer is for low lifes. He's probably right.

At the age of 6, I drew my first pair of breasts on a cocktail napkin at dinner. My dad was so proud of it, he hung it in my sister's room on her bulletin board. I have no idea why he did such a thing but I can recall a home video in which he zoomed in on my artwork as if he was capturing behind the scenes of an art prodigy. I also recall the same home video in which my sister (3 years old at the time) escaped from my mom while she was drying her off after a bath. When she ran downstairs towards me and my dad all I kept screaming was "Film her vagina dad! Film her vagina!" Obviously my father did not but it's borderline frightening to see that video every few years and marvel at what a sick fuck I was at the precious young age of 6.

As if my relationship with my dad wasn't sick enough, the emergence of email has taken it to new levels. Now that we can readily forward each other porn, we have reached new heights of sickness. The first email my father ever sent me was a forward titled "Horse Gag." Use your imagination as to what went on in that video. Just yesterday morning I opened my inbox to find an email from my father titled "Squirt Gun Fight." Again, use your imagination. I have sent my dad the grossest things the world wide web has to offer. What's even more abnormal is that he usually shows them to my mother. Although we refrain from showing her the German toilet porn because that's a little over the line.

Speaking of my mom, any woman who has put up with my dad's shenanigans for the past 30 plus years certainly deserves a medal. She is extremely laid back and unbeknownst to many of my friends, she's more of a partier than my dad. She enjoys a glass of wine every night with dinner and is usually a very relaxed person; that is unless she's watching 24 and screaming at Jack Bauer to get out of the building before the bomb blows. She often refers to me as "Reggie" (my old dog's name...rest in peace big fella). My father says she was a true pot smoking hippy in her youth. When I ask my dad how he'd classify his youth he says he was an acid head. The pieces are coming together. My mother likes to joke with me when she says she didn't quit smoking cigarettes until she became pregnant with my sister. I'm not really sure whether or not she's serious. It certainly could explain a few of my abnormalities.

My mother's crowning achievement in the Colediggy family (other than giving birth to 2 lovely children) was during the fall of 1994. I was on the phone with my friend and my dad and mother were fighting with each other in a joking manner. My dad chased my mom into the kitchen, grabbed her around the throat, held her head under the kitchen faucet and threatened to turn it on. My friend was dumbfounded at the noises coming from my end of the phone. As my mom's head was in the sink under the faucet she reached and grabbed a steak knife from the counter. My father quickly relinquished his choke hold. She began chasing my father around the house threatening to "cut his little dick off" as she so eloquently put it. I know this sounds a little sick as even this was a little over the top for our household. Nevertheless, it still keeps me laughing over 10 years later.

While I'm on the topic of over the top displays of immaturity, I suppose waking my mother up from a nap on the couch when I farted in her face at the age of 15 wasn't the sweetest thing a son could do; but I have since stopped such childish behavior. Our family as a whole has abandoned the joy of farting on each other. Actually when I say "family" I must omit my mother because my father claims that in the 32 years he's known my mother, he's never heard her fart once. He's begged her countless times to let one rip and has even gone as far as to evesdrop on her in the bathroom but has never heard even the slightest of peeps. Now that I think about it, I guess the reason I always speak so openly about my flatulence and bowel movements is because my parents never minded the potty talk. At the age of 8, my sister would rip farts at the dinner table and we would all crack up in astonishment at how long they would rumble for. I've always shat with the bathroom door open despite the fact that my bathroom was directly off the living room. I once watched my father shit in a styrofoam cup because the house my parents were looking to buy was under construction and there were no toilets. Fortunately they did not buy that house. My father once called me into his bathroom to show me the poop he had just taken. It was a 12 inch log that was laying across the hole in the toilet. Every time he flushed it would not go down. The water would go down but the log remained laying across the top of the hole. After 4 tries he decided to take a plastic knife from the kitchen and cut the poop in half. Oh the memories.

The men in my family get less mature with age. I probably peaked from a maturity stand point at the age of 12 and it's been downhill ever since. And while my father is certainly headed back to his infancy stages, one must take a look at my grandfather to truly appreciate where this all started. I've previously discussed the old man on this blog (picture below with his cross-eyed retard face)...the fact that he's danced naked in front of me and my father, that he keeps a picture of my grandmother bending over in the kitchen, that he told my entire family and ex-girlfriend the story of him attempting to bang my grandmother in the bathtub...I could go on forever. Click here to see that post. I called my grandfather to wish him a happy 88th birthday last week. Out of the 4 grandchildren, I'm without a doubt the favorite. My grandfather has even said so. I'm the only one that calls at least once a week to check in on the old folks. And every time I call them the conversation is exactly the same. Here is my best rendition of a typical phone call to my grandparents:

Grandpa: Hello.
Colediggy: Hey gramps. How you doing?
Grandpa: All is well here. I just went to Margate to buy tomatoes while mama was playing cards (I have no idea why he calls my grandmother "mama" but it's hilarious). How are you doing sonny boy?
Colediggy: I can't complain. Life is good.
Grandpa: Any ladies in your life?
Colediggy: Had a date with this girl last week. It went pretty well. I'll probably see her again.
Grandpa: Do me a favor. When you finally meet the right one, you gotta let me give her a test run first.
Grandma (in the background): Stop talking like that you animal!
Grandpa: You're better off not getting married. Don't ever get married! I've been in prison for the past 65 years! (he's been telling me to avoid marriage since I sprouted my first pube)
Colediggy: I know gramps. You tell me all the time.
Grandpa: You wearing rubbers? Those bitches have diseases.
Colediggy: Yes gramps. I wear rubbers.
Grandpa: Be careful. A lot of those chicks are dying for a piece of meat. They're fucking animals those cunts!
Grandma (in the background): Why do you have to talk like that Bill? You are sick!
Grandpa: Alright I'm gonna put mama on the phone so take care. Love you with all my heart. You're the best.
Colediggy: Love you too gramps.
Grandma: How are you Bradley?
Colediggy: All is well grandma.
Grandma: Are you learning anything at your job?
Colediggy: Yes grandma. I learn something new every day.
Grandma: When are they gonna give you a raise?
Colediggy: I just got a raise grandma. I can't ask for one every week.
Grandma: Do they take good care of you?
Colediggy: Yes grandma. I have a great job and they took good care of me. I enjoy going to work every day which is more than most people can say.
Grandma: Good. Glad to hear it. How's your love life?
Colediggy: It's good. No steady girlfriend but I'm not complaining.
Grandma: Are you dating Jewish girls I hope? Stay away from those gentiles. All they do is drink beer, smoke cigarettes and get tattoos.
Colediggy: Yes grandma, I date Jewish girls.
Grandma: Well that's good. Is everything else good?
Colediggy: Yes. I'm doing great.
Grandma: You don't drink too much do you? I mean you don't go out like those goyim do you?
Colediggy: No grandma, I don't drink too much and I don't go out like goyim.
Grandma: Alright well I love you and I'll talk to you soon.
Colediggy: Love you too granny. Talk to you soon.
Grandma: Bye.

In case you couldn't tell, my grandmother is convinced that blacks and gentiles are the root of all evil in this country. And while most would be disgusted by her racist ways, I can't really blame her given the times she grew up in and the ignorance that surrounded her. "I'll tell you why there's drugs in this country. It's those damn shvatzes," she always exclaims. "What do you gotta drink beer for? You wanna get drunk like those goyim?" I've been hearing the same routine for 28 years and it never gets old.

Last and certainly least in the Colediggy family, there is my little sister. Despite the fact that she's smarter and better looking than me, she has always been considered the bastard child. There were always significantly more pictures of me as a baby around the house than there were of her (and most of hers had me in them as you can see us on the right at the ages of 4 and 1). I got a normal middle name such as Adam while she was blessed with Beryl. She was always the problematic child growing up and believe it or not I was the angel. I used to force myself to go to sleep by ten o'clock on a school night to get a good night's sleep during my first 2 years of high school while she was staying up late talking to boys. I never chewed gum when I had braces until she got them and began chewing gum before she even left the orthodontist's office. She tried cigarettes and pot before I did and I had a 3 year head start on her. I banged the biggest whore in my high school and got high fives from my dad and a condom speech from my mother. Meanwhile my dad told my sister's boyfriend that he was piece of trash and that he wasn't good enough for his daughter. My birthday gifts from my grandparents were usually more than my sister received. My mom tried to make her feel better by blaming it on the old age and senility of my grandparents but they knew exactly what they were doing. It took her about 18 years to accept the role as the bastard child in the family but since she has, she's been much happier about it. There's nothing wrong with learning to accept less from those that you love you the most.

If there is one thing that I enjoy doing as much as my parents (other than smoking pot), it's people watching. I have a gift for spotting someone's deformity within 1 second of seeing them for the first time. And while my dad and I always point out a large set of jugs when we see one, I've noticed that my parents people watching skills are becoming all too obvious. We were out to lunch on Sunday for Father's Day and my dad spotted a 300 pound woman waddling through the restaurant. "Oh Jesus look at the fatty tetas on that beast sonny boy!" No one heard my father other than those at the table but it's only a matter of time before someone does. And then my mom mumbles under her breath "Oh, what a pity" as some guy walks in with 2 prosthetic arms. Obviously it gets my dad's attention and he turns around and find himself face to face with Stumpy as he's walking by. Us Colediggys have a knack for cripples, retards and all sorts of deformities. It's in my blood. I can't help it. As cruel as it sounds, when it comes to the misfortune of others nothing will top my bar mitzvah video. Not only did one of my grandparent's friends trip and fall on the dance floor but the performance on the mic by my deaf uncle was one for the ages. The four of us must have watched those parts of the video over 200 times together. We attempted to interpret what the hell my deaf uncle was saying for weeks after the bar mitzvah and no one could comprehend a word he was saying. We used to laugh uncontrollably as he mumbled and slurred his best wishes to me. I know it's cruel and no families do this sort of thing but sometimes it's the misfortune of others that bring you close together.

Now that you have a little background about my family, you can understand why a weekend getaway in CT can be quite the comedic episode. And as the ringleader of our pack of dysfunction, my father put together a few memorable quotes during my 3 day stay. Here they are in no particular order:

"Mommy would blow me if I gave her one of those cookies." (We were in the supermarket and he found the special healthier brand of chocolate chip cookies that he and my mother love.)

"Ticki, don't you know that it's a Colediggy family tradition for the first born son to bite the hemorrhoids out of his father's ass?" (This was said to me as we were watching the Mets game and he was complaining of the burning sensation in his cornhole.)

"I threw the meat in one time and the rest is history." (In response to my question of whether or not I was an accident.)

"Sonny boy, I gotta tell you I'm starting to get attracted to older women. There's nothing wrong with a 60 year old cougar. To a 60 year old woman I'm a young stallion. They're dying to suck my cock." (This was said as we were waiting outside a store while my mother and sister were shopping inside.)

I must say that I'm glad to have my folks close by. I haven't lived in the same state as them since 1995 and spending time with them is certainly entertaining. Hopefully this provided you with a little in depth look at my family and why I never had a prayer at normalcy. While these are some of the most extreme stories my family has to offer, there are plenty more stories to tell at a later date. I am blessed with a wonderfully abnormal family and I wouldn't want it any other way. I would be lucky to have a relationship with my children like the one I have with my parents.

Best Headline Ever?

2006-06-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

I know I tend to exaggerate from time to time but they don't get much better than this...

http://news.enquirer.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060618/NEWS01/606180389/1066

Enjoy. Plenty more to come on my weekend with the parents up in CT.

The Return to Fire Island

2006-06-12T12:53:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I lost my voice, I haven't taken a solid shit in 4 days, I slept in a bed sandwiched between 2 of my guy friends on Saturday night and I can't be awake for more than 15 minutes without wanting to take a nap, I could not be happier about my triumphant return to my favorite place in New York, Fire Island. A wonderful getaway from the chaos of Manhattan, Ocean Beach provides a great deal of fun for the single and even the married man. And while in year's past the "talent" in Ocean Beach has been compared to that of a cattle drive, the summer of 2006 has brought a fresh and much more impressive crop of females.

From the moment you step off the ferry there is a feeling of arrogance that overcomes you. When you look around and see the Long Island guido trash that surrounds you, it's impossible not to feel superior to your fellow man. My friend Jesse is right. Being Jewish is relaxing. I'm not exactly sure when these goombah fools are going to realize that spikey hair, shiney shirts and dog collars are not considered hip, but I hope they never do because it's hysterical. As if their outfits aren't bad enough, it's their dialect that really tickles my fancy. We were on the beach on Saturday afternoon entrenched in the heart of Guidoville. A deer was spotted running along the edge of the beach and some Schlitz-swigging Italian scum yells out "Yo, somebody get that deer a beer!" (Trust me it's a lot funnier when you say it in that ignorant high school dropout goombah voice). Who the fuck says something like that? I guess the same guy who says "Yo, I'm sweating marinara out here." Still not sure what that one means but it's funny.

Other than the fact that I hate guidos yet appreciate them for their comedic value, here are some things I realized this past weekend in Ocean Beach:

I will continue to thank God every day that I am Jewish. Not only is it relaxing (minus the 5,000 years of persecution), but we are just better than most (No offense to my gentile friends. I love you all dearly but given the choice, I'll choose turkey over ham and circumcision over foreskin any day of the week).
Letting the 21 year old innkeeper with DD bombs suck on my taffy til 5:30am probably wasn't the wisest decision in the world considering that I am returning to stay at this hotel for 2 more weekends this summer. Then again, neither was jerking off all over her back.
When sneaking between my room and the innkeeper's room, I should have done a better job of avoiding the security cameras. If this girl still has her job next weekend I'd be shocked.
I was recently introduced to the term "cougar." It is defined as a 40 year old broad hard up for some young dick in her shit locker. I haven't stopped saying it since. I even went as far as to go to Houser's (aka the cougar bar) in between stops at Bocce and Mermaid's on Saturday night. The place was crawling with cougars on the prowl. Nothing like an overly tanned wrinkly cougar with a deep raspy voice and a sexy smoker's cough. Had my friend not puked on the floor we might have stayed longer.
Seeing my friend introduce me to the girl he hooked up with the previous night by the wrong name was easily one of the funnier moments of the weekend. But that is the beauty of Fire Island. She still went home with him that night and polished his chrome dome.
People who pop their collars deserve to die a slow miserable death.
Much to the dismay of the Fire Island locals, ABC is filming a reality show called Summer Share in Ocean Beach. While we only got a few glimpses of the cameras throughout our 3 day stay, this could be the worst show of all time. Listening to some jappy bitch talk about how she only eats finger foods sounds about as fun as watching Madeline Albright and Janet Reno in a double sided anal dildo show. Actually that sounds hot.
Photographing your friends at 4am as they squeeze their testicles into a painfully purple bubble is not as good of an idea as it seemed at the time.
Telling a group of random females that your friend is a NASCAR driver without alerting your friend beforehand isn't all that smart. The next thing you know your whole group of friends is considered to be a shady bunch of douche bags. Oh well. It's better than being a miserably old wrinkly cougar destined to spend the remainder of her pathetic existence shoving homeless cocks in her mouth for a menthol cigarette and a carboard box in which to spend the night.

Well that pretty much sums up our first weekend experience. Luckily we have 4 weeks to recover for trip #2. The countdown has begun.

The Luck of the Colediggy

2006-05-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

My friends are constantly amazed at the amount of luck that I have. And some of them are downright sickened by it. Felch always says that with all the horrible things I have said and done in my lifetime that one day the luck of the Colediggy will eventually run out. After all God has to be witnessing my sick and twisted existence. One would think that after 28 years of retard jokes (not to mention dressing up like one on Halloween for 3 consecutive years), laughing at midgets, poking fun of the disabled, probing girls anal cavities, selling fake autographs as a teenager, torturing my friends, and ridiculing my deaf uncle, that all of it would catch up to me at one point. I'm a firm believer that God has one sick fucking sense of humor otherwise he wouldn't have made retards in the first place. Well this past Wednesday night proved that my luck isn't running out anytime soon.

I was at a fundraiser at a bar in Union Square. Three girlfriends of mine teach little tards and this was an event to raise money for their school. Upon entering the bar, each person was given a raffle ticket with the option to buy more. So I purchased an additional 5 raffle tickets. My friends were convinced that I was going to win something. I told them I usually don't win these things but you never know. Usually things like the lottery and raffles are reserved for poor minorities but then again there were no poor minorities at this event so I had a chance. After the first 10 raffles were complete, I still did not have a winning ticket. My friends were carefully watching as I examined the numbers on my tickets expecting me to win. And then my moment came. Yours truly was the winner of 2 tickets in the ABC skybox to any Knicks or Rangers game next season. The look of disgust on my friends' faces when I won was 1000 times better than actually winning the tickets. "Unfuckingbelievable!" exclaimed Scotty as he shrugged his shoulders in disbelief. And all Felch could do was smile in amazement. The luck of the Colediggy had struck again.

The most amazing part of this stroke of luck is that it was at a fundraiser for retarded/disabled children. Of all people to win, they chose the one scumbag in the crowd who pokes fun at the less fortunate every chance he gets. I've seen one movie in the theaters in the last 6 months and it was The Ringer (Johnny Knoxville's latest attempt at acting in which he portrays someone who pretends to be retarded in order to win the Special Olympics). Enough said. Despite all the offensive things I have said, those little tards still managed to forgive me and give a little something back to Colediggy. God bless those little fuckers. Of course there weren't actually any tards in attendance but it's the thought that counts.

Kelly Clarkson, Poop, Anal Sex and Hot Dogs

2006-05-16T23:47:00.000-07:00

Although I didn't do much other than drink and watch sports over the past 10 days, I learned a few valuable things that I won't soon forget. Here they are in no particular order (actually they are in the same order as the title of this post):

1. Black men like Kelly Clarkson and not just for her big ass. I was out with a group of people last Wednesday night watching the Heat/Nets game. The DJ at sports bar played "Since You've Been Gone." Part of me wanted to get up on the couch and start singing but the heterosexual part of me realized that I was with a group of 5 guys watching sports. The song had reached the chorus in which Kelly pours her heart out and this black guy sitting next to me starts singing and dancing along with Kelly. I looked at him in disbelief. And this wasn't a white black guy either. I couldn't contain my astonishment. Our verbal exchange went a little something like this:

Colediggy: Are you kidding me right now?
Black Guy: What?
Colediggy: Do you really like Kelly Clarkson?
Black Guy: Yo, this bitch can fucking rock!
Colediggy: Dude, please tell me you are joking.
Black Guy: I ain't kiddin yo.
Colediggy: Are you fucking serious? Did someone put you up to this? Are you fucking with me?
Black Guy: Hell no. This bitch can sing.
Colediggy: Please tell me you watch American Idol.
Black Guy: Fuck yeah. That show is the shit! (insert the mutual fist pump and pound here)

Pardon me if I was a little shocked that a black guy sporting a XXL Malcolm X t-shirt was an American Idol and Kelly Clarkson fan. I must say that it certainly made me feel better about myself. He gave much needed street cred to American Idol that many of us heterosexual males have been craving. As a matter of fact out of the 5 guys I was with (Goff, the black guy, 2 pot smoking degenerates from Jersey - sorry Pugliese), the only one who didn't watch American Idol was Goff. Loser.

2. When presented with a dreadful upset stomach (aka diarrhea), stuffing your face with sushi until you are forced to waddle to the toilet is not the brightest idea. Then again neither is going to McSorley's immediately thereafter and chugging over a dozen beers. What started out as a slow day for bowel movements, turned into one of my top 3 poop performances (I'm only counting those that actually made it into the toilet). #1 being my bout with Montezuma's Revenge in Cancun my senior year of high school when I spent 5 consecutive hours on the final night of our trip dumping chunky brown water into the toilet as I vomited violently in the bidet sitting across from the porcelain throne that I had turned into a La-Z-Boy. #2 being the night my mom shoved a suppository up my ass when I was 6 years old. Like water for chocolate. I distinctly remember filling the bowl 3 times before I even wiped! Not bad for a 6 year old.

3. Given the amount of pain that I was in on Saturday evening after the sushi had made it's way through me 7 times within 4 hours, I can't help but wonder how any person could voluntarily have anal sex. Think of it this way - I had a few logs, several pellets and a whole bunch of watery fudge pour out over the course of several hours and I couldn't even walk or sit without excruciating pain. Every wipe meant more agony. It almost got to the point where I could no longer muster up the strength to clean myself without a tear streaming down my cheek as I voluntarily tormented my rectal cavity. But that's why I buy baby wipes. They are easily one of the top 10 inventions of all time. But back to my point - how the hell can the asshole withstand the constant pounding of a crazed horny man and his erect penis? I don't know how you women and homos deal with the pain but God bless you for doing so.

4. When a girl that you just met is sitting 5 feet from you and wolfing down a hot dog with no bun, do not nudge your friend in an effort to get his attention. Just enjoy the sick and perverted show that the girl and Hebrew National are performing and keep it all to yourself. I was caught mid-nudge and as she looked over, he responded to my nudging. I avoided eye contact for a few minutes and realized soon thereafter that this girl hated my guts. Oh well. Meanwhile my friend is still inquiring as to why I was so desperately trying to get his attention and I can do nothing but mumble in disgust. To make matters worse, a few hours later I tried to tell him why I was nudging him and she popped up right behind us. We both were instantly silenced which is not an easy thing to do. Nevertheless, it was extremely enjoyable to watch.

That's all for now. I promise to make a more concerted effort to do this more often. It's pretty damn fun.

The Shock Heard Round the World

2006-05-03T21:47:00.000-07:00

Many of you have expressed your displeasure with the lack of posts over the past 4 weeks. Well now that my fantasy baseball team is comfortably atop the standings, I can spend a little more time writing and less time watching Rockies/Padres games until 1:00am. Prior to my 4 week hiatus some of you were unhappy with the PG version of Colediggy. I guess I have set the bar at a high level when it comes to vile behavior and I should no longer dip below that. Lesson learned. As my friend Melissa said to me over IM, "Enough crap about wine. Boring. I want stories of you crapping in your pants." Well the story below may not involve me pooping myself but it does involve me and poop...or something that resembled a poopish-like substance.

It was a chilly spring night in Ann Arbor. We were all gathered at Rick's sucking down $1.75 Long Island iced teas. It was your typical Jewish NY frat hole on a Big Ten campus. We would see the same exact people every night for 6 nights a week and somehow it never got old. Then again how could cheap booze and sloppy drunk 20 year old girls dancing to La Bouche ever get old? After whiffing my way down the bar skank ladder, I stumbled upon what I thought was a seemingly cute girl. Sure she had a little hobbit thing going on but after a half dozen pints of LIT's, I would have stuck my dick in a gorilla's asshole as long as it was freshly shaved. I was mesmerized by her beautiful bulbous breasts. The moment I laid eyes upon her I knew she wanted my meat more than an Ethiopian baby handcuffed to a high chair at Peter Luger's. Despite this obviously easy catch, I still felt the need to put forth some sort of drunken effort to woo her. I was halfway through my patented twirl move on the dance floor and she was already mine. They don't all come this easily which is why you have to take advantage of these golden opportunities when they present themselves.

After an overly aggressive Jewish public make out session, it was time to go in for the kill. "Do you wanna come back and smoke?" It's been my go to line for many years and when it works, I know I'll be knee deep in couscous in no time. Like the stinky raw fish she was, she took the bait and came back with me to the boom boom room. I threw her down on the bed and began to have my way with her. I immediately ripped off her shirt and bra and exposed her incredibly beautiful dense breasts (FYI...I would put my bra removal skills up against any guy in the world. All it takes is 3 fingers and usually less than 2 seconds, depending on the amount of liquor consumed beforehand). Her melons must have weighed at least 10 pounds each and they were tastier than a fresh honeydew. She started talking dirty to me. When I say dirty I mean absolutely filthy. Her breathing got heavier and louder by the second. I must have got caught up in the moment because what I did next was wrong on so many levels.

For those of you not familiar with the shocker, it's 2 fingers in a girl's vagina and 1 in her asshole simultaneously. Or as a co-worker of mine once said, "2 in the pink, 1 in the stink." In all my years on this planet, I have never seen a girl go this wild. With every thrust of my right hand into her orifices she screamed out in ecstasy. It was at that moment that I heard the sexiest thing a girl has ever said to me. "Fuck me hard!" she screamed as I pleasured both holes at once. So as any horny 21 year old would do, I kindly obliged. I have never raced for a condom so fast in my life. Actually that is only somewhat true. My old roommate and I were hooking up with another pair of roommates a few years ago. After a night of drinking together, I went back to the girl's place while my roommate stayed out with her friend. After throwing my meat in her mouth and flicking her bean for a few minutes she asked me if I had a condom. Now I'm not some cheeseball from Staten Island in Manhattan for the night so I don't carry around condoms in my back pocket. So I raced to get dressed to go to the Duane Reade across the street. I was in such a rush that I did not want to deal with the hassle of putting on my button down and shoes. So I asked her for a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. I couldn't rock the shoes with shorts so I put on a pair of her platformed sandals that were 12 sizes too small. Here I am at 2:00am dressed like a cheap hooker wearing a tight white women's v-neck tee and sandals on my way to Duane Reade to buy rubbers . I took the elevator down to the lobby and the second the door opened, I was greeted by my drunk roommate and his girl. I have never seen him laugh so hard in my life and yet I didn't even care. I was a drunk hooker on a mission for rubbers and none of my douche bag friends could stop me. So to wrap up this lengthy interlude, I got back to her place and she was passed out. I attempted to revive her but the alcohol had taken it's toll. I guess those guys from Staten Island are pretty smart.

Where the hell was I? Oh yes, it was time to stuff her Thanksgiving turkey with some baby gravy. To quote Stuey Griffin it was like "throwing a hot dog down a hallway." Not that I expected a girl that agrees to have sex with me on the first night to be tight, but this was like banging a jar of mayo. Then again I've never heard a jar of mayo scream and moan like I was pounding her privates with a meat cleaver. Once our tumultuous sexual session had ended, she began to get dressed. You gotta love the fact that she didn't even want to spend the night either. It is every man's dream come true. When I turned on the lights and saw my sheets I screamed out "goo!" Her attention immediately switched from searching for her panties behind my nightstand to the center of my bed. And in the center of my bed was the most frightening thing I have ever seen. It was a reddish, brownish, purply wet spot the size of a basketball. It looked like someone performed an abortion on my sheets. Picture 10 pregnant women dumping their placenta out all at once in the middle of a my bed. She was mortified. I was speechless. I mean where the hell did that blob come from? And more importantly what the hell was it? She kindly offered to take my sheets home and wash them but I declined the offer. I had a bigger plan for my sheets. Being the gentleman I am, I escorted her home despite the fact that she soiled my sheets.

When I returned to my room, I inspected my sheets under the light. My three fingers did a lot more damage than I could have ever imagined. The purply-like substance seemed to be a mixture of vaginal nectar and fartbox residue. I thought about smelling it but thankfully elected otherwise. I threw my sheets on the floor and passed out on my mattress. I was exhausted and a little disturbed and needed some sleep. I could not wait to wake up the next morning and share this story with my friends.

The sun began creeping through my blinds at 8:00am. With only 3 hours of sleep under my belt, I fought off the urge to get up and went back to bed for a few hours. When I awoke around 11:00am, my arms had fallen asleep from being under my pillow all night. As I attempted to get the feeling back in my arm I looked down at my right hand. At first I thought I was halluscinating as I had just dusted off the cobwebs from a miserable night of sleep on a bare mattress. Much to my dismay my eyes were not playing tricks on me. I looked down at my hands and saw a dried out purply residue in my fingernails. Nothing like a little flavor saver from my night of debauchery. It was a miserable way to start the morning but after what I did the previous evening, I knew I was in for a rough one.

I finally made it out of my room with the soiled sheets in my hand. I paraded them around my house like the Stanley Cup. Everyone got a look and a good laugh at my handywork, as well as the frightening story behind it. I singled handedly (no pun intended) destroyed this girl. Sure I could have left out the gory details but since when have I been one to shy away from giving the full story in its grossest form? This horrifying tale has been kept amongst my friends for the last 7 years but I felt it was only right that I share it with all of you.

It's good to be back.

Date #2

2006-04-06T23:57:00.000-07:00

Last night was date #2 with blog girl, despite her friend's desperate outcry of "Do not go out with that animal!". I'd reveal her identity but for her own safety and piece of mind, we'll call her blog girl from here on out. So after our first date last week, it was time to plan something a little different for the second go round. I decided that a night of roller skating at the Roxy would make for an unusual and fun date #2. Boy was I right.

I picked up blog girl outside her apartment. I was going to keep the destination a secret but I told her the night before in case she had some fear of roller skating or had a bad ankle. Upon our arrival at the Roxy we realized we were both wearing the same sneakers. Normally it would be gay for a guy to be wearing the same sneakers as his date but when they're black Chuck Taylor's, you know both people are guilty of nothing more than having an extremely hip sense of style. After signing my life away on the waiver form at the entrance, it was time to make an ass of myself - something I do very well. While it's a little unsettling to sign a piece of paper that says I cannot hold the Roxy responsible if I break my neck and die after entering this club, it was a small price to pay for what lied behind their doors.

After paying the cover and getting our roller skates, we made our way inside the club. We barely it made 5 feet before getting harassed by a flamboyantly gay man dressed in tight plaid pants, an even tighter t-shirt with a head band and glasses. He asked blog girl if she would take a picture of him with his camera phone as he posed like someone who really enjoys a cum shot in his mouth for dessert. It was a freakish beginning but it was certainly an entertaining start to the evening. We clumsily made our way to the bar as it's been a long time since we both laced them up. A couple of drinks were needed before we got out on the dance floor turned roller rink and embarassed ourselves. I could not help but think to myself that it would be a miracle if I did not leave this place on a stretcher.

The crowd was extremely diversified. You had "normal" people like us. Then there were girls dressed as rollergirls in tight white tees, even tighter shorts, and knee high tube socks. My personal favorite was the 60 year old men dressed like pedophylic phys ed teachers from the 70's with moustaches and more leg hair than a gorilla. You had some of the people from the Central Park roller skating circuit dressed like George Clinton. And of course the homos. They bring more joy and entertainment to the party than anyone. There must be something fun about buttfucking and swallowing another man's semen that we don't know about because they are always so damn happy. Think about it...when was the last time you saw a miserable homo? Maybe getting railed in the ass by another man is the key to eternal happiness. I sure hope not.

So after 2 drinks a piece we decided to make our way onto the rink. While others were twirling and dancing backwards, we were struggling to stay vertical. Despite our slightly shaky start, we quickly got back to our decent roller skating form. We almost made it through the entire night without anyone falling. And then my date took a tumble that I thought was going to end her evening. She nearly cracked her skull on the floor but was somehow laughing immediately afterwards. Once I realized she was ok, I fell to the floor in hysterics. Actually who am I kidding? I was laughing from the moment she began to slip. But I wasn't always one of these people. In fact I grew up despising those who laughed at other people's misfortune. I used to have a friend in my elementary school days that laughed at me everytime I would get hurt. Whether I fell off my bike, nearly got hit by a car on my go-cart, or caught a baseball to the side of the ribs, this piece of shit was always giggling. And he wasn't even a cool tough kid. He was a complete twirp that I used to beat the shit out of with boxing gloves in my living room at least once a week. Everytime a tear stroll down sweet little harmless Colediggy's face this puny prick was always nearby in laughter. And then came America's Funniest Home Videos. While many were shocked that Bob Saget could get even lamer than his role as Danny Tanner, I enjoyed the clips of people getting hurt so much that I was willing to sit through his painfully lame interludes. For some reason seeing a dad get hit in the nuts by his 4 year old kid will always be amusing to me.

So where the hell was I? Ah yes the first fall of the night. Once she took her spill she wanted me to fall. I guess it's only normal that one would take pleasure in seeing me publicly humiliated and seriously harmed all at the same time. Can you really blame her? Well her wish almost did not come true. Before her dream came to fruition, there was one more slight piece of misfortune. We were both coming around a speedy turn with our paths on line to insersect. We slammed into each other head first and hit the ground together. Smooth move Colediggy. After abruptly getting escorted to our feet by the Roxy's roller security before I could see straight, we moved on in bewilderment. I was still slightly dazed after the collision and here I am after several drinks flying around on wheels. Not the safest combo in the world but it was fun. We were ready to make our exit from the Roxy when blog girl requested that I go around the rink one last time by myself. I guess she knew something that I did not because I took a spill at full speed and nearly broke my wrist. Thankfully she didn't even see me fall. Unfortunately for Felch and my other close friends I despise, my wrist is not broken. The deep purple bruise makes it look worse than it actually feels but it's quite a nice memento from an unusually fun evening.

I almost forgot to thank my anonymous reader for their eloquent comment on my previous post regarding date #1 in which he said (assuming it's a he based upon the comment), "So did you plow her in the balloon knot or what?" Needless to say I spent a few minutes of my evening explaining to her what a balloon knot was. I was incredibly surprised to discover that many of my friends did not know what a balloon knot was either. For those of you still wondering a balloon knot is a slang term for asshole. It looks just like it doesn't it? Again many thanks to that reader and please feel free to come forward as your humor was appreciated by many. If it weren't for sick people like yourself and the others that read this blog, there would be no one out there who enjoyed this nonsense.

Caught Off Guard

2006-03-29T16:19:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the lack of posts lately. Over the past two weeks my life has been consumed with busy work days, the NCAA tournament and fantasy baseball preparation. In other words, it hasn't been that exciting. That was until last night.

I was on a first date with a lovely young lady that I met through a friend. We went to Uva on the Upper East Side - a dimly lit romantic wine bar with tasty Italian cuisine. I had met her once before at a party a few weeks ago but this was the first time we were in a one on one situation. The place does not accept reservations so we sat at the bar while we waited for a table. The bartender comes over with the wine list. As you have recently learned in my previous post, I'm not one for wine lists. Nevertheless, I pretended to act like I knew what I was reading and that I was somewhat interested in their wine selection. After a minute or two of perusing through words I didn't understand, I told my date that I wasn't in the mood for wine and that I was sticking to what I knew best - Jack and ginger. So far so good.

About twenty minutes later we were seated by the hostess. Normally I get the worst table in the restaurant (i.e. by the kitchen, bathroom, crowded hallway or drafty doorway that is always open) but thankfully this was not the case this time. Keep in mind that my table location has no signifigance to this story. I was just happy to not be seated 5 feet from where the Mexican bus boys release their fecal matter.

After a couple of drinks, a tasty helping of tomato, mozzarella and roasted peppers, and some interesting conversation about how we're both obsessed with 80's music, she blurts out, "So what's the deal with your blog?" My jaw nearly hit the table. I certainly did not see that one coming. Talk about a sucker punch! "How do you know about that?" I asked. "Let's just say word travels fast," she replied. After several awkward silent moments on my part and attempting to scoop my chin off the table, I could do nothing but laugh in disbelief. It's one thing for the girls who've known me for years to read this but for someone I just met to know my inner most secrets is simply frightening for both parties involved. Once the initial laughter died down, I began to think back on the heinous things I have written on this site over the past 16 months. The fact that she was still sitting across the table was as close to a miracle as you will get. Then came the question "What's with Terri Schiavo?" I didn't even know how to answer that one. How could one in their right mind defend poking fun at a vegetable who relied on a feeding tube for survival and her husband's court battles to end her life? I'm a despicable human being. Again, she was still at the table so maybe I'm doing something right.

The inner reflection continued. I've passed out masturbating only to be discovered by my roommate, I had a little encounter with a girl named Stacey Dunno, I've crapped in my pants more times since the age of 18 than I did as a child (although my streak has reached over 2 years without messing myself), I've professed my love for Billy Ocean on a number of occasions...man I was fucked! And that's only the tip of the iceberg (Anytime I hear the word iceberg- which is not all that often - I can't help but yell out the line from Titanic in that awful British accent, "Iceberg right ahead!" I guess two semesters of smoking pot on my friends' couch and watching that movie all day every day might have had a lasting effect on me). Anyway, so after laughing about my sick and twisted past, she called me out on the wine list incident from earlier in the night. There I was only 2 hours ago attempting to play it off like I had a clue as to what I was looking at when the bartender put the wine list in front of us. Little did I know at the time that she was cracking up inside at my pathetic display of sophistication.

So it's been 24 hours since I've faced my worst nightmare and I would have to say that I'm happy that it's all out in the open. The last relationship I had lasted 4 months and the girl had no clue about my "second" life. A friend of mine was recently telling me that he passed along this blog to his girlfriend. He felt it was a good test to see what kind of woman he was getting involved with. He was extremely pleased to find that she was a big fan and at that moment he knew he had a good woman. Not to say that all the postings on this site are for everyone but if a girl can appreciate a small slice of this taste of hell pie, then she's doing something right.

The Wine Expert

2006-03-20T23:43:00.000-08:00

There are plenty of people in this world that I despise - those who don't properly dispose of their litter, the middle-aged douche bags at my gym that sexually harass every 23 year old and try to strike up conversations with me about how many "chicks" they're getting with, people who react in disgust everytime you fart, Puerto Ricans (just kidding...I think), cab drivers, old men who refuse to trim their nose hairs, drivers who don't use their turn signals, people who wear green on St. Patty's Day and red on Valentine's Day, but there is no one I loathe more than someone who thinks they're a wine expert.

When I go out to dinner with a girl and we order a bottle of wine I don't even attempt to play it off as if I know what I'm talking about. I usually can't pronounce 98% of the wine list and I don't care to learn. Does this make me less sophisticated? Perhaps, but do I really give a shit? To me it all tastes the same, with the exception of Franzia in a box (and that tastes better). Can anyone honestly tell me that they can distinguish between a $30 and $80 bottle of wine? And even if you could (which I believe is impossible), is it worth the extra $50?

I was in a liquor store a few weeks ago when I spotted this stuffy waspy piece of shit diligently shopping throughout the wine racks. I, in the meantime, was looking for the biggest bottle of wine under $20 that would get me loopy before the season debut of American Idol. He was examining the labels as if he was searching for a cure for cancer and making small talk with the store's owner, an elderly man with strangly grey hair and bifocles (exactly the type of guy you'd expect to own this establishment). For some reason it doesn't bother me when some old drunk in a liquor store claims to be a wine expert because he actually has to be for a living.

I was evesdropping in on the conversation between the store's owner and this pompous wine guzzling fool. When the store owner reminded him that he must chill a rouge this was his response:

"Oh don't be silly, I would never forget to chill a rouge." (they both enjoyed one of those hearty douche bag chuckles)

I could see myself letting this slide if the guy enjoyed disco music, leather vests, nipple clasps and chugging other grown men's semen during his spare time but this guy was straight. First off who uses the word "silly?" That's like inviting people to beat the living crap out of you. I laughed aloud with the hopes this guy would say something to me. I'm not one to pick a fight but I wanted to get in it with this ascot-wearing geek. Unfortunately he didn't take my bait.

There are multiple dimensions to a wine expert that extend far beyond the conceited liquor store shopper. We musn't forget the jackass you see at a restaurant swishing the wine around the glass after the waiter pours it so he can soak in the aroma. "Hey you smell that asswipe? That's not the cabernet sauvignon you son of a bitch! I hope you like that zesty aroma of the bean burrito I had for lunch. Why don't you suck that down you fucking lush? You better enjoy those purple teeth while you got 'em cause I'm knocking you and those teeth the fuck out!" Sorry I get extremely agitated at the thought of these people. And then what happens when the almighty wine expert is not pleased with the wine selection? "Are you really going to send it back you obnoxious prick because it doesn't meet your lofty standards?" The entire process in which wine is served at a restaurant is extremely snobbish and uncomfortable. I hate when they expect me to swish it around the glass and force myself to act like one of those assholes. Rather than act serious and pretend like I know what I'm doing, I usually opt for the exaggerated pinky extension with an extra snotty facial expression as I swirl the wine around the glass and take in the aroma prior to tasting it. "Hey Frenchie, next time just leave the fucking bottle on the table and I'll take it from here. Now go back to the kitchen and shove a buttery croissant up your boyfriend's ass."

Another thing that irks me about the wine expert is when he claims it was a great year for merlot or any other type of wine. What the hell does that mean? And how do you know what year is good for what wine? That sounds like an awful amount of time wasted studying wine when you should be trying to force it down some girl's throat so you can get laid. Is there no better way to occupy your free time than studying wine? But while we're on the topic of covertly feeding women wine, one must be careful not to cross the pass out threshold. When serving up wine to an unsuspecting gal you must do so at a steady and controlled pace. Otherwise you'll have a fully-clothed drunk girl snoring in your bed when she should be butt naked with her head bobbing up and down between your thighs. Then again the wine expert wouldn't have time for women because he's too busy chillin his boyfriend's rouge.

If you thought the wine expert was irritating in public, wait until you see him in the comforts of his own home where he can brag to all guests about his lavish wine collection. Before each course is brought out we are given a lesson on the different type of wine that must be eaten with each course of a meal and it's origin. For instance did you know that Pinot Noir is a light red wine, first planted by the Gauls before the Roman invasion. By 150 B.C. there were vineyards in France of this fine grape. The Pinot Noir grape is the main grape used in much of Burgundy. It is used for Red Sancerre wine. Well isn't that fascinating. Please entertain me with more thrilling tales of wine history you pompous fuck! In case you were curious, Pinot Noirs go well with pasta with red sauce, or lighter beef dishes. Also, any local game you might have, or even goose would do well. Okay that's enough. Who the hell has local game anyhow? I love how they get offended if you don't drink the proper wine with each dish. And we cannot forget the tray of dessert wines that must cap off any feast at the wine expert's residence. While I appreciate the tedious lesson with every bottle that is brought to the table, me and my box of wine will go watch football in the living room away from you stiff Republican cock suckers.

Everyone is entitled to their own hobby but time spent learning about wine is a complete waste. It seems as though anyone who prides themself on being a wine expert is a pretentious asshole. They think they're better than others who are less knowledgeable about wine and it shows. I will leave you all with a message to our stereotypical wine expert. "Next time you're giving a little lecture at the table about the chardonnay I just had with my scallops, know that I'm upstairs with 3 fingers up your inebriated daughter's ass and an Alabama black snake in her mouth as she begs for mercy with the little ounce of breath she has left. And if you're lucky I won't save her anal crud underneath my finger nails until the next day so I can show it off to my friends."

Sometimes I forget that women actually read this site and I apologize. Just know that my hatred is not for you but for your stuck up wine expert of a dad.

Best Nickname Ever?

2006-03-14T23:26:00.000-08:00

About 6 weeks ago I compiled a list on this blog of all the nicknames my friends and I had created for many of the girls we have hooked up with over the past ten years. I was reflecting back in the shower this morning about the list and it suddenly dawned on me that I forgot arguably the best one. Her nickname was Scratch 'n Sniff. I met her at a wedding a couple of years ago. Is there anything better than the wedding dance floor romance? You're happy drunk from the neverending open bar and she's hard up for some spicy sausage to throw in the scrambled eggs between her legs. While she's supposed to be happy for her friend she can't help but think that she may never find Mr. Right and will spend the remainder of her days alone and miserable as she gets older and uglier by the second. Throw in the fact that her twilight years will be spent in an old age home with no children to care for her or change her diaper and this girl is absolutely ripe for the taking. And that's when Colediggy swept in.

After several twirling displays on the dance floor with Scratch 'n Sniff and freaking the groom's mother, the wedding was dying down and it was time to head back to the city. Covered in sweat with a disheveled tuxedo jacket draped over my shoulder, I couldn't wait for the car to arrive. One might say that I'm going to hell for smoking a joint outside of the temple while waiting for the car service but my fate in hell was decided long ago. Upon our arrival in Manhattan, a bunch of us went out for drinks at a local bar near my apartment. One drink led to another and yadda yadda yadda, she slept over my apartment despite her claims that she never does that sort of thing. Maybe she was telling the truth because it's as if the girl didn't even know where the penis is located on the man's body.

Although there was no "release, rotation, splash" in my first encounter with Scratch 'n Sniff, I decided to give her a call and ask her out. I knew some of her friends and knew she wasn't the type of girl to give it up all that easily. So we went out to dinner that week and figured perhaps a whole meal of food could loosen that chastity belt. Strike 2. I gave it one more go round the following weekend figuring that the weekend date is when you're supposed to get action. Strike 3. That is unless you define "action" by a girl with bad morning breath touching your penis for 2.5 seconds over your underwear. Please keep in mind that at this point I had no nickname for her. It did not come about until after I cut things off with her when I officially declared that she was allergic to penis.

I was on the phone with Felch when he informed me of a frightening tale that his friend had just told him regarding this girl. He went to college with her and one day was observing her in the library when one of the most disgusting things humanly possible occured. She was quietly studying in the corner. She obviously thought no one was observing her at the time but she was sadly mistaken. The girl then proceeded to reach down the back of her pants and scratch what appeared to be her ass crack. Okay so I'm thinking what's so bad about that? I scratch myself at least 20 times a day (if you include peeling my testicle off the inside of my thigh on a hot summer day). And then the bomb was dropped. After the girl scratched her cornhole, she smelled her fingers. Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww!!! (That's for you, Wanny). Despite being so repulsed by Scratch 'n Sniff that I had 3 fists down my throat in a desperate attempt to make myself vomit, I could not stop laughing. I was so happy that I had another phenomenal name to add to my hook up arsenal. Of course once the laughter died down, I could not help but wonder why I was not informed of this before I went out on a date with her. Had I married Scratch 'n Sniff would I have never known of this story? Would all my friends know about it and laugh behind my back? Of course they would. They would give anything to see something unfortunate happen to me (it kinda makes you wanna sing "That's What Friends Are For" by Dionne Warwick). God I hate those sick fucks. So while Scratch 'n Sniff is no longer, her story of anal sniffing will live on forever.

Oscar The Grouch

2006-03-07T22:59:00.000-08:00

Let me preface this by saying that I absolutely hate awards shows. I don't care what designer Kate Hudson is wearing or what Joan and Melissa Rivers think about. In fact if there were ever another terrorist strike I would hope it would take place at the Academy Awards, just as long as Will Smith and Jamie Foxx weren't there. Nevertheless, many of you expressed your pleasure with last year's Oscar review so I figured I'd give it another shot (click here to read last year's). Hence the only reason I am putting myself through 3 hours of misery is for you, the reader. Actually it's usually close to 4 hours but again I do it all for you.

7:43 - I think spending the past 5 hours at Bounce was a big mistake. I had more white russians in the past 5 hours than I have in the past 5 years. Nevertheless, it was the best day of my life.

7:51 - After devouring a footlong Chipotle steak and cheese sub from Subway, I'm beginning to regret drinking milk with my alcohol all day. I don't feel so fresh.

8:00 - Let's get this over with already.

8:03 - What the hell was that Mel Gibson bit with scantilly clad African children painted white? As if we didn’t realize he hated Jews enough after Passion of the Christ now he has to go playing the role of Hitler? Listen up you Aussie fuck – without Jews you’re nothing but a kangaroo fucking, Outback Steakhouse eating, boomerang chucker. You should have went out on top after Braveheart.

8:07 - Rough start for Jon Stewart. This is almost unwatchable. That Angelina Jolie adoption joke didn't go over as planned. Charlize Theron just gave him a look as if he had tried to look up her skirt.

8:08 – The first crack has been taken at Brokeback Mountain. This is about as predictable as a conversation with my grandmother.

8:10 – Great Jew joke to Steven Spielberg. Way to redeem yourself Jon.

8:11 - Is that Angelina's black baby on Charlize Theron's shoulder? What the hell is that? I take back my comment from last year when I said Charlize looked like a used catcher's mitt. She is absolutely stunning, however, if you've seen her tits on www.mrskin.com they look like oversized Hershey kisses.

8:13 – 2^nd Brokeback Mountain joke. The look back on the classic Hollywood westerns was awesome. Nothing says funny more than gay cowboys.

8:16 – If Nicole Kidman says the word “or” one more time I’m gonna rape that pale whore. God she pisses me off.

8:21 – Did George Clooney just kiss William Hurt on the cheek? That's not going to help the image. I guess we're sticking with the Brokeback theme. Nevertheless, it was an outstanding speech plus he scored points with Jamie Foxx and all black people with the Hattie McDaniel shout out.

8:25 – I cannot believe Tom Hanks’ career has resorted to hair extensions and getting beaten with musical instruments.

8:29 - Quick suggestion to the Academy - when giving out an award to 5 people for the Best Visual Effects or any other award that we don't care about, say the movie name first because no one knows who won after the initial announcement of the names.

8:30 – There is no chance in hell that I am gonna make it through these 3 hours of misery.

8:31 – Best Animated Feature Film? Are you fucking kidding me? This awards show could be 20 minutes long and it would save us all countless hours of boredom.

8:33 – Please don’t let these fags in the ridiculously large bowties give a speech! Damn you Tommy Tutone!

8:34 – Naomi Watts looks like a mummy but I’d stuff her rotten!!

8:35 – Who told Dolly Parton to wear a Joan River’s mask? That is the most horrifying thing I have ever seen! I mean I would still bang her with those fun bags but she is downright scary looking. And please stop crying to Jesus you fucking freak! Dolly is a far cry from the sassy girl I once masturbated to in 9 to 5.

8:38 – Note to all cameramen on this broadcast - Please do not show any more close ups of Felicity Huffman. Her tits look like burnt potato latkes.

8:42 – Did Joaquin Phoenix age 25 years since his last film? I think he might be older than Johnny Cash. I never thought he would overcome that cleft lip to reach Hollywood stardom but he certainly proved me wrong.

8:46 – Someone please shoot me. Anytime you’re presented an award by Chicken Little you should immediately be blackballed from Hollywood. Has anyone else noticed the music in the background while all Oscar winners speak?

8:48 – You could fit a sneaker in Jennifer’s Aniston’s nasal cavity. I never realized the schnaz she had.

8:51 – Nobody plays off the role of "I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think, I hate you and if you ask me for an autograph I'll rape your children" better than Russell Crowe. He looks like he’s going to fight everyone in the room. Fightin round the world!!

8:54 – Finally something to look forward to…Will Ferrell and Steve Carell. I bet you the Academy losers fuck it up somehow. The Oscars suck!

8:59 – Steve Carell is tough to look at with that makeup. He looks like some fat sorority pig I once sucked face with on the fraternity dance floor. Then again so does Will Ferrell.

9:00 – Gotta love how they cut off the fat girl who was begging to talk the entire time. It's your crowning achievement and your fat bald co-workers hogs all the credit.

9:01 – I recently declared Rachel McAdams as the newest member of my prestigious list of the Top 10 Girls I Would Let Dump in My Mouth. After seeing that blond beehive hairdo I think I must reconsider this decision.

9:05 – Frances McDormand definitely has a penis. She should have been cast as the transexual in Transamerica. Then again it's tough to compete with latke tits.

9:07 – Rachel Weisz has one hell of a rack. Pregnant women are so hot! You don't see enough pregnant women in porn. Come to think of it I don't think I've seen any. I could be on to something here.

9:24 - French people with gigantic stuffed penguins should never be allowed on stage at the Oscars again unless they are getting beaten by Russell Crowe.

9:33 - Finally the reunion of Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock that we've all been waiting for since Speed.

9:40 - zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

9:44 - Thankfully I woke up just in time for Salma Hayek. Since when is she a producer/director? Last I checked she was cleaning rooms at the Holiday Inn just a few years ago. Has her English gotten worse since last year's debacle of a presentation with Penelope Cruz? It's pronounced "original" not "oreeeeeginal!" Regardless I'd love to slide my pork pipe between those boobies!

9:58 - How many more times are they going to tell me not to wait for these movies to come out on DVD and go see them in the theater? Listen up you arrogant overpaid jizz rag. If I wanted to pay $10.50 to sit through 45 minutes of commercials and previews and be packed like a sardine into a hot theater with uncomfortable seats to watch to 2 cowboys give each other reach arounds while stradding a horse, I would have.

10:01 - Jessica Alba...nuff said. Although she looked better when she wasn't dying of bulemia. Pack on a few pounds Jess. Either way, she can throw up my semen as long as she turns away from me.

10:04 - Jack Nicholson is definitely banging Keira Knightley. God bless him and his old wrinkly prick.

10:09 - Hey what do you know, another painstakingly long montage about dead actors that I've never seen. Anyone still watching this needs to rethink their entire approach on life.

10:10 - Getting an honorary Oscar is like Little League Baseball when they give trophies to everyone for just participating. You achieved nothing you old bag!

10:19 - Maybe Ludacris was right that you can't judge a song by a title but you can judge it by the gold toofed thugs draped in ice that are performing it. Did someone change the channel to BET? Just watching the look on the old white people in the crowd was well worth tuning into this telecast.

10:22 - You got to love the camera shots of all the black people rejoicing in the crowd as the Three 6 Mafia approached the stage after being announced as the winner for Best Original Song. Meanwhile the white people look on in horror. I love the Oscars!

10:24 - Every dead white Oscar winner must be rolling in their graves after that acceptance speech by Three 6 Mafia. That was easily the funniest moment in Oscar history. These guys definitely had no idea what the Oscars were a few hours ago. Their manager definitely told them they were performing at the Source Awards just so they would show up. Other than them thanking their families 9 times and a special shout out to Jesus, I did not understand a word they said. Do you think Queen Latifah was happy that these thugs won? It's a good thing she didn't show any bias.

10:28 - Man did I want to see Jennifer Garner wipe out in front of millions of viewers. I love watching people trip and fall. You know you do too!

10:31 - When the hell did Pat Morita die? And we lost the ugly guy from the train station in Ghost too? And the producer of Adventures in Babysitting? It's been a bad year.

10:38 - I didn't think black people could get tan but Will Smith certainly proved me wrong.

10:41 - Who on God's earth is Ziyi Zhang? "Film" is not pronounced "fume." Take the wonton out of your mouth and speak some English!

10:48 - Philip Seymour Hoffman has come a long way from the fat slob I saw at Joe's Pizza a year ago wolfing down pizza like it was the last meal before his execution.

10:55 - When did John Travolta start painting his hair on the top of his head? The man is worth millions and spray paint is the best he could do for a toupee?

11:01 - 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.

11:23 - Finally Ryan Phillippe has something to rejoice about as Crash pulls of the upset for Best Picture. Thank goodness those butt cowboys did not win Best Picture. While I enjoyed the movie Crash and it was the only movie nominated that I have seen, I could not tell you what the point was or what the hell the movie was about. I can tell you that watching Matt Dillon finger a black chick while patting her down is pretty hot.

11:24 - Let's wrap this speech up quickly so I can rub one out to Hillary Swank and go to bed.

11:29 - Not a bad job by Jon Stewart. Had they let the Daily Show writers compose his monologues it would have been somewhat watchable but the Academy would have no part of that. Thankfully this three and a half marathon is over. No more suffering for another 364 days. Maybe next year they will actually recognize a movie that I enjoy.

Amendment to the Blazer Theory

2006-03-02T15:38:00.000-08:00

I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone last night. We were discussing the blind date that he will be embarking on this weekend. He's extremely excited as she's a tall lanky gal like himself so he's looking to bring his A game for this towering beauty. When I asked him what he was going to wear on the date, he immediately replied as if he had anticipated the question minutes in advance, "I'm going with a blazer." He figured it was his best look so why not bust it out for the opening ceremonies. I'll tell you exactly why this is not a wise decision.

I recently went on a first date. All week long the debate about what to wear was consuming my every thought. I had every shirt in my arsenal dry cleaned so all options were open. I decided to play it by ear and see how I was feeling on Friday after work. I figured once I went through my usual Friday night routine (shower, powder my testicles, pour a vodka Red Bull and dance around the apartment in my underwear to The Temptations), I'd make the final decision on what spicy duds to wear. There was one thing I knew for certain. I have never gone with a blazer on the first date and for good reason. It's gives the girl nothing to look forward to. It's the equivalent of a girl sleeping with a guy on the first date. The guy has nothing to look forward to on date #2. The desire and respect has instantly vanished. Why take them out to dinner when you can just get drunk and call them at 3:00am for a little game of Hide the Monkey? The same theory applies to the blazer. You'll show up to the girl's apartment looking all snazzy for date #1 but from that point on, there's nowhere to go but down. The next thing you know you're just another schlep in a button down. Your probability for a third date is slim to none.

Now there must be some out there thinking "What if I don't get the second chance as a result of not bringing my best stuff to the first date?" And sure it is a risk but that's when you have to believe in yourself and your charm. I'm more of a fan of the "casual I just threw this together" look than overdoing it on date #1. You don't want to come off like you're a slob but you also don't want to look like you're trying too hard either. As David Justice once said to me after I asked him how he remembered me, "How could I forget you with your beaming personality?" It's your character that should take center stage on the first date. After that you can wow them with your preppy fashion sense.

The decision is all up to you, but it's tough to argue this theory. If you gave a girl a gift would you want her to open the card first or the gift? If she opens the gift first, then she doesn't even bother with the boring overpriced greeting card. Then again if she opens the card first, you could see the excitement as she gets ready to unwrap your gift. Should you choose to save the blazer for a later date, she'll be unwrapping a lot more than your gift.

A Tale of Two Titties

2006-02-26T07:51:00.000-08:00

There once was a girl named Stacey Dunno. Well that's not her real name but you'll find out soon enough why we named her that. Her story is a fascinating one that has been treasured by a group of friends for many years and now is my time to share it.

It was the summer of 2003. My friend Nicole wanted to set me up with one of her friends from work. She passed my initial screen test (big boobs and low self esteem) so I figured I had nothing to lose other than a few ounces of baby gravy. I had met her once before at a party in my apartment so I knew she was fairly attractive with a very nice figure. I can't believe I just used the word "figure." It sounds like something my grandfather would say. What I didn't realize at the time is that I was about to experience one of the more entertaining stories of my life.

A few weeks after meeting Stacey, my friend Nicole called as we were getting ready to go out for a friend's birthday party on the lower east side. She said she was with Stacey and they wanted to meet up. Giddyup! I knew it was on. So there was only one thing to do...keep drinking with my friends until she got there. She arrived sometime shortly after midnight and our party was gathered in the back corner spread out over several couches. Stacey made her way through the crowd and plunked her delicious breasts right down next to me.

A few drinks and several obscene comments later, drunk Stacey was in full swing. She starts talking dirty to me and my friends about all the degrading stuff she is going to let me do to her later in the evening. Keep in mind I have met this girl once before and never touched her. I hadn't felt excitement like that since I found out I got front row tickets to the Coolio concert at FAU auditorium in 11th grade. Just when you thought this drunk slut couldn't get any raunchier, she started talking about me banging her in the ass and then sucking me off. I kid you not. My boner nearly ate a hole through my jeans. My friends were captivated by her vulgar behavior. If there was ever a chance for me to give a girl the omelette, tonight was the night. For those of you not familiar with the omelette, it's when you shoot a load in a girl's ear, fold her ear over and watch it stick. She was the life of the party. And this party was about to end early because I had to get this girl back to the boom boom room.

The lewd thoughts were racing through my mind faster than our drunk Arab cab driver raced up First Avenue. It was time to dust off the old red ball gag and punish this girl the way she craved it. I was racking my brain for any tools or utensils I had around the house that I could use on this filthy whore. I got her back to my apartment and the friskiness began. Some heavy petting turned into the both of us disrobing. I felt like a little gentile on Christmas morning unwrapping my presents. I got her down to her panties and that's when she dropped the bomb on me. We got a bleeder!! You have got to be kidding me! All that foul talk and this bitch is on the rag? So I'm thinking to myself we can work around this. After all that is why god invented the anus. Two holes for the price of one! This girl has an incredibly creative imagination and lord knows what she can come up with. Why not fill her mouth with mayo and let her suck me off? Next thing you know she says "I want you to masturbate on me." Pardon me if I was a little surprised as I had never gotten this request before. When I kindly obliged she said to me "Where do you want to shoot it? On my ass or on my tits?" Aaahhh, I was caught in quite the pickle. I weighed both enticing options and elected to go with the boobies. I figured if I shot it on her ass then it would be harder for her to see when she was cleaning up, therefore I would have to wipe up my mess. So let's go for the titties and let her clean up my sticky pile of love.

I straddled her and rubbed one out as she pleasured her bloody self. It was certainly not my normal hook up but I was expecting something weird from this freak. Naturally I thought it was going to involve leather, whips, spiked necklaces and pickled herring but at this point of the night I had to take what I could get. Within 3 minutes of spray painting her chest with my gooey sex milk, I was asleep. I was shocked I lasted that long before passing out.

The sun began creeping through my blinds on Sunday morning as I awoke next to this big tittied freak. Thankfully she too arose early and began to pack up her belongings and head for the door. By 9:00am she was gone and I enjoyed a few more hours of peaceful sleep. Upon waking up around noon I was greeted with a new voice mail. "Hey, it's Stacey. I just wanted to thank you for a great time last night and wanted to see if you wanted to grab brunch this afternoon. Call me back soon. Bye." Whoa! Is this bitch kidding me? She's thanking me for a great time when all I did was get drunk with my friends, have her meet me at a bar, take her home and rub one out on her chest and then immediately pass out? This girl is crazy! Can you imagine if I actually took her out to dinner? She'd want to be engaged by dessert. I don't know why but I called her back. When I broke her heart by coming up with some lame excuse for not going to brunch she then invited me over to her place for dinner. I believe her exact words were "I'll cook you up something special." If by "cook you up something special" you mean "play with your bloody twat" then no thanks. Despite being caught off guard by the dinner invite, I still managed to come up with another seemingly legitimate excuse. I was in the clear, or so I thought.

A few days later I get an email. They were so entertaining that I saved them so here they are verbatim.

"Hey stranger. Got your email from Nicole. Wanted to see what was up. What are you doing tonight? This weekend? I am free tonight if you want to come over--it would be worth your while! I could cook dinner (and more) for you :) If tonight is no good, how bout Saturday? Let me know!"

At this point I was teetering on the line of panic mode as I had a legitimate stalker on my hands. So I replied to the email with this.

"My friend Marissa is in from San Fran and I am going out with her for drinks, along with a few other friends from high school. I'm not sure how long I will be out for but if I get done early I'll definitely give you a call. As for the weekend, I have another friend from FL coming into town tomorrow. Not sure what the plans are yet but I'll be entertaining him all weekend. I apologize, it's been a busy week/weekend. Are you not going to the Hamptons?

I'm leaving work now. We'll talk later. Hope all is well."

As you can see the excuses to stay away from this nut job are mounting. And then she fired back with this.

"Why is it such a busy week? I thought you build houses. That's not so hard. Wow, you have a lot of friends coming to town. I can thing of a number of fun things we can do as a group! : ) Do you think they'd be into it? If you thought the other night was fun, you haven't seen anything yet! I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I was with this guy last night and he asked me to do a x-rated movie with this guy he knows. Should I do it? I'd do it if you did it with me- he said I could do it with a friend so I'd feel more comfortable. And you definitely proved you were quite the performer! Let me know. I hope you don't think I'm weird since I'm telling you all of this! : ) Anyway, think about it and let me know. I'm going to see the Matrix tonight, so don't call tonight- we'll talk tomorrow, kay?

Love you.

Stace"

Alright I must admit when I read the "love you" portion of the email I went berserk. The next day I got this little gem.

"Hey honey. Whats up? How was last night? I saw the Matrix with my friend Stuart. It was so great!!! The effects were amazing. I didn't really understand the story, but it was enough to see Keanu (I've loved him since The Replacements!) and Carrie-Ann Moss on the screen together. Carrie-Ann wears this hot skin tight leather suit throughout the movie. I have an outfit kind of like it. I wear tight leather pants with an even tighter leather zip up jacket that exposes my belly. And when I don't wear a bra with it, well, you know. My old boyfriend used to make me put the outfit on with 4 inch stilleto high heels and he would dominate me. He would make me be his slave, and tell me to do whatever he wanted. I kind of miss that.

Anyway, I am going to the Hamptons tonight, but I will be back tomorrow and I want to see you! My monthly visitor is gone and we'll have free reign to do whatever you want--use your imagination on that one! So write back and we can talk about plans!!

Love you.

Stace"

At this point I didn't know what to think. I knew this girl was a wackjob but this is bordering on straight jacket nuts. I had to share this with my friends. So I sent the email chain to three of my friends along with this message.

"Alright boys listen up. As you all know, I hooked up with one of Nicole's friends last Saturday night and she was quite the freaky one. She then called me the following Sunday morning to get together and then on Tuesday. I brushed her off each time and then she got my email address from Nicole yesterday. Part of me wants to think this is a prank but I don't even know if this stuff could be made up. Start from the bottom and read your way up.

THIS BITCH IS FUCKING NUTS!"

My friend Scott replied with "All I can say is wow-wee (like Matty). How did you respond to that?"

And then I fired back with "I did not respond yet and I really don't know how to respond. I think I am going to tell her never to contact me again. This can only lead to trouble, and by trouble I mean orgies."

Scott: "You are an idiot if you let this one go. Sure she is insane but insanity can be good sometimes. This is your one opportunity to do everything you've ever wanted to do before you get in your late 20's and it's too late. I say go with it, man. Or if you don't, give her my email."

Colediggy: "No way in hell am I getting involved with this girl. We barely even hooked up and look what is going on. I know my friends want to see me suffer and I totally understand that because I would want the same for you, but this is not worth it. I can get laid elsewhere, and by elsewhere I mean Brazil."

And then my friend Joe chimed in. "I'd stay away. Imagine what she'll be like after you fuck her? She has psycho stalker bitch written all over her. Plus she's annoying, but she does have big tits.

Scott's reply to Joe: "Since when are you one to shy away from controversy, Mr. Pop Pills on a random night with a 31 year old? I think you follow through and use it for what it is worth. If she later gets too crazy then stop talking to her. But I think it'll be worth it. If not tell her to call me. I'll deal with her insanity to do some of those things she told us she likes to do. I'm surprised at you Colediggy. Be a man! Do it for your dad!"

Joe's rebuttal: "Scott, Then you wonder why you're in the situations you're in. It seems you actually enjoy getting the psycho ones. Colediggy, do not talk or make plans with this girl. The only time you should see her is if it's past 3am and she calls cause she wants to fuck. Then treat her like the slut she is, and maybe beat her too."

And that's when the fun ended. My friend Scott and Steve revealed the fact that they were the ones behind these emails the entire time. Obviously my friend Joe had no clue otherwise he would have played along with their scheme. I can't even begin to imagine the joy they both took as I was forwarding them the emails from "Stacey" that they had written. And the best part is the email account was created under the name Stacey Dunno (as in I don't know her last name). While I didn't know her last name, I knew it wasn't Dunno. And while the thought of prank did cross my mind as I stated in my first email to my friends, I still for some reason thought it was true. This girl was that crazy that all of this was believable. I should have seen the signs especially when I read that "she" loved Keanu Reeves since "she" saw him in The Replacements. Who in their right mind would say something like that? Only my sick friends. If you go back and read those emails again they are even funnier. As for Stacey, the budding relationship fizzled as I saw her one other time for lunch and that was it. I recently saw her on the subway platform but immediately walked in the other direction. The tought of throwing myself in front of the 6 train did cross my mind as I was desperate to avoid any awkward conversation with her. She is easily the craziest girl I've ever met and coming from a guy who had 3 girls run crying from his room during a 7 day span in my senior year of college, that's saying a lot. It was a prank for the ages and one I will never forget. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did.

I'm Running With the Shadows of the Night

2006-02-25T08:57:00.000-08:00

There's nothing stranger than dreaming that you met Pat Benatar at a diner, that she autographed your hand with a green Sharpie, and waking up on a Saturday morning to find out that all your dreams did not come true. The first thing I did when my eyes opened was check my hand and much to dismay, I did not meet Pat Benatar. But a brotha can dream can't he?

American Idol - 12 Guys To Go

2006-02-24T00:02:00.000-08:00

Despite the outcries from my homophobic friends to stop blogging about American Idol, I must continue to write about something that gives me great pleasure. I'm not letting narrow-minded ignorant critics who have never given the show a chance dictate what I give to my readers. So while many of you might not give a rat's ass, these are the only posts I can actually show my parents so let the old folks have a little fun. My parents know I have a blog but I refuse to send them the link as I just copy and paste the articles I think they'll enjoy. Coming home drunk last Thursday and sending them "The Truth About Getting Set Up By a Female" wasn't the brightest idea in the world but believe it or not my mother actually enjoyed an article in which I discussed dumping love nectar down some bitch's throat.

While I'm one night off as I was at the Heat/Knicks game last night, it's time to breakdown the performances of the 12 remaining guys.

Patrick Hall - I never liked this guy from day one. While he's got some talent, considering he looks like the homosexual baby of a gay Tom Green and a beanstalk version of Hugh Jackman, he's way too into himself. When they showed Patrick's "friends" during the performance, I could not help but be frightened at the site of these beasts. That old hag had so much collagen in her lip I wanted to pop it and watch the puss ooze out. His choice to sing a song from a tongue flipping dyke wasn't the best decision either.

David Radford - Lose the 60s lounge singer act Dave. Mr. Radford is the tofu of the competition. He's bland and has no flavor despite his meager attempt to rally the crowd as he flailed his arms during the drum solo of Crazy Little Thing Called Love. He sounded like Ross Perot having sex with Darth Vader. In case you couldn't tell that's not a good thing. His days on the show are numbered.

Bucky Covington - Is there an orthodontist in the house? Unfortunately for some of the other contestants as well, Bucky doesn't seem to be the only competitor who chewed on marbles, nails, and concrete as a child. His choice of Skynyrd's "Simple Man" was a good one and suited his talents well. His ending was way out of tune but he was good enough to make it past the first round of cuts.

Will Makar - Bizarro Fred Savage chose a tough song to live up to in "I Want You Back" but he definitely held his own. While he didn't even attempt to hit the high notes of a pre-pubescent Michael Jackson, he gave a very solid performnace. One note for Fusilli Fred...lose the collar over the blazer look. That look was claimed by cheesy Italians a long time ago and we all kindly gave it to them.

Jose "Sway" Penala - I got a phone call from my dad as I was sitting down to watch this episode of American Idol. As I stated earlier I was a day late and my parents had already seen it along with the other 35 million American viewers. My father says to me "Guess which guy I can't stand?" I guessed Sway as I know my father real well and I knew he wouldn't take a liking to this guy. My dad replies to my mom in the background "Ticki guessed it right!" Then he proceeded to tell me "If there was ever a Chinkarican, its that son of a bitch. I hate that fool." Now my dad didn't hate him because of his race but because of his style. The white patent leather dress shoes with the matching fedora were downright offensive. A little word of advice Sway...leave the patent leather shoes for those playing bingo and popping pills in the hopes of getting hard enough to arouse some wrinkly old cooch. In Sway's defense, he sang an incredibly tough song, "Reasons" by Earth, Wind & Fire (one of my all time favorites), and did fairly well with it.

Chris Daughtry - There's not much not to like about this kid other than his 300 lb wife. His performance of "Wanted Dead or Alive" left the audience craving for more. He's got an incredible passionate rock 'n roll sound to him and as Randy "The Dog" Jackson exclaimed "That was hot!" He will be one of the last 2 men standing in this competition and deservedly so. One word of advice from Colediggy...lose the shit stains on the side of your face. That "I just passed out in a used diaper" look might work with that whore Paula Abdul, but you're better than that dog.

Kevin Covais - Despite resembling that little weasel with a slight lisp that you used to pick on in middle school, this kid's boyish charm will get him places in this competition. His got a good voice and excellent poise for a 16 year old. His dad's double chin is actually larger than his son's head and his mom's complexion makes Felch look like George Hamilton. Kevin - as the pride of Levittown keep making us New Yorkers proud.

Gedeon McKinney - Simon hit the nail on the head when he said Gedeon's smile bothered him. It's nice to see the kid happy but I think he has 15 extra teeth. His performance of "Shout" was energetic and featured some solid dance moves, but it wasn't as good as the performance my dad and uncle gave at my Bar Mitzvah after a few too many cocktails. I have a feeling Gedeon read my review of the ladies performance in which I proclaimed that the way to succeed in this competition is to sing a fun song that makes people get up and dance. And no song does that better than "Shout."

Elliott Yamin - At first glance, you wouldn't think this kid could sing a lick. The Abraham Lincoln/lumberjack beard as well as the painstakingly ugly Caesar's hair cut doesn't exactly exude musical superstar but this kid has got it. Simon said he was potentially the best male vocalist they have had on the show in 5 seasons. To gain praise of that magnitude from that pompous crumpet eating prick is a tremendous accomplishment in itself. As well as Bucky, Elliott too needs severe dental work but he's got just as good a shot to win this competition as anyone.

Bobby Bennett - As one of only 2 contestants over the 300 lb plateau, the cards were stacked against Bobby. Throw in the fact that he's proof that only black guys can rock moustaches and poor Bobby didn't stand a chance. While his passion for entertaining is invigorating, he doesn't have what it takes to be the next American Idol. This jolly Mexican giant should be proud enough just to make it this far.

Ace Young - Here's another one who thinks way too much of himself. I think he'll get far because he's considered the heart throb of the competition but his performance of George Michael's "Father Figure" was lifeless. Even Paula's Poodle Pound was falling asleep. If I have to hear Paula ogle over this douche bag's cock one more time, I'm gonna cut myself with a rusty steak knife. The kid has some good talent and should go far but he won't win it.

Taylor Hicks - Just the name brings a smile to my face. He could be the most likeable character in the history of American television. Sure he dances like Elaine from Seinfeld with his knees buckling and arms waving awkwardly. And yes at some points of his performance on Wednesday night he looked like a hooker unwillingly bending over to take it in the rear from a fat hairy guy with a shriveled cock. But this guy's love for music and passion for life radiate through his personality. He is hands down America's favorite competitor and has an excellent shot to win it all. I'm rooting for him to win more than I would root for the Mets to win the World Series. He makes himself more likeable and America more proud with every performance. The future is bright for our dear Taylor. Go get em dog!

Seeing as I'm catching up with 2 Idol episodes tonight, it's time we get right to the eliminations. Two guys and two girls got the cut on Thursday night and I must say I was shocked. While Becky O'Donohue didn't have the talent to go too far, I thought for sure her looks would get her at least past the first round. Unfortunately they did not. I am still stunned. Thankfully for both her and her sister, they will undoubted have successful careers as models. As for the second female given the boot, it was Stevie Scott as I predicted. Sorry to say but you won't be missed Stevie.

There wasn't much of a surprise on the guy's side. Despite his heartwarming tale of singing Copacabana for his deceased grandmother, Bobby Bennett was shown the door, albeit an extremely wide one. But big ups for shaving the moustache. As for the other guy to get axed, there was no shock when Patrick Hall got it. He's got musical talent but not enough to get passed the first round of cuts.

Another week of Colediggy's Idol review down, and plenty more to go. For my friends who hate all the Idol talk, suck it. Give the show a chance. And a special shout out to my boy Steve Pugliese for staying tuned to the show. As he said in an email to me today..."Don't forget American Idol voting results tonight at 8pm (erase this ASAP!)" Stevie boy, stay proud of the American Idol that lies in all our hearts. Colediggy out!

A Bet With The Devil

2006-02-23T15:50:00.000-08:00

I know this is going to sound sick to most of you but I'm well beyond the point of worrying what people think about me. About 5 years ago I made a bet with one of my best friends. His name is Felch. He's been mentioned on this blog several times since it's inception. You could say we thrive on each other's misery. I could still see the glow on his face the day we were walking to work together and I shit in my pants (click here for the whole story). And the piece of shit was giggling like a school girl when he heard the tale of me losing my wallet (click here for that one). God I hate that fucker. Then again I'm certainly no angel. I tell him on a daily basis that I'm going to rape his first born daughter, Henrietta (his middle name is Howard so I named her after him). Granted he doesn't have a daughter yet but I went so far as to draw a picture of me deflowering her. Check out the ass on her!! I could go on further about how he wishes my first born is retarded or how I hope he gets hit by a bus but we'd be here all day if I disclosed every horrible thing we've said to each other over the past 10 years.

So now that you have an idea of how sick and twisted our friendship can be, you must be curious as to what is this deplorable bet that I speak of. Well it's pretty simple. Whoever dies first loses.

Felch and I attended the University of Michigan together and pledged the same fraternity. I didn't know much of this pale kid from Long Island but I knew there was a good chance I'd be standing next to him blindfolded while an insignificant pee-on frat brother squirted Gulden's mustard up my nostrils. True story. I still to this day have never forgiven that piece of shit and I look forward to the day when I can whip out my 9 inches of manliness and urinate on his grave. Anyhow, it was a beautiful summer night in Ann Arbor as Felchy and I were strolling home from a fraternity party. It was the first time we had hung out together and if there was any indication that our friendship was doomed from the start, it was evident in the events that followed. We were about 100 yards away from our dorm when a car drove past us on the street. It was the same car that one of our pledge brothers drove (1986 rusted out light blue Nissan death trap) so I assumed it was him. I proceeded to head from the sidewalk towards the street. I flicked off the car and screamed "Fuck you" thinking that it was my friend. Pardon me if my judgment was slightly off after chugging half a can of Meister Brau with a cigarette butt in it. Turns out the car was filled with 4 black thugs. Oops. They slammed on the breaks and hooked a u-turn. Felchy and I looked at each other in disbelief and took off running. It's amazing what the human body is capable of given a life threatening instance. We probably both broke the 100 yard dash record as we made it back to our dorm in what seemed like 7 seconds. We snuck in through the back entrance, hid in my room with the lights out (I was on the ground floor) and ordered a pineapple pizza. Had Felchy known then the years of abuse that would result from his friendship with me, he would have transferred to Wyoming. At least the pale freak would have fit in with those other pieces of white bread. But thankfully my pigment-challenged friend had no foresight and I'm still reaping the benefits of that today.

As I stated earlier, about 5 years ago Felch and I made this bet with the devil. It started out at a $100. Everytime we would get slap happy on vodka Red Bulls we would raise the bet for no apparent reason. The bet is currently at $6,000 and it is raised $1,000 every year (actually $500 for each of our birthdays). We are constantly fighting over who is going to die first. Our friends are torn as well. Below I will make the case for each of us.

The Case For Felch

He leads an overall healthy lifestyle. He works out regularly, has never smoked a cigarette in his life (DORK! - I'm not counting the 3 puffs he took of a cigarette at Phat Tuesday's in Cancun which caused him to cough violently for 20 minutes), didn't try pot until his senior year of college (FAG!) and he could count the number of times he smokes in a year on one hand (HOMO!). Other than marijuana he's never tried another recreational drug (IS THIS QUEER KIDDING ME?). We once thought about tricking him into eating a pot brownie and watching him trip his face off right before we saw Elf but for some reason, I suddenly got a conscience and let my friend talk me out of it. I still regret it to this day.

His current girlfriend is a doctor, and she's studying to be a cancer surgeon. With the power of medicine on his side, his pathetic existence may be prolonged. God I hope she dumps his ass for a black guy with a huge dong. Let's pray for the worst.

The Case Against Felch

His lack of pigment results in abnormal red blotches on his body when he's exposed to the sun for too long. And by "too long" I mean ten minutes. Como se dice skin cancer?

He falls asleep wherever we go...behavior that is normal if you're 85 years old. In fact, he might have that same disease that Robin Williams had in Jack where he ages 4 years for every 1. At that rate he should be dead in no time.

He's unlucky whenever he is around me. I have to believe that the good man up above is really rooting for me in this one. Felch dropped Shaun Alexander 5 years ago in our fantasy football keeper league the week before Ricky Watters went down. I picked him up off the waiver wire the next week and have since won 3 fantasy football titles as a result of his blunder. And believe me when I tell you I remind him of this on a daily basis. I'm not really sure what his lack of fantasy football talent has to do with dying young, but it's the point that God is on my side.

He's also the worst driver in the history of moving vehicles. Granted he's gotten off easy since college because he has barely driven since he moved to Manhattan, but when that day comes when he's driving again, he's on borrowed time. Whenever he drove to class in college we would fight to sit in the back seat because no one wanted to be the crash test dummy riding shotgun. Quick story (or 3)...We were driving back from class once with another friend of ours. He backed out of the spot he was parallel parked in and hit the car behind him. The alarm went off sending Felch into panic mode. He immediately put the car in drive and gassed it. He smashed into the car in front of him. My friend and I were frantically fastening our seat belts as the race towards death continued. After the 2 minute ride back to the fraternity house, it was time to sit back and enjoy the Felchy parallel parking show. I was laughing so hard I had to wipe away the tears to see this parking display. As he's backing into the spot he hits the car behind him, which coincidentally happened to be my friend's car who was riding in the back seat. A 2 minute ride resulted in 3 fender benders. And then there was the case when his car broke down on July 4th just outside the Midtown Tunnel. That's okay though because no one is on the east side of Manhattan for the fireworks on July 4th! The traffic melee that ensued as a result of this putz was beyond belief. And how could I forgot the day he drove in a blizzard during halftime of the Jets playoff game to pick up lunch. He got a flat tire on his 4 block drive. Upon realizing something was wrong he said to my friend Stemp, "I think we're dragging something!" Stemp knew the tire was shot but didn't want to miss a moment of the game so he told him everything was fine. What a pal. Once I got wind that Felch was stranded in the blizzard I immediately ran out of the house in my pajamas with video camera in hand. I got to his car as my friends sat inside in hysterics while Felch walked to the nearest payphone. I can still see the look on his face when he returned to his beat up Acura to find me sitting in the back seat videotaping him. As he approached amidst the snow storm he was so cold his shoulders were perched above his ears and he flicked me off with that bitter look of defeat on his face. Through of all his dark moments, I'm always waiting on the other side with a smile. And I won't even go into length about the fact that he can't see 3 feet in front of him without squinting. To think this kid's parents let him drive from New York to Michigan on a yearly basis. They must have a side bet with the devil on this one.

The Case For Colediggy

Like I said, the good lord is on my side, as are genetics. My grandparents look light years younger than their counterparts and with God's blessing are currently healthy as they approach their nineties. Speaking of the lord watching over me, Felch and I were once walking to the movies a few years ago with a few friends. We were poking fun of each other as we approached the Kips Bay theater. He blurts out in frustration "You know Colediggy, ever since the day I met you my life has turned to complete shit!" I swear on everything that is holy and my Dave Couliet scrap book that as he said "my life has turned to complete shit" he stepped in a heaping pile of dog crap. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. The look of defeat on his face said it all. That has to rank as one of the top ten moments of my life. If that isn't a sign from God I don't know what is.

I too work out on a regular basis and have been for 3 years. And ever since Felch got this doctor girlfriend I've begun to take better care of my body in an effort to show him I mean business. I haven't had a cigarette since New Year's, I'm down to smoking pot once or twice a week, and I'm eating much healthier as I've discovered the wonderful world of egg whites. I even had low fat ice cream at Carvel today. Granted they were out of the regular chocolate so my options were low fat chocolate or regular vanilla and I'd rather die than eat that pale gentile nectar. As a result of my new found health kick, my metabolism has sped up more than a drunk Billy Joel. I am back to my 3 dumps a day like I was in college. I've haven't felt this good since I jerked off at the urinal next to George Michael.

Felch has never beaten me in anything in life. We made a bet two years ago on the Yankees/Red Sox ALCS. With the Yankess up 3-0 and the curse of the Bambino going against the Sox, Felch was rubbing it in my face as he prematurely declared victory. Most would have agreed with Felch until they learned that Felch bet the other way against me. The Red Sox went on to mount the greatest comeback in sports history at the expense of my pale counterpart. The curse of the Felchino will haunt the Yankees forever. At some point you really have to believe in this fate crap.

The Case Against Colediggy

Prior to my new found health kick, let's face it, I treated my body like a hooker's labia. Nothing can erase the years of bong resin caked up in my lungs as well as the assorted horse tranquilizers I used to snort, swallow and smoke during my senior year of college. It's no secret I've been known to toss back a few cold ones every now and again as well. Consequently, I've passed out at the wheel twice (although that was in my late teens) and I'm guessing that nitrous tank I had during my junior year of college didn't prolong my existence either. Thankfully I no longer eat at the local deli near my office in which every single sandwich has bacon and onion rings on it, but I did frequent it often in my first few months there. And then there are Egg McMuffins. If fat girls have chocolate to cuddle up to, then I have Egg McMuffins. Nothing cures a hang over for me more than 2 of those heavenly microwaveable egg patties topped with the skin of the inside of a pigs anus and semi-melted cold American cheese. When you consider that I've probably eaten over 2,000 of those heart-stopping breakfast delicacies in my life, all the egg whites in the world won't do shit for my battered insides. You could argue that it could be a photo finish in the race between my liver, lungs and heart to see which one goes first.

I've also thrown my meat around as if it were a hot potato. Granted I've wrapped it 99% of the time (blatant lie although it's defnitely over 80%) but there is that element of surprise. So you're telling me that monthly green penal discharge is not the male version of menstruation? Oh shit!

So there you have the case for both sides of the argument. While most of our friends enjoy the bitter rivalry involved with this bet, others look away in disgust when hearing about it for the first time. I can imagine most people react in shock when they hear Felch wish testicular cancer upon me - a blow that I feel is below the belt. Then again when I tell him I'm going to tie him to a beach chair on a hot summer day until he gets skin cancer I can't imagine others think that is acceptable behavior either. And then there are the moments when we giggle at the thought of each other's funeral. I always tell him I'm gonna drop a deuce on his tombstone as his mother sobs uncontrollably in the background. Sure it's sick but if we're having fun with it, then why shouldn't those around us?

Felch and I joke about our retirement years. Speaking of retirement, just the thought of having a buxom Swedish nurse change my diapers and wipe the drool from my chin has got me all hot and bothered. I think I would purposely poo myself just to watch her bend over and wipe me. Anyway, we constantly laugh about spending our latter years in an old age home wrestling with each other in wheelchairs as we attempt to pull the plug on the other. Truthfully I don't think it will ever get to that point because if the stakes continue to climb at a rapid pace, I'm going to pay someone to kill him. And if not, then I'm sure fate will lend me a hand in making sure he doesn't live to see Henrietta grow up and prosper. Despite the odds stacked against my pale friend, like almost every other bet I've ever placed, I have a feeling this one could come down to the wire. Only time and the good lord will tell.

American Idol - 12 Females To Go

2006-02-21T23:31:00.000-08:00

Another 2 hours of American Idol and the show is really starting to pick up momentum. Before I give the reviews of each female contestants' performance tonight, here are a few of my random thoughts regarding tonight's show:

The wardrobe director who let Seacrest wear a picnic table cloth under his blazer should be blackballed from Hollywood immediately.

If you make it down to the final 24 contestants, the key to success is to sing a fun song that the crowd will get up and dance to. With the entire crowd clapping, it'll drown out any weaknesses in your voice. Granted I'm no expert on singing as my experience doesn't extend pass the occasional drunk Lionel Richie karaoke performance, but trust me on this one.

Every girl over the age of 17 in the competition is taller than Seacrest. That's cute.

Randy's '06 version of the Dog Pound could be the gayest idea in the history of network television. The Arsenio "woof woof" fist pump hasn't been popular in over ten years but please tell the cameraman to keep up the shots of Taylor Hicks barking and gyrating like an epileptic ape.

I'm not sure why I like Randy Jackson so much that it doesn't even bother me in the slightest bit when he refers to himself in the third person as "The Dog."

While I've often criticized Seacrest as a no-talent weasel, I must admit I was wrong. His impromptu witty one liners add a nice comedic touch to the show.

And now it's time to breakdown the remaining 12 female contestants.

Mandisa - Donkey butt or not, this girl can flat out sing. She started off the show with a bang with her energetic performance of Heart's "Never." And I'm guessing the next time she sits down we'll hear an even bigger bang. In all seriousness, this girl's got soul and she should do well in this competition. I'm certainly rooting for her.

Kellie Pickler - It's no surprise this backwards country hick chose to sing Martina McBride. However, her Southern trailer charm has made her America's sweetheart in this competition. If I had known rednecks could be this hot, I would have certainly pursued a career as a NASCAR driver. Her overall performance was very good and I expect to see her for several weeks to come.

Becky O'Donohue - She's got the looks to go all the way, but her voice is nowhere near the top. It's almost as if she sang "Because the Night" while chugging saw dust and milk. I expect many to vote for Becky based upon her beauty, but I would prefer to see the best talent advance. And while she's got the talent that most men would love to slam their ham to, she does not stand a chance in winning this competition. Oh what I would give for a night alone with her and her sister and a case of Mad Dog.

Ayla Brown - She's about as hot as a tomboy comes. There's something about this girl that irritates me. Despite her attempt to win over the sympathy vote when she told America how she was ridiculed when playing for the boy's football team, she's not getting any sympathy from me. She seems like one of those annoying people who had everything in life come easily to them. But in her defense, I too would cum easily in her presence. Her performance was above average and while she may willing to work on getting better, her talent will only take her so far.

Paris Bennett - She's definitely considered the favorite amongst the female competitors. Her cute pudgy cheeks, illuminating smile and sassy stage presence will make her extremely tough to beat. I thought her rendition of "Midnight Train to Georgia" was the best performance of the night. And while this act was quite memorable, it's Taylor Hicks leading the Dog Pound cheers that I will always remember from this performance.

Stevie Scott - How did this pale Gothic-looking freak make it this far? She looks like someone deflated Rose McGowan and sounds like Roseanne Barr on helium. Her performance sucked and she doesn't have a prayer of making it to next week. I think Simon summed it up beautifully when he said "It was like being at some horrible Sunday lunch and a child getting up to sing out of tune. For me it was a complete and utter mess."

Brenna Gethers - Enough blabbing about your broke ass mom and your unfortunate upbringing. While this whore would certainly by a real hoot in the sack, she doesn't have the talent to go the distance in this competition. When you sing "The Sunshine of My Life" and your voice is deeper than Stevie Wonder's, you know there is something wrong. The only reason she got this far is because of her hoochie mama attitude that has been making for great television since it was popularized on the Jerry Springer Show. I say send the obnoxious skank back to Mt. Vernon where she can spend the rest of her arrogant existence getting pistol whipped by 10 inch black cock.

Heather Cox - While she might have the best body in the competition, with a voice like a horse, she's on borrowed time. Her performance was uninspiring and if it weren't for her gorgeous DD breasts, I would have fallen asleep. Assuming I'm correct and she doesn't become the next American Idol, she would definitely sing a great happy birthday as a TGI Friday's waitress.

Melissa McGhee - Who the hell is this girl and when did she join the cast of the show? And this orangutan used to partake in beauty competitions? I'm beginning to notice an abnormally large breast theme throughout many of the contestants and I like it! Melissa looks like every other big bootied beast that I sucked face with at fraternity parties in college. While I dont agree with Paula's rave reviews of her, I thought she did well enough to advance to the next round.

Lisa Tucker - She's been my favorite girl since I first laid eyes on her at the Denver auditions. She is just as talented as Paris Bennett but she's a hell of a lot better looking. She looks like the type of black girl my grandparents would actually let me date. Then again she is 16 so I'll have to wait two years. Her adorable smile is infectious. This girl has got what it takes to be a major star. Her performance and the judges review gave me the chills.

Kinnik Sky - You could show a drive-in movie on her forehead. After seeing her pre-performance interview, I like her spirit. Did I just say I like her spirit? Who the hell am I? While she gives off a pleasant vibe, that didn't carry over to her performance. As Randy said about himself regarding Ms. Sky, "The dog didn't get it." While I don't anticipate on her winning anything in this competition, she is easily the runaway winner of the American Idol Mandible of the Year Award.

Katharine McPhee - As my dad said to me when he first saw Katharine, "Ticki that's the type of babe you need to start banging." I've always enjoyed a little junk in the trunk and my sweet little Tits McPhee has the banging boobies to match. I can't help but pretend that my penis is her microphone. She has one of the best voices in the competition but her dance moves make Taylor Hicks look like the winner of Dancing With the Stars.

Well there you have the scoop on the twelve remaining female contestants. Tonight didn't reveal any surprises when it comes to the top contestants as the favorites clearly outshined the underdogs. I predict that Stevie Scott and Heather Cox will be the two eliminated in this round. While I'd like to say Brenna Gethers would be voted off before Heather Cox based upon the disparity in looks and class, Gethers' trashy persona made her that much more memorable than Cox. It should be a close call. Stay tuned for more.

Lessons Learned

2006-02-17T21:00:00.000-08:00

What started off as an ordinary Thursday night turned out to be a valuable one as I learned a few lessons last night that I won't soon forget.

Lesson #1 - I have no idea why I am friends with the people I'm friendly with. All we do is rip on each other when we're sober and wrestle outside of bars when we're drunk. Actually it's pretty damn fun.

Lesson #2 - It's time we stop going with the No Dinner Nancy approach when going out for the evening. Don't ask me why we call the refusal of the final meal of the day No Dinner Nancy but it's something I came up with many years ago and has just stuck. Anytime you drink on an empty stomach disasterous things happen (technically I did have 3 baby carrots and a handful of snow peas before I left my apartment). While I have certainly cut back on my No Dinner Nancy nights out on the town, Thursday seems to be a good fit to get plastered on an empty stomach because I usually go out on the earlier side.

Lesson #3 - A true playa never takes a night off regardless of the circumstances. I'm still kicking myself after my friend Steven and I geeked it with the ladies last night. When a girl comes over to you and says my cute single friends have been asking about you two guys and all you do is sit in the corner and play video strip poker in the hopes you'll beat the house and get to see some girl naked on an 8" computer screen, you have issues. There are those times when you just don't feel like engaging in meaningless conversation with a shallow airhead from Long Island but sometimes you gotta suck it up in order to get some. Thankfully I have tonight to redeem myself.

Lesson #4 - Sharing my slice of pizza with 2 black thugs with gold teeth and then inviting them into the bar for a drink and a hearty helping of white Jewish women is not the brightest idea. Thankfully they declined my offer.

Lesson #5 - Going to bed after binge drinking on an empty stomach without drinking a few glasses of water is a sure fire way to wake up at 7:00am with the worst cotton mouth ever. If you want to save money on an alarm clock do this every night and your mouth will be so uncomfortably dry it's physically impossible to sleep past 7:00.

Alright that's all for now. Time to get back to drinking vodka red bulls and watching Double Dare on Nickelodeon with my friends.

American Idol - My Favorite Valentine

2006-02-17T07:32:00.000-08:00

Most people would be depressed to spend their Valentine's Day sitting on the couch with their sister and her friend drinking red wine and watching American Idol. But for me, I could not have asked for a better way to spend my Tuesday evening. Call me crazy but spending $200 on a crappy price fixed meal that some skank will regurgitate all over the women's bathroom, as well as $75 on flowers for a girl that I won't be speaking to in 3 weeks is not my idea of a good time.

I have poked fun of American Idol for many years but always enjoyed the first few episodes in which they make fun of the less fortunate. Thanks to DVR and an entire family who is obsessed with the show, I have not missed a moment of season 5 of American Idol and I don't intend to. The misconception amongst guys is that the show is gay. Well if watching beautiful girls in tight jeans shake their ass and delusional rejects pick fights with a homosexual wanker is considered gay, then shove an 18 inch French tickler up my ass immediately. The show is an emotional roller coaster (click here for the highlights of season 5 thus far). From the uncontrollable laughter provided by Flawless (as seen on your left), to the heartwarming tale of the gorgeous Kellie Pickler, this show has something for everyone.

In the coming weeks I will break down the contestants but for now, I'm pulling for Taylor Hicks. The grey haired Southern boy has touched the hearts of America and I think I speak for everyone when I say we're pulling for him. Despite the fact that he dances like a retarded paraplegic with a vibrator in his rectum, he's got my vote all the way (and yes I will be voting this year). Other favorites include Paris Bennett, the 16 year old sensation Lisa Tucker (a cute mini Whitney Houston prior to pain killers, coke and an abusive potbellied crackhead husband), and the ever so dreamy Ace Young. And how could I forgot the most beautiful girl in the competition, Becky O'Donohue (as seen above - still think the show is gay?). She's gotten this far solely on her looks and thankfully for this world there are 2 of her as she has an identical twin. Her sister could not try out because she had emergency surgery for a cyst that exploded on her vocal cord. God if that's not hot I don't know what is. And then there's Will Makar. That cute boy next door/I'm Fred Savage's identical twin look is sure to win over the votes of the pre-pubescent girls in middle America. Look at the pictures. They are identical! While I could ramble on and on about the contestants, I'll cut it short for now as there will be plenty to discuss in the coming weeks.

The fifth season of American Idol debuted on January 17th to 35.5 million viewers. It is the highest ratings ever for entertainment programming on Fox, as well as the highest opening night numbers yet for the show. All the haters out there can talk smack about the show but it's on top of the television world and will be for a while. There is much more Idol talk to come and stay tuned to find out who will be the next American Idol. Colediggy out!

The Blazer: Business Up Top, Party Down Below

2006-02-13T11:07:00.000-08:00

The blazer has become somewhat of a fashion phenomenon over the past few years. Prior to that it was the short sleeve t-shirt over the long sleeve t-shirt, then the sweater worn over the button down, which was preceded by the untucked button down. As guys our choices are fairly limited when it comes to nightly attire. And while all four fashions remain quite popular today, there's nothing that screams out to women "I won't take advantage of you, I truly care about your feelings, and I'm willing to wait for sex as long as you need" more than a blazer. That is assuming you follow Colediggy's Guide to Proper Blazer Attire. There is a fine line between portraying the role of douche bag and sex muffin to the ladies. If you follow my rules below you'll be sure to portray the latter.

Rule #1
When purchasing your first blazer, it's imperative that you choose a neutral color. Black, gray or navy with a subtle pinstripe is an excellent choice. They offer plenty of versatility and tell the ladies that you mean business. Buying some trendy blazer with a frayed lapel that looks like a dog ate it only conveys the message to women that you enjoy shooting heroin with illegal Mexican border hoppers at underground raves in Spanish Harlem. That's not exactly the look you should be going for.

Rule #2
When wearing a blazer your best option for the shirt underneath is a sharply pressed button down. If you elect to keep the shirt untucked, then you should probably wear sneakers. If the shirt is tucked in and you're going for that Steve Sanders look, then shoes are the way to go.

Rule #3
This one should be obvious but don't ever wear a turtle neck beneath a blazer. Unless your sipping egg nog around a roasting fire discussing the importance of the game of polo on today's youth with your gentile in-laws, avoid this look at all costs.

Rule #4
Although a t-shirt under a blazer can provide that "I'm intelligent, sophisticated, yet I have a mysterious bad boy side to me" look, you must tread carefully here. Avoid any pastel or feminine colored t-shirts as the Miami Vice jokes will get old real quickly. It's very important to maintain a consistent color scheme between the blazer and t-shirt. For example, wearing a brown and black tweed blazer with a red and blue ripped Chicago Cubs ringer tee is fashion suicide. The simpler the design and colors, the better.

Rule #5
A blazer should not be worn between Memorial and Labor Day. Take yourself a well deserved break and drape your body in all the linen you can handle.

Rule #6
While I'm not a huge fan of the hooded sweatshirt worn underneath a blazer, it has become quite popular amongst the youngsters who are going for that Ben Affleck from Dogma look. If you're gonna pull this off, make sure your hooded sweatshirt is a zip up and that it's a darker color (gray, black, navy, etc.). And be prepared to sweat more than a black guy at a police lineup.

Rule #7
Always wear a blazer with jeans. Sure plenty of people wear them with khakis but unless you want to look like Sac from Wedding Crashers, jeans are the way to go.

Rule #8
Avoid blazers in dive bars. Sweating to death at Brother Jimmy's while meat heads and drunk overweight sorority cum dumpsters spill warm Pabst Blue all over your new blazer is a waste of a snazzy outfit.

Rule #9
Once you've purchased your second blazer, there is no turning back. You are fully entrenched in the blazer scene and must accept the responsibility that comes with it. The only way to remove yourself from the scene is to move to Arkansas under the federal witness protection program and start a new life away from all your loved ones.

A friend of mine recently got back on the singles scene. One of his first maneuvers as a single man was to put the blazer theory to the test. Of course his first night out with a blazer drew quite the raucous reaction from the crowd. Keep in mind he was "that guy" that always had a snappy remark everytime I wore a blazer so he knew it was coming to him. "Yoooooo, look at this guy! This guy goes out in blazers! Look at Johnny Blaze over here! This guy plays for the Portland Trail Blazers! Hey, is that Walt Clyde Blazer?" The comments never get old no matter how many thousands of times we repeat them.

I would say you have to wear a blazer at least 3 times before the snide comments from your friends begin to subside. You'll always get them as long as you live, but once your non-blazer friends accept your new lifestyle choice, they'll realize that poking fun of you is a lost cause. And then one day your douche bag friend that made fun of you everytime you wore one will show up to a party wearing a blazer. He knows going into the evening that the hell that will ensue as a result of his blazer might be unbearable at times but all rookies must take their lumps along the way to stardom.

I was having a conversation with my newly-single friend about the mystique of the blazer. He was dumbfounded by his recent success as a result of this magical garment. His exact quote was..."It screams (to the women anyway): 'Maturity, candlelit dinners, sophistication, museums, neat apartment and general unsloppiness' - in other words, it's a great scam." And I could not agree with him more. He's found great success with his new lifestyle choice and is living proof of the overnight success that you can be capable of. Remember, business up top and party down below.

Assuming you are brave enough to take the plunge into preppyville, be sure to follow the guidelines above. The toughest part is the inital purchase as well as the abuse that comes with it. But once you pass that hump and start enjoying the fruitions of your new fashion sense, you'll never look back. Super models will throw themselves at your feet and frantically beg to orally please you. Women will approach you at bars and offer to buy you a drink. Gorgeous foreign exchange students with DD breasts will take you into the women's bathroom at Roy Roger's and violate you with a strap on (if you like that sort of thing). Midgets will plead with you to poke fun of them and toss them. Nuns will wrap their black robes around their neck and break that vow of celibacy. The world will be at your mercy. Now get out there and give it a shot. Victory is mine!

The Worst Day of the Year

2006-02-06T09:50:00.000-08:00

Most Mondays suck but the one after the Super Bowl is usually the worst day of the year for many reasons. First off, it's the end of the football season. Sure we have the Pro Bowl next weekend but that's about as exciting as sex with a mute cripple. Secondly, starting off the week miserably hung over and disgustingly full makes genital warts look appealling. Thirdly, waking up at 2:00am and not being able to go back to bed because there is so much food in your stomach you can't even lie down is just about the worst thing imaginable. And last but not least, after my 7 minute walk to the subway station this morning, I realized I had left my money and metro card on my dresser. So now that you know the misery that ensued post Super Bowl it's time to back track to how it all started.

I arrived at my friend Salis' place at 2:00pm. My friend Jared and I had arrived early to play some college hoops on PlayStation, get the best seats in the house and get a head start on the boozing. Big mistake. After devouring a bagel, the peer pressure already began for me to start drinking. And who was pressuring me the most? Salis' wife, Nicole. Nothing like getting hazed to drink by a girl. It's like the biggest wuss in school challenging you to a fight. Of course you're gonna do it. Not that my friend's wife is a wuss, but you get my point. So she fixed me my first Jack and Cherry Coke of the day. It was so strong after every sip I cringed in disgust. Who's the wuss now? Nevertheless, I plowed through it and kept the momentum going.

The crowd began to gather around 4:30pm which is when the food started rolling in. Over the course of the game I ate and drank the following in no particular order: mac and cheese, baked ziti, cocktail weiners, shrimp, knishes, spinach pie, chicken fingers, too much Jack and Cherry Coke to count, 3 glasses of white wine, a few shots of Patron, ice cream cake, cookies, and Doritos. What is it about major events/gatherings that we feel the need to stuff ourselves until we can no longer breathe? And I love how we justify it by saying "Oh it's the Super Bowl. I'm allowed to eat until I fall into a deep coma for 3 months." It's expected behavior to treat your body like an amusement park which is why the Monday after the Super Bowl should be a national holiday. 90% of the people roaming the streets this morning begging for a cup of coffee, an adult diaper and their own bed are cursing the ground they walk on for being forced to go to work. No one can be productive given what their body has just been through so why not give everyone the day off?

And then there's the gambling aspect of Super Bowl Sunday. I promised myself I would not place one bet over the course of the NFL season, and while I stayed true to that promise, one cannot resist the temptation of the Super Bowl box pools. I get the worst goddamn numbers every single year that I don't even stand a chance before kickoff. However, this year I was lucky enough to draw Steelers 1 and Seahawks 3. With the Seahawks in field goal range at the end of the game and in need of 2 scores, I figured the sure fire thing was to kick the field goal while you had some time left and then go for the onside kick. Had Jerramy Stevens been able to get out of bounds Seattle might have kicked it but we'll never know because the shit head stayed in bounds. I saw no sense of urgency amongst the Seahawks. It was if they were practicing rather than playing for the championship. So $1000 did not come my way and I went home to wallow in my misery.

I immediately got into bed upon arrival at my apartment. I was so uncomfortably full after the Glutton Bowl that I couldn't even lie on my stomach. I had to sleep like a pregnant woman on my side with a pillow between my legs. I fell asleep around 10:30pm. At 2:00am, I awoke in agony as I clutched my stomach. I was still slightly drunk and the mountain of cheesy lard in my stomach was not moving. So I attempted to "release the hounds" but all I did was sit on the toilet and fart. At this point of the night I was up and I knew I would have a terribly hard time going back to bed. So I slammed the ham for old time sake but even that didn't put me to bed. It's amazing that when I release my chunky love milk by pleasuring myself it doesn't tire me out but if a girl blows me, I'm out cold before my penis can even dry off from all her slobber.

I tossed and turned for 5 hours until my alarm went off at 7:17am. As you could imagine, there isn't much in the way of good television programming on at that hour. I was so bored I couldn't wait for the work week to get started. And now that is has begun I wish it never did. So here I am about 27 hours after the disaster all started. I'm second guessing the decision to get a tub of New England clam chowder for lunch today and begging my sphincter to open up so I can feel like a human again. For now, I'll have to continue to pass gas without my co-workers noticing until that moment of release comes my way.

If there is one positive thing to take out of this Monday it is the fact that 24 is only 4.5 hours away. But from now on, I'm taking this Monday off every year. And I suggest you all do the same.

Fecal Gram

2006-02-01T12:15:00.000-08:00

Freakishly weird web sites have a way of finding me. Sure I have my moments of boredom when I do a Google image search for amputees and I stumble across something special but a lot of times these web sites find me. Below is a perfect example. I was merely checking my G-mail account and along the top of the page they have ads or links that are related to the content of my emails. The moment I saw the link I knew I was in for a treat. It made me feel a little better about myself to know I'm not the only demented lunatic who would be willing to shit in a box and give it to someone else. For those of you who missed that story, click here. There are tons of funny web sites that come my way and I plan on sharing them all in the near future.

http://fecalgram.com/store/products

I can't believe they are actually having a sale on poo! Enjoy.

New York or Florida?

2006-01-31T14:53:00.000-08:00

I recently got back from 8 days of basking in the sunshine of South Florida. And there's no better way to conclude my trip than with a Lionel Richie and Elton John sing-a-long in the car ride to the airport with my parents. Everytime I go home it gets tougher and tougher to come back to NY and for good reason.

Just to give you a little background on myself, I was born in Oceanside, New York. I spent the first 10 years of my life in Long Island before my parents moved to Boca Raton in 1987. Some kids would be heartbroken to leave their childhood behind at the age of 10 to start fresh but I was not. I was excited for the new experience that South Florida had to offer. No disrespect to all my friends who grew up in Long Island but it's an absolute shithole. Sure it has it's nice areas but compare that with the sunshine, beautiful beaches and gorgeous honey brown women of South Florida and it's not that tough of a decision.

Upon my graduation from the University of Michigan, I went back to Florida to pack up my belongings and move to New York City. I wanted to experience something fresh (like a newly douched vagina for once in my goddamn life) plus it didn't hurt that 95% of my friends from college and high school were moving there. Ever since I moved to NYC in the summer of 1999, I have come down to FL at least 3 times a year to see the folks and escape from the miserable winters. The more I come down to FL the more I question what the hell I am doing in Manhattan. It's not easy to leave sunshine and 75 degrees during January to come back to freezing temperatures, pale skin, runny noses and girls who think UGG Boots look cool. As I gazed across the beautiful Atlantic during the sun set I couldn't help but wonder what my life would be like if I lived down here. There are positives and negatives to both NYC and FL and I have decided to compile them in a list in an effort to help me make my decision. Here we go...

Nightlife
When it comes to nightlife, no place in the world can compete with NYC. The best bars, clubs and nightly entertainment are all within a 5 minute cab ride. Every night of the week you can find a jam packed bar with people itching for a good time, and more importantly girls itching for hot beef so bad that my penis will provide the calamine lotion they so desperately need. While South Beach and Ft. Lauderdale offer beautiful scenery, outdoor bars, and a much more relaxing atmosphere, the abundance of choices in NYC makes it the clear cut favorite.

Edge: New York

Housing
Do I spend $1800 a month to live in a 400 SF shoe box or $1200 a month for a 2 bedroom apartment within walking distance to the beach? When I look out my bedroom window do I want to see a homeless man soiling himself on the sidewalk or the community pool filled with sunbathing co-eds? Do I want to fall asleep to the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shore or toss and turn all night to the sounds of fire trucks, ambulances, and cabs honking? This is like choosing between Halle Berry and Margaret Thatcher for a date to the prom. It's not even close.

Edge: Florida

Transportation
Manhattan offers every type of transportation imaginable. Whether it's car, subway, bus or cab you can get anywhere you want in the Big Apple within 15 minutes. The beauty of taking taxis at night is that everyone in your group can get drunk without a care in the world. No matter how plastered you get, someone will always throw you in the back seat of a cab and you'll usually find yourself in your bed the next morning. Either that or you'll wake up next to some slightly overweight sea donkey that you met at Brother Jimmy's without her make up on. The next thing you know you're stuck in the awkward scenario as you gather your belongings...do I ask for her number or not? You have about as much desire to take her number as Hitler did to breed with black women. You've just seen her for the first time sober and you wish someone would pour hydrochloric acid in your eyes but in an effort to make her feel somewhat respectable, you ask her for the number in that ever so awkward way. Then once you're in the elevator of her apartment building you immediately erase the number as if it was going to erase the horrific things you did that wildebeest the previous evening. Or worst case scenario is that you get abducted and raped by a disease-infested homeless man behind New York Public Library.

On the flip side, it's much more relaxing driving your own car to work. There's no need to hassle with crowded subways, lengthy waits on the platforms, chasing the bus down in a blizzard, and fighting your way through crowded sidewalks with a golf umbrella big enough to provide shelter to Rosie O'Donnell. Then again, everything in FL is more spread out than my great-grandmother's labia (she had 17 children) so it takes you longer to get everywhere. This one is too close to call.

Edge: EVEN

The People
It's widely known that there is nothing like a New Yorker. They are one of a kind. And while some may not think that's a good thing, I know it is. People in NY are much more intelligent, cultured, sophisticated, personable, outgoing, and respectable. Sure it's a snobbish outlook but it's the truth. As one who has spent a great deal of time in both places, I know more than most. That being said, if you're looking for a smokin hot bimbo with fake breasts who cares only about the car you drive and how many plastic surgeries you can afford on your yearly salary, then FL is the place for you. I know this is going to sound obnoxious but when I go out in South Florida, I feel as if I'm amongst my inferiors. These people have no clue about anything. Wearing a dog collar with your camouflaged wife beater is no way to impress a lady. And the fact that it works with the women of South Florida says a lot about everyone down here.

Edge: New York

Quality of Life
I guess many of the above mentioned categories could all make up the quality of life, but it's the weather of South Florida that puts it light years ahead of New York. Nothing aggravates me more than when New Yorkers say "I can never live in FL because I love the change of seasons." Sure spring is beautiful as are the colors of fall, but get off your Northeast high horse and suck my hairy bean sac. Enjoy the 2 weeks of spring and 3 weeks of fall because afterwards there's countless months of misery. Granted Florida is boiling hot in the summer but is it so pleasant in NY? At least in FL you hop right into your air-conditioned car where in NY you have to deal with scorching sidewalks, boiling subway platforms, and that funky raw sewage stench that singes your nose hairs.

Edge: Florida

Attire
One great thing about the changes in season is the change in wardrobe. Colder weather provides you with much more flexibility. The tropical climate of South Florida puts several restraints on your ability to dress to impress but isn't it every man's dream to walk around in a Hawaiian shirt, linen pants and flip flops? Call me crazy but I 'd much rather live somewhere in which wife beaters are socially acceptable (Notice I didn't say camouflage wife beaters).

Edge: Florida

Food
It's no secret that the produce in Florida is far superior to that of NY, but its advantages end there. Ok supermarkets in general are far nicer in Florida but that's it (I once saw a rat running down the candy aisle of Gristede's). New York has some of the best restaurants in the world and with approximately 20,000 to choose from, there is something for everyone. No matter how drunk I get, a pale white flimsy undercooked slice of pizza is never going to satisfy my appetite at 3:00am.

Edge: New York

After carefully weighing my options it's a dead heat. At this stage of my life, there's no place I'd rather be than Manhattan. And while it's fun for a single 28 year old, NYC is certainly no place to raise a family. So when that time comes, it's back to the beautiful sunshine of FL for me.

If there's one thing that irritates me about many of the people from Long Island, it's their view that Long Island is the center of the universe. They are unwilling to accept that there are plenty of other more appealing places to live on this planet and are just content to sit put on that disgusting wasteland because it's all they know. I am by no means saying that Florida is the answer to everyone's prayers but most of us deserve better than Long Island. One can only commute into Manhattan on crowded trains and subways for so long before going mentally insane. And luckily for my family, that happened to my father at the age of 37 which is why we left New York. I'm extremely thankful for the experience of growing up in South Florida and as a result of that, I will be back sooner rather than later.

I Never Had A Prayer At Normalcy

2006-01-26T22:39:00.000-08:00

After my debacle of an evening on Saturday night in South Beach, it was off to dinner at my grandparent's house on Sunday afternoon. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting my grandparents, they are certifiably nuts. Well I guess my grandmother is somewhat normal, but my grandfather has lost his mind. It seems as though the men in my family get less mature with age and while may grandfather is 87 years old, he acts like he's 4. Just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about, below is a list of some of the things my grandfather has done over the years:

He took a picture of my grandmother's ass as she bent down to pick up her golf ball on the green. Sure it's disturbing but what's even more frightening is that he displays this picture in their kitchen.
He once ran outside in the pool area during a family BBQ in his tighty whities and jumped into the pool. Now I haven't worn tighty whities in many many years but still know that if they get wet they become virtually see through. Some of my family members learned this the hard way.
This one is easily the most frightening thing I have ever seen. It was yet another family gathering at my grandparents' place. From the couch that my dad and I were sitting on, we could see across the entire house into the master bedroom. All of a sudden we heard a pssssst sound. It was my grandfather attempting to get our attention. We looked across the house into the master bedroom and only saw his head popping out from the door frame. The next thing you know he is hopping like a bunny across the doorway to his bedroom completely naked. This is what I have to look forward to.
We were out to dinner at my grandparents' country club a few years ago. My girlfriend at the time had come down to FL to meet the family. As we're at dinner my grandparents start laughing with one another. "Can I tell the story mama?" my grandfather inquired. Why he calls my grandmother "mama" I have no idea but it's pretty funny. She was pretty adamant that he keep this story under wraps but after harassing her for a minute she caved in as he immediately dove right into the story. Keep in mind that there were 8 of us at the table (my grandparents, parents, sister and boyfriend, myself and girlfriend). He begins to detail the recent story of when he and my grandmother attempted to have sex in the bathtub. At first she entered the bathroom in a shower cap and he immediately lost his erection at the sight of my grandmother's head wrapped in light pink plastic (he even did the hand gesture of curling his finger downward as if we didn't know what he was talking about). Once he got the excitement back, they continued this attempt at intercourse. The only problem was the faucet kept on digging into my grandmother's back. At this point of the story every person at the table was in tears. Some might think this is disgusting and offensive (it may be if you visualize it), but I think it's beautiful. No not the thought of my grandmother getting railed into the bathtub faucet, but the thought of 2 people who have been married for almost 65 years and are still madly in love with each other. After several failed attempts and lots of uncomfortable fidgeting in the bathroom, they called it quits. I looked over at my girlfriend and kind of gave her that "I told you so" look. My family is nuts.

I could go on and on about the old man but I'll save that for another time. So I was sitting around the living room on Sunday afternoon with my dad and grandfather watching football as the women were in the kitchen preparing dinner. I'm not sure how we broached the topic of intercourse but it got to the point where I asked my grandfather if he was still bumpin uglies with granny. His response was "The kitchen is officially closed." He's hung up his cleats for the final time and walked off into the sunset. He no longer has the strength to do so, although he did place some of the blame on my grandmother's reconstructive shoulder surgery. My grandfather has been detailing his sex life for me since I can remember and that day has come to an end. He doesn't seem all that bothered by it as I imagine it must be extremely tiresome for an 87 year old but what a run the old fella had. I'm proud of both grandparents for defying the odds and making it this long.

Fast forward to Tuesday evening. I'm getting ready to watch 24 with my parents (hands down the best show in television history) and my dad had assumed his usual position on the couch with his hand down his pants. Out of nowhere he blurts out, "You know I don't get as many random boners as I used to. I used to get hard all the time for no reason and that's not happening as much as it used to. I think my body is changing."

This got me thinking...no not about my dad's erection problems but about my declining rate of "No Reason Boners." I remember back to Spanish class my freshman year of high school. I would get a boner every day without failure. It might have had something to do with the hot girl who sat next to me or perhaps the way those soft red umbro shorts caressed my genitalia. I remember fidgeting at my desk to attempt to hide it. It's not that easy to tuck away a rock hard boner beneath flimsy soccer shorts. And I usually had to do it at least 3 times a day. So this has what my life has come down to. I'm 28 years old, I feel like I'm in the prime of my sexual life, and yet I'm not getting as many NRB's as I used to. Should this be a cause for concern or is it just part of getting older? Truthfully, the No Reason Boner was kind of a hassle. Sure it's nice to know it still works every few hours but do we really need that reassurance? Other than those nights when I drink too much whiskey I've never had any erection problems. And even when I do drink massive amounts of whiskey, it's not the erection that's the problem. It's dropping the load off that seems to be the impossible task. I could go all night on Jack Daniels. Well not usually all night as I have passed out on top of girls before during intercourse (intercourse - easily one of the most underrated words in the English language) but if you ever need a cure for premature ejaculation, Jack Daniels should be your best friend.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this post. We've discovered that my grandfather is crazy and that he's no longer having sex, and that me and my father are no longer getting the same amount of NRB's that we used to. I guess all good things must come to an end. For now, as long as my sergeant still comes to attention when I call on him then I'm not complaining. Wiggling around as I adjust myself 15 times a day was not worth the hassle anyway. So for now, I'm happy with the declining number of No Reason Boners and my dad should be too.

A List You Don't Want To Be On

2006-01-24T00:47:00.000-08:00

My friends and I are a sick bunch of individuals. That is certainly not a news flash. In fact if you're reading this blog you're just as sick as us. For the past few months we've been talking about compiling a list of all the nicknames we have given to girls over the last 10 years. So after a few cocktails the other evening, we decided to document this horrifying list. This could probably get us in a lot of trouble but it's worth the risk.

The Butt - Simply put, this girl's face looks like an ass. She's actually not a terrible looking girl but I would challenge anyone to distinguish the cheeks on her ass from the cheeks on her face.

Pan Face - A personal favorite of mine. The girl looks like she got smacked in the face with a frying pan. And that's putting it nicely. She looks like someone shot her out of a cannon into a brick wall. You know the old saying "it looks like she ran a 100 yard dash in a 90 yard gym?" That was made for this girl. I'll never forget her 21st birthday party. We were all sitting around a table drinking at our favorite college watering hole. This girl was beyond annoying when sober so you can only imagine how awful she was after 21 lemon drops/kamikazes/or whatever it is that you skanks drink. Not only was she annoying, she had an overall pathetic vibe. Poor posture, mumbly voice, bland personality, no breasts...if that's not pathetic I don't know what is. Anyway, it was her birthday but no one was paying much attention to her. Truthfully I was just happy to be sitting down rather than standing at the packed bar. All of a sudden she stood up to declare to the table how drunk she was in that annoying whiny pathetic voice. At that moment when all eyes were on her, her legs gave out beneath her. She crumbled to the floor but not before her chin collided with the table on her way down. Most people would be concerned about a girl who nearly snapped her neck in half but the uncontrollable laughter that ensued amongst me and my friends was the highlight of our night. She was okay so no harm no foul.

The Horse Whisperer - Yet another classic. She's an attractive girl but her voice makes Mr. Ed sound like Whitney Houston. Anyone got a muzzle?

Big Mac - When you think of the Big Mac you probably think of 2 all beef patties, cheese, special sauce, lettuce, pickles, on a sesame seed bun. When I think of Big Mac I think of the two largest vaginal lips I have ever seen. It was like eating out a venus fly trap. She once queefed so loud during sex that I had no choice but to crack up in her face as I was on top of her. Picture yourself fucking a whoopee cushion filled with spoiled sour cream. It's exactly the same.

Brontosaurus - Jappy girl or prehistoric beast? My friends will argue the latter. And one friend went as far as leaving a tree outside my friend's door while he was hooking up with her in case she got hungry.

Apricot Cooch (aka Wet Vac) - It should be the 8th wonder of the world. It's amazing that a completely sopping wet vagina could instantly turn dry but it's possible. In fact those who have had sex with her have often times needed to leave their fingers in her vagina, while sliding the penis in because if you miss your window of opportunity, this apricot is all dried out. And no one wants to go back to square one again. I'm convinced her vagina could have prevented the floods in New Orleans.

Corky - She's a dear friend of mine but the girl is retarded. I've been calling her this for at least 6 years and I'll never stop. It's a term of endearment. Keep in mind she's one of only 2 girls on this list who is actually aware of her nickname. Please keep in mind that this does not violate my New Year's resolution. This nickname was given out a long time ago and I am merely stating the facts.

Rack Attack - Another dear friend of mine and I've been calling her this to her face for many years. While her rack is not tremendous, it was twice the size of any other girls' breasts in high school. And the fact that she refers to herself as "RA" when she signs her emails makes me proud.

Fraggle Rock - The girl looks like a Fraggle. I thought there was more to write on this but that about sums it up. Oh, we used to sing the Fraggle Rock song everytime we saw her approaching us.

Porno Librarian - Her hair was pulled back and she had the Lisa Loeb glasses going for her. Everytime you saw her you thought she was going to bend you over a desk and spank you with a ruler. Just in case you were wondering, that is a good thing.

Sandpaper Tits - Easily one of the most horrifying moments of my life. The girl's breasts felt like someone dragged them along the floor of a hardware store. I had to wear protective gloves when handling these so I wouldn't cut my hands. I wouldn't attempt to put my mouth near them for fear that I would never be able to use my tongue again.

The Girl the Sun Forgot - Probably the best nickname ever doled out by our crew. The girl made Casper look like Forrest Whitaker. Her teeth were darker than her skin. Get my point? I'm amazed she's not living in a plastic bubble yet.

Jaundice - I figured I would stick with the discolored skin theme after the last one. While I never had the pleasure of mixing hairs with this girl, a friend of mine was not so fortunate. Call me crazy but I'm not exactly attracted to someone who's skin and hair looks like she just stepped out of a golden shower.

Howard the Duck - Although I never had the pleasure of seeing her feet to check whether or not they were webbed, there was no need to because this girl looks exactly like a duck. While I don't know anyone who's slept with her, I would imagine she quacks in bed.

Ms. Piggy - Easily the ugliest girl on this list. In fact I would encourage sex with a live or dead pig before hopping in the sack with this muppet. Luckily for my friends and I, one of our friends got drunk enough on spring break to skin the fat off this pig' ass. And luckily for me, I got a picture of him in the act. Priceless.

Monty Python - Hulk Hogan used to boast that he had 24" pythons. Well Hogan had nothing on this girl. I've never seen jello jiggle like that before on the back of an arm. Now if only that jello had vodka in it!

Razor Ramon - This one refers to any girl with razor burn down below. There was one in particular though who's crotch looked like she lost a paintball war. It was not a pretty sight.

Bug Eyes McGee - This bitch makes Kathy Bates look happy in Misery. Of course you'd probably be a bitch too if your eyes were 3 times the size of your head.

Jon Benet - Believe it or not a girlfriend of mine actually came up with this one. If Jon Benet Ramsey lived to be in her 20s and did not grow an inch after the her 3rd birthday, she would look like this girl. I had no idea girls could be so cruel but I'm thrilled that they are.

Fat Baby Spice - I will always hold a grudge towards this girl for blowing my friend while all I got was a crummy hand job. Picture Baby Spice plus 20 pounds with the hairiest vagina you've ever seen. It was like eating off the floor of a barbershop.

Lisperine - This girl defined annoying but nothing says hysterical like a good lisp. She was considered the Michael Jordan of the lisping community. I mean no one was even in her league. All she used to talk about was how she was studying for the Series 7. If there was ever proof that God exists and that he adores me, it was this girl. She is my little angel that was sent from the man above to make me laugh.

Doggy Breath - This girl made her way through the ranks of my friends and I have no idea how or why. It was like making out with a dumpster.

Michael Strahan - She dated a friend of mine for a few weeks and as much as we wanted it to continue, he had to end it after looking at the gap between her 2 front teeth and constantly thinking of us laughing. You could have fit a roll of nickels between those 2 chompers. I wonder if my friend ever put his penis between those pearly whites.

Tank Ass & Innertube - Just like the great duos of our time you cannot think of one without thinking of the other. These 2 are lumped together as they were sent to our hotel room in Cancun at 5:00am by my friend who needed to kick them out of their room so he could hook up with their roommate. It's no wonder this duo was all alone and pigging out on room service enchiladas during the wee hours of the morning. They entered our room and both got into bed with my friend and I. I kept telling myself that there was no way I was hooking up with this girl (aka Tank Ass). And then I heard the sound of my friend sucking face with Innertube (the large roll of fat around her midsection looked like she swallowed an innertube) as they are both laying in the bed next to us. I gave in to the peer pressure and began to make out with Tank Ass. Unbeknowst to me, my friend (who was attempting to sleep in the other bed as this porno began to get interesting) had hooked up with her earlier in the evening. I watched him get out of bed out of the corner of my eye and he got on top of Tank Ass who was lying on top of me. He attempted to put his penis in her ass while she was still lying on top of me! She of course panicked and was frantically whispering in my ear, "Get him the hell off of me!" So we both rolled over and my friend fell off the bed. He got back into his bed and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. Long story short I ate Tank Ass' vagina in the shower as my friend shot a load all over our other roommate's Chris Webber jersey. To this day my friend's fantasy football team name is the Cancun Innertubes.

Penguina - I'm still convinced that this girl lives in an igloo but I've been told otherwise. Paint her black and let her waddle and you've got yourself a penguin.

Potato Sac - A friend of mine who used to hook up with this beast during our senior year of college would always bring her home from the bar through the backyards of all our houses. He thought he was being slick but I caught him in the act. I always joked with him that he used to hide her in a potato sac and drag her home in an effort to avoid all of us sitting on the porch and the harsh ridicule that would follow. And there were plenty of reasons this girl should have been put in a potato sac. Her skin looked like landmines exploded on her face, her voice sounded like she ate cigarettes for snacks and her breath made a Port-O-Potty smell like a bed of roses. I still contend to this day that when I hooked up with her sophomore year she was a lot better looking but who the hell am I kidding?

Tits McGee - My friends and I have been giving girls nicknames with "McGee" in it long before Ron Burgundy. And while Christina Applegate did justice to the name Tits McGee, she had nothing on this girl. I've had some huge racks in my day but this one is by far the biggest and best!

Pee Pee Sabathia - I've told this story a thousand times and it never gets old. I was at an 80's costume party back in college. I was minding my own business taking a leak in the downstairs bathroom. As I was zipping up, a drunk/coked up girl barged into the bathroom, immediately dropped her pants, and squatted over the bowl. I attempted to leave the bathroom but she told me to stay in the bathroom because if I opened the door, half the living room would get a glimpse of her cous cous. I'm not into golden showers or any of that kinky German shit but I kindly obliged. As I was facing the door, I heard the sound of her urine crashing into the toilet water. The strange thing was that there were several intermittent moments of silence. I looked back to see what was going on. The girl's eyes were rolled to the back of her head as she was swaying back and forth in the squatting position and knocking into the wall. I looked down to find that when she wasn't peeing in the bowl, she was peeing into her panties and tights which were wrapped around her knees. It was one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen but I could not look away. After dumping nearly a pint of urine into her pants, she stood up and pulled her panties and tights back up around her waist. She gazed up at me with 2 lazy eyes and said "How do I look?" Despite the fact that her black tights and underwear were absolutely soaked with her own urine, I told her she looked great and she went back out to the party. While my friend denies hooking up with this girl on this particular evening, he did bang her for quite some time. You stay classy San Diego.

The Girl Too Ugly For a Name - A special shout out to my boy RB for coming up with this gem freshman year of college. She was a random hook up of mine that I attempted to sneak in the back entrance of my dorm but I was caught by the last friend that I would want to see her. Truthfully she wasn't even that ugly but the nickname was so good that it stuck. It's almost as if I wanted her to be uglier because the nickname was so much fun.

Ladies - keep in mind that none of the women mentioned above are close friends of mine and certainly do not read this blog (with the exception of Corky and Rack Attack). There is no need to panic.

This list is our best attempt to recap all the great nicknames over the years. Please feel free to add any to this list in the comments section.

America's Twat Is At It Again

2006-01-22T23:03:00.000-08:00

It is no secret that I hate Star Jones. In fact the first post ever on this blog discussed my hatred for her. Click here to view this piece of blog history. So it should come as no surprise that upon reading about her incident on the View on this past Thursday about Osama bin Laden, I wanted to strangle this fat cunt until every ounce of life in this outspoken self-promoting tub of a woman was gone.

For those of you that don't DVR The View (just kidding - although with me you never know) and did not read about it in the paper, here's what happened:

The ladies from The View were discussing the latest audio tape from Osama bin Laden. Her take was that perhaps Bush and bin Laden should sit down to discuss a possible truce. She even suggested that the war in Iraq was a result of these inflated male egos.

"You know what? At some point, one of these men has to put it back in his pants and zip up the zipper," she said during a discussion of bin Laden's latest audio tape. Her co-hosts attempted to chime in with their differing opinions but were rudely interrupted as always. After all, the world does revolve around Star Jones.

You know what Star? The only zipper you should be concerned with is the one that covers your horrific and undoubtedly stenchy hairy twat. Lord knows your queer bag husband has never opened that barn door between your thighs! We don't negotiate with terrorists for a reason. The second we agree to negotiate with them we show weakness and if the terrorists think that we'll cave into their demands, when will the terror stop? And besides, are you going to trust a peace offering from that fucking scumbag? Quick side note...I find it unbelievable that we still have not found Osama bin Laden. The man has successfully avoided the most powerful military in the world and I can't even avoid some smelly Indian girl that I hooked up with once at a diner at 4:00am.

I could write about this obnoxious overweight bitch forever but I need to go to bed as my Saturday night in South Beach has caught up to me. More on that later. Good evening.

Smell Ya Later

2006-01-20T09:46:00.000-08:00

Well I'm off to the sunshine state for 8 days of lounging on the beach, sipping fruity drinks, getting drunk with my high school friends, getting high with my parents, and a whole lot of relaxing. Everytime I go home I wonder why I ever left paradise for this shit hole but there's something about this city that always drags me back...for now at least. I'll attempt to post as often as possible but staying indoors at a computer is not priority number one. In fact, the weather report says high 70s and sunny for the entire week with not a drop of rain until the day I come back to NY.

When I told my father that I currently have a beard and haven't shaved in 8 days, he warned me that I'm probably going to be anally probed at the airport. "You must look like a goddamn terrorist sonny boy! Shave before you get on that plane otherwise security is gonna have their way with you!" Call me crazy but I like to roll the dice in these situations. Besides a little rectal exam never hurt nobody.

I have a feeling that whoever sits next to me on the plane is going to regret the fact that I just had a steak burrito from Chipotle as my first meal of the day after drinking like a sailor fresh off a destroyer at the TGI Friday's happy hour last night. I would say there is a 43.7% of me soiling myself in the airport. That is why I prepared accordingly and packed a bair of boxers in my carry-on luggage. This should be a lot of fun.

I will see you all upon my glorious return next Saturday. Shalom.

Rumor Has It I've Lost My Balls

2006-01-18T23:31:00.000-08:00

To my female readers - if you have not seen the movie "Rumor Has It" and intend to drag some unsuspecting male to this horrific excuse for a movie, then do not read below. If you could care less about this pile of Hollywood crap, then read on...

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not exactly the most masculine man in the world. Sure I love to play and watch sports, burp, fart, watch porn and have my hands down my pants 63% of the day, but there are plenty of things about me that scream "homo!" I love boy bands. I love to dance. I love 80s music. I cry at every cheesy moment of any movie (In fact when I saw Titanic in the theater I did not want the lights to come on when the movie ended because I had tears running down my face). And while I do enjoy a good love tale, cheesy or not, the grueling 96 minutes that I spent watching Rumor Has It starring Jennifer Aniston, Kevin Costner and Shirley MacLaine was the worst hour and a half of my life.

While I may have my gay tendencies, I certainly did not choose this flick. I was dragged by a female against my free will. And considering I made her see Saw II a few weeks ago which nearly frightened her to death, I guess she thought I owed it to her. When the lights went down and the 4 hours of commercials before the previews began, I was expecting the worst. I can't exactly remember the last Shirley MacLaine movie that I've seen let alone enjoyed. (After researching her on IMDB) Alright I haven't heard of half of these movies she's been in. Here's a few I recognize: Guarding Tess...never saw it. Postcards From the Edge....nope. Steel Magnolias...alright I saw this one on TBS with my mom and sister and definitely shed a few tears. Shirley still sicks.

The previews began, although I hardly noticed as I was shoveling freshly buttered popcorn into my mouth. Is there anything better than when the movie theater has the butter dispenser on the side so you get to apply it. I really wanted to hop up on the counter and pour the butter down my underwear but I don't think my date would have appreciated that. After the trailer for Firewall (your typical Harrison Ford 2 hour snoozefest in which he ages 10 years every minute of the movie, we are guaranteed at least 3 random shots of his flabby man boobs covered in strangly gray chest hairs, and he yells at everyone in that "I just smoked 4 packs of cigarettes and might have accidentally eaten an ash tray" voice), I was ready to hang myself. And then came the trailer to Poseidon. I don't know what it is about natural disaster movies that gives me a stiffy but I have to see them all. Independence Day - an all time classic. I actually bought a Will Smith Independence Day movie poster when the film came out. Armageddon - to this day I still cry like a little bitch when Bruce Willis gives that speech before he blows up the meteor. Twister - a God awful excuse for a film but if the movie has Bill Paxton or Bill Pullman, count me in for an opening night showing. I even wasted $10 on that Dennis Quaid calamity entitled The Day After Tomorrow. The robot voice inside my head began telling me "Must see Poseidon. Must see Poseidon." I'll be there.

The movie begins with Jennifer Aniston and her boyfriend, Mark Ruffalo, engaging in a playful game we like to call the mile high club. As predictable as my phone conversations with my grandmother, the bathroom is too small and they fidget around the lavatory much to the delight of the 12 other menopausal women in the theater with us. Jen and Mark are traveling to her sister's wedding. Her sister is played by Mena Suvari. There aren't many women I hate more in Hollywood than this A-cup cunt. She falls into that illustrious category of women I'd like to anally violate and leave in a dark alley for random homeless men to urinate on. After vomiting 4 times at the site of this overzealous whore, I was begging my date to let me stab myself in the neck with my apartment key. I then attempted to hold my breath until I my heart stopped beating but we all know that just doesn't work. Mena Suvari's character is so annoying she makes Andrea Zuckerman look like the coolest girl in Beverly Hills.

Somewhere in between naps, I discovered that Kevin Costner was actually in this movie. He plays the middle-aged billionaire who had a fling with Jennifer Aniston's mother (who's dead) and grandmother (Shirley MacLaine - who might as well be dead). I just happened to check IMDB today and it says that Kevin Costner turned 51 today. No way in hell. The man looks like someone dug him up from the grave and gave him hair plugs. Anyway, Jennifer Aniston discovers that her mother left her father for a few days before their wedding to have a fling with that old dug up douche bag before returning from Mexico to marry her father. She also discovers that the story of Costner, her mother and grandmother is rumored to be the foundation for the book and movie, The Graduate (hence the clever title Rumor Has It). She then begins to wonder whether or not Costner is her real father since she was born 9 months after her mother's wedding.

She travels to San Francisco after her sister's wedding, while her boyfriend goes back to NY. Her unquenchable thirst for the truth cannot be fulfilled until she finds Costner to get the real truth behind this miserable and lackluster story. She meets Costner, he falls for her, they get black out drunk and she makes out with him, her boyfriend catches them, she goes home to cry to grandma, then tells Costner she's in love with her boyfriend, she goes back to NY, the boyfriend is reluctant to accept her, she leaves his apartment, he runs down the stairs to the lobby as she's in the elevator, they kiss in the lobby, get married, blah blah blah. The movie couldn't end soon enough and neither could this synopsis.

When the movie ended and the lights came on, I pulled the hood on my sweatshirt over my head and prayed to God there would be no one in the theater that recognized me. Then again, not many people I know would go to a 10:00 showing of this catastrophe on a Tuesday night. I luckily made it out of theather unscathed and headed home. I understand that going to see chick flicks is something that all men must do at some point in a relationship but it really isn't fair. We don't ask you girls to come watch football with us. So why should we have to suffer? Go see the movie with your lesbian friends, paint pottery afterwards and leave us the hell alone!! Unless the chick flick has a hot lesbian scene, we want nothing to do with it!

My Latest Creation

2006-01-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've posted any of my artwork on this blog. I recently finished this painting of John Lennon using acrylics on a 16 x 20 canvas. I am currently working on paintings of Busta Rhymes and Owen Wilson which will be posted upon completion.

Best Night of My Life...I Think

2006-01-13T09:24:00.000-08:00

When you receive an email on Monday morning from a girl that says how much fun she had at your party despite being escorted home by another couple after losing her credit cards and money, throwing up all over the cab multiple times, passing out on the bathroom floor and vomiting all day on Sunday, you know you've thrown one hell of a party. And she didn't even make it to the pre-party.

I've been known to toss around a great deal of hyperboles in my day. Whether it's "the best night of my life" or "the best movie ever" or "the best meal I've ever eaten," I'm constantly exaggerating. Well I kid you not when I tell you that this past Saturday night was one of the best nights of my life. Let me give you the run down...

It all started in October 2004 when a friend of mine lost a bet to me regarding fantasy baseball. He despises 80s music (aka he's a wigger) and had never been to Culture Club so as a result of losing the bet, he had to come join me at Culture Club and pay for my binge drinking habit the entire evening (FYI - Culture Club is an 80s dance club). What we thought would be a small group of 80s fanatics joining us, turned into a jello shot bonanza at my apartment, followed by 20 of us dancing and sweating to the oldies as if we were rejects in a Richard Simmons' video casting call. The party was such a success that we decided to make the same bet again. And yet again, I won the bet.

I decided that while last year's Culture Club Jam was fun, this year's had to be something truly special. With at least 40 expected to attend the pre-party at my apartment and another 10-20 meeting us at the club, I could not disappoint. The "Save the Date" had been sent out a month ago and with a packed house anticipated, I had a lot of work to do. In fact, I even started the party a little early as I drove home from work blasting 80s music the entire ride home. Yes I know I'm gay.

Saturday morning could not have taken any longer to arrive. I bounced out of bed at 8:00am, too excited to sleep. Once my morning wood subsided I was ready to begin my preparation. I had a lot of things to take care of before the guests arrived and there was no time to waste. After re-arranging all the furniture in my apartment to accomodate everyone, it was time to start making jello shots. My friends Andrew and Nicole were kind enough to lend a helping hand. 230 jello shots and 2 hours later, our work was done. Next up, make the sign in board. Not really sure how I came up with this idea but figured the party needed a little Bar Mitzvah flare. So after compiling 30 of the ugliest and drunkest poses of my friends from last year's party, the sign in board was complete.

The party was called for 8:00pm. It's rare that people actually show up on time and even more rare that they show up as early as 8:00pm when it comes to a pre-party. Sure enough the crowd began to slowly gather and by 9:00 I had a packed house. The jello shots began to slowly dwindle. My friend Weiss cannot control himself in the presence of jello shots. Every party I've ever had involving jello has resulted in him either blacking out by midnight, vomiting violently until he pops blood vessels in his face, 'NSync dance offs with his wife at 2:00am, or if we're lucky all three. Unfortunately on this night he only blacked out.

The pre-party was in full swing as I was walking around my apartment with a tray full of jello shots. And then it happened. As I'm walking around my bedroom, which at the time was filled with people (mostly females), my friend Schwartzy takes 2 fingers and swipes my ass crack from my grundle to the top of my ass (over my jeans obviously). After swiping my crack he proceeds to smell his fingers and pretend as if he was getting turned on by the smell. This behavior from him comes as no shock to me but little did he know that almost every female in the room happened to see him scratch and sniff my ass. I have never seen jaws drop to the floor so quickly. They were appalled. I wasn't shocked at all as this behavior is the norm for him but to see the looks on these girls' faces was priceless.

The party moved the Culture Club around midnight. I'd say about 50% of the people at the party blacked out at some point of the night so any details after midnight are a complete blur. I've been told that a few of my friends were partaking in a game of gay chicken on the dance floor. For those of you not familiar with gay chicken it's when you go in to kiss another guy and the first one to flinch loses. It really is disgusting but so much fun to watch. Another one of my friends insisted on biting people's nipples on the dance floor. I really need to take a good look arond me and evaluate the friendships I have chosen. After looking at the 85 photos taken throughout the night I am still not able to piece much together other than tons of drunk people dancing and sweating profusely.

Another year down and another successful Culture Club party. I did not think that all 230 jello shots would be devoured but I was mistaken. I guess I'll have to make more next year. Thanks to all for coming out for the 2nd Annual Culture Club Jam. I had a blast and the countdown for next year's party has begun.

New Look BC

2006-01-10T22:27:00.000-08:00

It's a new year and with the new year comes resolutions. In year's past I have often said I would never touch another cigarette again. Leading a healthier lifestyle seems to be another popular resolution choice of mine but this year I'm going with something different. Granted I'm still staying away from cigarettes and would like to eat healthier but those are grandfathered into my resolution list ever year. This year's resolution is to stop poking fun of retards...or shall I say mentally challenged. I know many of you will be disappointed as the tard has been an integral part of my repertoire for years now but after seeing The Ringer, starring Johnny Knoxville, I've decided to give it up.

I went to see the noon showing of this wonderful movie with 2 friends of mine. I first heard about it over 5 years ago when the script was originally written. At the time, many Hollywood actors shyed away from the roll because they felt it was a little too over the top and offensive. So production had been held up forever on this groundbreaking script about a man that rigs the Special Olympics until Johnny Knoxville came along. After 94 minutes of laughing hysterically at and with retarded people, I can do it no longer. As we were walking out of the theater I said to my friends if we don't get struck by lightning the second we step foot outside of this theater then it will be a miracle. That alone might be proof that God does not exist.

My friend Felch reminds me on a daily basis that I will spend the rest of eternity burning in the depths of hell. I happen to think that God has a good sense of humor and will spare me for all the evil I have done. If God didn't have a sense of humor then why would he have created midgets? I know some of you think I'm heartless soul who does not know the limit of decency...and you're probably right in many instances. I mean for Christ's sake look at what I have said about Terry Schiavo. But for those of you who think I have no soul you should know that I once cried during the Special Olympics episode of Baywatch when the retarded kid's parents left him. Sorry, mentally challenged. It was a gutwrenching episode that I will never forget. (Quick little side note...I remember back to my freshman year of college when I met a girl who told me she too had cried to that same episode of Baywatch. I thought we were destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Then she became a big whore, I accidentally knocked her into a wall, she lost her contact lens, she ran out of the fraternity party hysterically crying and the rest is history. Don't ask me how I even broached the topic with her about crying to the Special Olympics Baywatch episode. I have no idea. It's amazing the information I'll share with members of the opposite sex once you get a few Zimas in me. Sorry for the digression) Anyway, it wasn't even that long ago that I was tutoring the mentally challenged after school and doing community service at old age homes. Even just a few weeks ago I walked arm in arm with a blind women as I escorted her to the animal hospital for her seeing eye dog to receive medical treatment.

So why would I voluntarily give up something that has played such an integral role in my comedic arsenal for so long? To tell you the truth, I'm beginning to believe that if I keep this up much longer my first born will be retarded. My friends tell me that all the time and while I usually laugh it off, part of me thinks it might be true. So in an effort to save the Colediggy family (if and when that day comes), I am cleaning up my act. How long will the new look Colediggy last? Only time will tell. But for now, my days of poking fun at the severely less fortunate are over (and by "severely less fortunate" I mean "retarded" or shall I say "mentally challenged"). Just had to get it out of my system one last time. RETARD! Okay, I'll stop now.

No Need To Thank Me Ladies

2005-12-28T18:34:00.000-08:00

Alright ladies, don't say I never did anything for you.

To all the ladies out there who have ever slobbed on a penis,

As a heterosexual male and one who has received his fair share of blow jobs both good and bad, it's time for me to speak up for all men and tell you ladies how to do it once and for all. Granted there are plenty of women out there who know to work a stick, but no girl knows everything (with the exception of a few ladies I met in South America). Think about those times you were laying in bed with a piss drunk 18 year old (impressed with the fact that you're a senior in college). She begins to make her way downtown and all you can think about is how excited you are to throw your meat in daddy's little girl's mouth. And then the drunk whore starts mutilating your penis as if it were a pacifier. You're caught in a bind. She insists that she won't sleep with you so oral sex is your only option of releasing that full tank of baby gravy. Considering oral sex with this woodpecker is not a feasible option you're left with no other choice but to masturbate on her chest and go to sleep.

When you wake up the next morning your penis feels like you had sex with a Persian rug. You tell your friends the horrifying tales of the previous evening as they bask in your misery and tell everyone they know. This is no way to go through life. This is why I am taking a stand once and for all. In an effort to please both parties involved, I have put together some guidelines that I think will help you ladies get the job done. This may not be the opinion of every man but I think many will agree with most items on this list.

Put the penis as far down your throat as humanly possible. There's nothing more erotic than a good deep throat. The key here is finding the gag threshold and not crossing it. The last thing I need is a sensible Lean Cuisine microwavable feast puked up all over my dong.
As Andy Dick once said in Old School, "Mind the stepchildren." You must pay those testes the attention they deserve. After all, they are the ones brewing up that tasty vanilla milkshake that's about to be shot in the back of your throat. Whether it's using your hand to play with the testicles or smacking that tongue up and down those scrotum, you ladies mustn't forget to pay those puppies the attention they deserve.
Sucking on the tip of the penis for 3 seconds and then using your saliva to jerk me off does not count as a blow job. Let's leave hand jobs where they belong...in middle school.
Taking a break every 10 seconds is not gonna get you (or me) anywhere. I know you're concerned about lock jaw but you gotta show me more work ethic than that. Work that stick like you want it. Picture this...you're stranded in a desert and the tip of my penis is the only source of water for 2000 miles. Or better yet, pretend you're Terry Schiavo and my penis is your feeding tube.
Always use your hand and mouth together at all times. Of course you’re entitled to a breather every once in a while, but if you want me to cum sometime this millennium, then use all available tools simultaneously (i.e. hand and mouth).
When using your hand to jerk the chicken, you must cover all surface area of the penis. Jerk from the base of the shaft to the tip of the penis. Keeping your hand stationary at the base of the penis and jerking it back and forth does nothing but give us a raw and irritated dong. If I wanted that "I just fucked a cheese grater" feel on my shaft I would have picked one up at Bed Bath & Beyond and saved the $150 that I just blew on dinner in order to get you in my bedroom.
Don't use up all your good moves within the first 30 seconds of the hummer. Save the "tongue me from the bottom of the sac to the tip of the penis" move for a little bit later on in the ballgame.
The more saliva on the penis the better it feels when you jerk it. Feel free to slobber away. Keep in mind that the penis is not a baby's bib so let's keep it in moderation.
Don't be afraid to mix things up a bit by licking the weiner. Just pretend it's a meat flavored tootsie pop. It spices things up a bit plus it looks so hot in pornos. It's important to remember that the lick does not replace the suck. Suck for a few, then lick, suck for a few more, then lick. Got it? A good suck to lick ratio is very important.
For the love of God, please swallow. No guy likes a spitter. I'm sure it tastes like salty milk but you think vaginal nectar is tasty? I've smelled litter boxes that are more appetizing.
Once I've released my love nectar down your throat and the pipes are clean, don't continue to suck my penis. I'm not sure if this only happens to me but when I'm done and a girl continues to orally pleasure me, it tickles beyond belief. And not a good tickle either. It's almost like someone put a cell phone inside my penis and left it on vibrate. So once the fountain is dry, kindly step back and freshen up.
Don't even think about trying to kiss me after I finish. While you may think that true love knows no boundaries, this is one boundary that should never be crossed. Go gargle some Listerine and come back to me in 5 minutes. I'll kiss you all you want afterwards...that is if I'm still awake.

So there you have it ladies. These are all fairly simple steps to follow to please your man. And it's quite beneficial to you as well because this will expedite the fellatio process and leave your man grinning from ear to ear. Gone are the days of lock jaw and blue balls. Now go out there, get hopped up on wine coolers, head down to the local pub, find yourself a nice circumcised schlong and start practicing. You'll thank me later.

All my love,

Colediggy

Hanukah Harry

2005-12-27T15:30:00.000-08:00

As a young Jewish boy, I was brainwashed to believe that 8 nights of Hanukah was better than one day of Christmas. At the age of 5 who wouldn't think that 8 consecutive nights of gifts from your parents is better than some pot-bellied gentile sliding down your chimney, stealing your cookies and leaving a honey baked ham and egg nog under some funky smelling tree in the middle of your living room. As a youngster, my gifts usually got better with each passing night of Hanukah. I would start out with He-Man figurines, gradually work my way up to Nintendo games, and one year I even worked my way up to a go-cart. I had never been so happy to be circumcised. Then as the years passed and my parents got more senile, the gifts slowly declined. I'd get a personalized yarmulke (pronounced yamaka - you'd be surprised how few people know how to spell it correctly), a plaid flannel with matching corduroys, and a snazzy new Trapper Keeper. Hanukah began to lose it's luster. At the time, I was living in Long Island where I was surrounded by fellow Hanukah observers.

It wasn't until I moved to FL at the age of 9 that I was exposed to my first gentile classmates. In fact I remember my first gentile friend, Mark. He's an avid reader of this blog and still a good friend to this day. I remember being in awe of the fact that he wore a gold cross with Jesus hanging from it around his neck. I thought my mom would freak when I brought a gentile friend home. But we were no longer in the Jewish surroundings of Long Island and it was time to accept others as they were. And while I may poke fun of my gentile counterparts several times on this blog, the truth is over the years I've grown a little jealous around holiday time. Every Jewish kid has dreamt at one point in his childhood of sprinting downstairs on Christmas morning to find that Santa has left him an abundance of presents underneath the Christmas tree. Little does he know that it's his snowflake-red-sweater-wearing gentile parents but that's of little significance to a 10 year old kid on Christmas morning.

After 20 plus years of being somewhat jealous of our gentile friends, a few years ago a friend of mine organized our own version of Secret Santa...Hanukah Harry. There was a group of 15 of us (all friends from college) and we all got assigned a friend at random and agreed to exchange gifts on a Friday night. We were pretty psyched about the idea as it's fun to exchange gifts, especially amongst my deranged group of friends. I was lucky enough to pull out the name of one of my favorite friends to play pranks on (more on this in a later post). I knew I had to do something over the top but had no idea what I was going to do. Then it hit me. I decided that I was going to make a human shit stick figure using his head, arms and legs as the decoration. Granted this was just a gag gift and I gave him a real gift as well but I was so much more excited for the gag gift. I immediately put the plan into attack. I found a picture of him from college (in which he was sitting on the toilet) and I blew it up on the color copier at work. I cut out his head, arms and legs. The only thing left was to get some shit in a box.

It was the morning of Hanukah Harry and the excitement was bubbling inside of me. I had a cardboard box, all his limbs and head in place, and the only thing I was missing was a piece of human shit. I debated scouring the sidewalks of Manhattan for dog feces instead but decided that scrounging around with a plastic bag for dog shit with no dog wasn't the brightest idea. And plus I wasn't gonna do this half ass. It had to be my own shit. So after the cheesesteak I had for lunch began knocking on my back door around 2:00 pm, I had no choice but to let that dog out because that bitch was barking. I was concerned that I wouldn't have to poo after work in order to complete my dream gift but figured I had left enough residue behind to drop one more bomb before the festivities began at 9:00pm.

6:30 pm rolled around on Friday evening and there was no sign of fudge in my tunnel. I began to get a little nervous as my entire gift depended on this. 7:00 pm and not even the urge to fart. Panic began to set it. My friends were coming over at 8:00 pm to predrink for the Hanukah Harry celebration beginning at 9:00 pm in my friends' apartment just one floor below me. I ran down to the nearest bodega and got a pack of cigarettes and a salami sandwich. If this couldn't force it out, then nothing could. I ate the sandwich as if I was some wild animal on National Geographic devouring it's prey and began chain smoking like a coked out hooker waiting on the corner of 28th and Lex. Still no sign of a brown light at the end of this tunnel.

And then like Rodney King it all hit me at once. "Oh dear lord!!" I was scurrying around the apartment attemping to unzip my jeans as I searched for the cardboard box. I carefully placed it on top of the toilet lid. Have you ever tried dumping into a narrow box that is no more than 6 inches wide? It's certainly not the easiest thing in the world. And then when you factor in the pain from squatting over a cardboard box for 2 minutes, I was in agony. But like a Carvel employee eager to impress his boss on the first day of the job and make that perfect soft serve cone, I wiggled and pushed until I had the most beautiful soft serve log I had ever seen. Actually it was more like a salami and cigarette induced, forced out Ethiopian shit but it was beautiful to me. I can't believe I'm sharing this story with every female I know.

Anyway, I carefully placed the limbs and head in place over the shit torso. I sealed the box. A few of my friends were due over in a half hour and I had to get ready. After a quick shower and a hearty wiping, I still had one dilemna. There's still an hour to go before we go to my friends' apartment, my friends will be here any minute and I have no idea where to keep this box of shit in the meantime. I'm not putting it anywhere near my bedroom. The bathroom is too small and the poo box would stink up the joint. I don't know why but I settled on keeping it above the refrigerator. Why the hell I would elect to put the shit in the kitchen is beyond me but that's what I decided.

8:00 pm rolled around and a few friends came over for drinks before the Hanukah Harry celebration. We were all anxious to see how this would play out. My friend Kupe went to the fridge to get a beer and he turned around in disgust. "Did you just rip ass?" I had to say yes because I couldn't let the secret out. Not that if I said no he would automatically assume there was a box of human crap a foot away from his face atop the fridge but I couldn't risk blowing my cover. A couple of drinks went down and it was off to my friend's place to let the game begin.

The grueling walk of one flight of stairs was complete and we were at my friends' apartment...box of shit in hand. The bottles of vodka and Jack were going down pretty quickly as the excitement filled the room. A couple of gifts had exchanged hands and then it was my friend Weiss' turn to give a gift to Stemp. It was meticulously wrapped in paper towels with some sort of German inscription on it. Stemp opened his gift and inside was a VHS tape with nothing but an FBI warning on it. This had to be good. Weiss immediately informed the crowd that it was a German toilet porn video that he bought in some perverted sex shop in Times Square. We decided to watch it once all the gifts had been exchanged.

And then came my turn to give the gift to my friend (I'd name him but he's a paranoid fuck). He strolled up to the front of the room with a smile on his face. He opened the box as if he was allowing the entire room to share in the excitement of what was inside. At first glance he thought that the fecal matter before him was fake. After all, who the hell would be so sick as to shit in a box? And then the stank ass smell suckerpunched him in the jaw. He was floored. He could not believe that I actually dumped in a box and then utilized the poo for a human stick figure. Just seeing the look on his face made that salami sandwich, chain smoking and painful squatting all worth the while. All in all, the gift was a smashing success.

All gifts had exchanged hands at this point and we were sufficiently drunk. The Hanukah Harry festivities had exceeded all expectations. It was now time to cap it all off before we went out by watching the German toilet porn. I warn you this is not for the weak.

The video starts with a husky German man surrounded by two even huskier German women. Husky is putting it nicely for these 2 fat pigs. Each blubberous roll outweighed the one above it. The heavy petting somehow materialized into the guy lying on the floor beneath one of the German women. The camera zoomed in on the woman's balloon knot and it began raining poo on this poor guy's face and chest. The other beast then starts peeing on the guy as he lays there and absorbs this unfathomable abuse. Just reliving this nightmare makes me want to vomit but I must go on. After rubbing the poo all over the guy's face, the women then proceed to make out with him. I looked at my friend Todd and both of our paces turned ghost white. We simultaneously sprinted to the bathroom and shared the toilet as we both hurled up whatever liquor we had consumed (and salami in my case). I had never been so grossed out in my life and that's saying a lot coming from someone who witnessed his own baby cousin rip off his diaper and eat his own poo.

Surprisingly enough my friends and I have not done Hanukah Harry since this magical evening. Hopefully we'll bring it back next year but I'm petrified of what lies beneath the wrapping paper of our gifts. Nevertheless it was a fun time and one I will never forget.

Testes Testes 1, 2, 3

2005-12-21T10:20:00.000-08:00

As I was walking to my car this morning I couldn't help but notice an extra chill in the air. Sure it was a little colder this morning but something wasn't right. There was a little draft down below. And then it dawned on me that I made the same mistake I made 2 weeks ago.

Two weeks ago I went out on a Saturday night to a friend's birthday party. I was with the girl I have been dating for the past few weeks and we were sitting in the backseat of a cab. I felt a little something chilly downstairs and realized that part of my testicle was hanging out of my jeans and resting on the cab's seat. At first I thought that I should close my legs and pretend that nothing happened but I'm not one to keep my mouth shut (or close my legs). So I alerted my female companion and began to yank my scrotum out of my jeans. I asked her to touch it. She kindly obliged and began cracking up. In case you haven't noticed it takes a good, yet deranged woman to appreciate me. For the rest of the night I kept teasing her about it and threatened to expose my sac in the middle of the bar. I sat down a few times over the course of the evening and forgot that my barn door was open. Luckily I was able to cross my legs before no one noticed but the two of us were laughing about it all night. I even let my friends in on the secret but spared them the horrific site of the hairy gum I had sat in.

Now you might be thinking to yourself well just because there's a hole in his jeans then why are his testicles hanging out? Doesn't the guy wear undewear? Yes I do wear underwear but I have a few lucky drawers with tremendous holes in the crotch that I'm hanging on to for dear life. Some of them are so bad it's like wearing a kilt beneath my jeans but I refuse to let go. Pretty soon I'm going to be wearing nothing more than the elastic band around my waist. So when combining my kilt-like panties with jeans with a gaping hole in the crotch I am left with this tingling sensation as if I just sat on an ice cream cone. In fact as I'm typing this, part of my scrotum are resting on my desk chair at work and it feels great. I can't stop touching it.

It's been a lifelong dream of mine to invent air conditioned underwear. If I could cure swamp ass and grundle sweat I'd be a billionaire. I think I may have taken a step in the right direction on this one. I'll keep you all posted.

Zoot Suit Riot

2005-12-15T13:10:00.000-08:00

I'm a firm believer that good things happen to me when I go out in Manhattan wearing a suit. Granted I'm not sure you can classify popping a valium with your friend, going to an engagement party, drinking 13 mojitos, hugging the groom's father for extending the open bar an extra half hour, and spilling a tray of mojitos in a girl's lap as good, but it was a night to remember. Well actually it was a night to black out and fall asleep on a couch in the middle of the bar but you get my point. When I go out in a suit good things happen to me. And last night was no different.

4:07 pm - I arrive at the W Hotel to meet my boss for a few drinks before we go to our client's holiday party. Granted it's a little early for Jack Daniels but what the hell. And besides, no one will be able to tell I'm hammered because I look so damn professional.

4:12 pm - My boss and I sit down at the bar. I would eat raw sewage out of the bartender's ass. That's Colediggy talk for "damn she's hot."

4:13 pm - God I love it when she bends down to get the liquor bottles. Do it again!!! I should order 48 different drinks with 76 different liquors so she has to bend over nonstop for the next 2 hours.

4:14 pm - If there were ever thighs made for a tight black mini skirt with slits up the side, it's hers. Oh jesus, did I just bust a nut in my pants? Just kidding. Or am I?

4:21 pm - Time for another round. Yes I know how early it is and that I must behave this evening but fuck it. After all, my boss is force feeding me.

4:22 pm - Instead of a lime can I get your breast milk in my drink? Just a thought. Or perhaps you could stir it with those perky pencil eraser nipples. Yummy.

4:41 pm - Two drinks down the hatch and I'm feeling wonderful. This night is going to be a disaster.

4:52 pm - We pop into our clients' office to drop off the holiday gifts we got them. Just a little background, our clients are 3 wealthy guys in their early 40s. While I've been told by my boss that they like to party, I have yet to see it for myself. This should be fun.

5:15 pm - We hop into a car service to go 5 blocks to the restaurant where the party is being held. This is how I know I've really made it in this world. This has to rank up there with one of the lazier things I've done. Well that and the 1,342 Saturdays I've wasted sitting on my couch smoking pot.

5:22 pm - Thanks to the traffic, that probably took longer than walking. We stroll into the midtown restaurant where the party is being held.

5:24 pm - I have never seen so many turkey necks in my life. Damn there are a lot of stuffy old white folk here. Oh well, time to hit the bar. FYI...for those of you not familiar with a turkey neck, take a look at Peter Gammons.

5:25 pm - This bartender wants me. She has to...I'm wearing a suit.

5:47 pm - One boring conversation after the next with people I have nothing in common with other than the fact that we enjoy alcohol. Believe it or not that goes a long way at these parties.

6:07 pm - The first battle cry for shots has begun. Here I am with 8 old dudes chuggin shots of Patron. Somebody make it stop. If I don't eat something other than those spring rolls that have been floating around the room I'm gonna puke. God I love holiday parties.

6:13 pm - The owner of the company walks by and says hello to my boss. He comments on how well dressed he is as my boss glows from ear to ear. More on this later.

6:24 pm - I really love cheese.

6:48 pm - Despite the fact that I've consumed enough alcohol in the past two and half hours to kill a small mule, I feel pretty good. "What was that? More shots of Patron? I'll be right there!"

6:50 pm - This has got to be the biggest shot I have ever seen. It looks like a urine sample. Giddy up! Better chase this one with beer rather than more Jack. I am so smart and responsible.

6:59 pm - It's not even 7:00 and I'm already wobbling a little bit.

7:03 pm - One of our clients gathers a group of us together and tells us we're going outside to get stoned. Twist my arm why don't you. My boss tells me to go with them. His exact quote, "It's good for business."

7:05 pm - Here I am huddled up in a circle with a bunch of middle aged men getting high in the middle of Times Square. If it's good for business it's good for me.

7:09 pm - Stopping at 2 hits was a wise decision. I'm still functioning and my eyes aren't red. Goddamn am I hungry though.

7:18 pm - I don't know if people knew we were stoned but standing by the buffet and eating everything on the table is usually a good indication that someone has been smoking. Who gives a shit. These yuppy old gentiles are hammered.

7:47 pm - The Patron shot counter is now up to 4. I lost count on the Jack and gingers about an hour ago but I'm guessing we're close to double digits. Waking up at 7:45 tomorrow is going to be a nightmare. Too hammered to care at this point. Keep the shots coming.

7:58 pm - Battie break #2. Just what I need, more pot. Como se dice train wreck?

8:12 pm - The owner walks by my boss again, this time completely shitfaced. His turkey neck is flapping with every step, or waddle. It looks like a gigantic shaved testicle is hanging from his chin. My boss attempts to kiss up to him by making a comment that he's the well dressed guy. He reiterates his initial thoughts on my boss' attire and then proceeds to spill half his martini on my boss' suit without even noticing. The fat slob kept walking as I broke down in laughter.

8:29 pm - This place is dead anyway. Time to smoke more in the streets of Times Square as we head up to the Hudson Hotel. It's good to know that in 15 years I'll still be a degenerate to some extent.

8:51 pm - We roll in their like we own the place. We get a table, a gorgeous waitress who's toe nail crud I would spread on a Ritz cracker and devour, and a round of margaritas. I haven't had enough tequila yet.

9:02 pm - Is that a Patron order I hear? Count my black ass in. Again, I have no business doing this to myself on a Wednesday night but what the hell. All things fun usually end in disasterous fashion so I was on the right path.

This is where I have to stop the time line as the details from here on out are a little blurry. After a few drinks at the Hudson Hotel, we went back to the W Hotel bar. It was a group of about ten and we were still going strong. After a few more drinks and a Patron shot at the W we decided to go to One in the meatpacking district. Some of the older guys in the party decided to call it a night but not before one more batty session outside the W Hotel. It was at this next moment that I realized that God still does love me despite all the wrongs I have done. Here I am huddled up with a bunch of greaseballs getting stoned when I spot 2 beautiful British girls itchin for a good time. I strike up a conversation with them and 5 minutes later, I'm in a cab with an 18 and 19 year old British wanker jollying for a good rogering. Their accents were the sexiest thing I've ever heard in my life. It was their first night ever in Manhattan so I figured I'd show them a good time. Unfortunately, One has the awful policy of checking IDs so the girls had no shot of getting in. So we went across the street for some drinks at Pastis. Nothing like breaking the ice in the conversation by mentioning how much I love the Spice Girls. These girls were probably 9 when the Spice Girls became popular. I told one of my friends to meet me as he obsessed with all things British, especially young women. The four of us ventured off to another bar, The Apartment, where the young ladies were once again denied. It was clear that they weren't getting in anywhere. They were tired and jetlagged and I was sick of walking around in 14 degree weather. The girls went back to their hotel and my friend and I stayed at The Apartment. I vaguely remember attempting to dance with some random black girls as I got offered every drug under the sun by a number of shady patrons. Thankfully I declined. The night ended with me sitting at the bar of Hog Pit by myself, drinking a Pabst Blue can and listening to Guns n Roses on the jukebox. I stumbled out of the place around 4:15am, threw myself in a cab and passed out around 4:45am.

Sure the night didn't end up as I had dreamed (i.e. stuffing my ding dong into an 18 year old crumpet), but it was a great time. My boss and I have been a complete disaster all day long. The first bite I took of my breakfast resulted in cheese flying out of the sandwich onto my jacket. And that was only the beginning. After nearly deficating in my pants on the subway, I was forced to sprint home to finish the job. On the bright side, I got the girls' numbers so we shall see what the weekend brings.

The Fart Barrier

2005-12-14T13:18:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to pinpoint the defining moment in any relationship between a man and woman. Some say your wedding day is the most important day of your life. Others tell tales of their engagement night or perhaps the first time they exchanged the words "I love you." And some will tell you that they fell in love the moment they first laid eyes on each other. Well I'm here to tell you that that is all crap. The most defining moment in any relationship is the moment the man can successfully break the fart barrier.

Every morning the first thing I do when I wake up is fart. Alright maybe I smack the snooze button a few times but the first conscious thing I do is pass gas. Think about those troubling times in your relationship with your girlfriend when you woke up in the morning and were forced to hold it in. Or when you went out to a Mexican feast with your girl and were forced to clench your cheeks tighter than a church choir boy waiting to confess. Sure sometimes you were able to release a small gas bubble here and there but that's no way to go through life. The small gaseous releases can often times lead to vomit-inducing odors or even worse, a Hershey-like deposit in your boxers.

So how does one go about breaking the fart barrier? It's a very good question that has plagued us men for thousands of years. I will attempt to answer all queries with regards to tearing down the walls of this horrible obstacle.

How long must you be dating before you attempt to break the fart barrier?

This one depends mostly on the girl. If you got yourself a high maintenance jap from Long Island you're in for a challenge, but remember every girl can be broken. If you remain focused on your goal of infinite flatulence in her presence, then you shall succeed eventually. I would say definitely not less than 2 months in any case. If she's high maintenance, you're looking at close to 5 months. The secret here to make it through the first 5 months is finding alternate ways to release the hounds. After a big meal, say you have to "wash your hands." She won't suspect that you're bulemic so calmly excuse yourself from the table, head to that porcelain oasis in the corner of the restaurant and fart away.

What is the appropriate setting to let it rip for the first time?

Unfortunately for us guys, this has to be done when the two of you are alone. If you do it a cocktail party, she'll get angry with you for embarassing her. If you do it at a crowded bar, she might think it's someone else and it's not like you want to raise your hand and say "Oops I did it!" If you do it while you're out to dinner, you'll sicken her as she's about to eat. The only way to do it is in the comforts of either one of your apartments. This way there's no confusion as to where this noise/odor is coming from. It's a ballsy move as you're putting yourself out there but it's the most efficient way to get it done. Please note that for the initial fart avoid doing it in bed, during sex, when your sitting on the couch with your legs spread, or any other instance in which her face is less than 10 feet from your ass.

Once I let that first one loose in her presence, how do I react afterwards?

This is the most crucial moment of tearing down the fart barrier. If you laugh like a 3rd grader who just put a whoopee cushion on his father's seat at the dinner table, you will be spanking it by yourself on a Friday night in no time. I hope this should be obvious to all but cupping your hand near the back of your butt and blowing the fart towards her face is definitely not the right move here either. The first move is to immediately apologize and act surprised that the fart even came out. Go with a line like "Oh my God I can't believe that happened! I'm so sorry, it's just that my stomach isn't feeling so well." Once you deliver this bullshit, it's time to sit back and gauge her reaction. Below is a list of possible reactions and how you should respond in each instance:

She reacts in disgust - this is the worst possible case scenario. Normally I would say dump the bitch since she obviously has no sense of humor but if you're really into her then you have some serious ass kissing to do. Make up some story about how you should have avoided the shellfish and that you don't feel well. If she can't sympathize with that, then beat her senseless with a bag of nickels and run out of her apartment.
She pretends that nothing happened - at first glance, this might seem like the ideal scenario but don't be fooled. The awkward silence will be quite embarassing. You could test her again by immediately letting another one go but I would advise against it. Wait a week or two and try it again. If she still pretends that nothing happened, then it's possible that she grew up in a household where farting is socially acceptable therefore it doesn't even phase her. Either that or she's partially deaf. Either way, you're golden.
She laughs - this is every man's dream come true. Don't count this as an automatic Get Out of Gas Free Card but you know right then and there you have a keeper. If you abuse this privilege too soon, she will become disgusted with your constant cutting of the cheese. Just know that when you absolutely need to let one loose, your girl will support you all the way.

Which fart is more acceptable for the inaugural beefer - silent but deadly or a rumble in the jungle?

We are proposed with yet another tough dilemna. On one hand, a loud rumbler that lasts for 5 seconds is gross at first and might scare her. Then again, once the smoke clears there's no horrific odor that may cause her to gag. On the other hand, the silent stink bomb you think you discreetly dropped is fooling no one. Unless your girl has no sense of smell, she will be repulsed. So while you think you're in the clear upon dropping the bomb, the fun has only begun. I'd go with the long rumbler over the stink bomb. And besides, you might even get a giggle out of her if it's loud enough.

Okay, so now that the fart barrier has been broken and I no longer have to feel embarassed, how often can I fart and how should I do so?

Just because the flatulence wall has crumbled, this does not mean you storm to the other side and start farting away. While the wall may have tumbled down there are some still emotional scars left with it. At first, you can probably get away with 2-3 farts a week. You can gradually increase her workload by a fart or two every week. By the end of the 2nd month, you should be in cruise control. But remember when passing gas, attempt to move away from her. Girls appreciate when you run to another room, let it rip, wait until the smoke clears, and then rejoin the festivities. Avoid frat house behavior in which your ultimate goal when farting is to get your anus as close to your friend's nose as possible.

How do I react the first time she let's one rip?

Run to the nearest jeweler and buy an engagement ring. You've got yourself a keeper!

At what point can I attempt to give her my first dutch oven?

I would highly advise against this under any circumstances but if you're dead set on trapping your girl under the blanket as she squirms in misery at the smell of your cornhole, then go for it. I once pulled off a successful dutch oven attempt in college and believe it or not, the girl is still one of my good friends to this day. Sorry Alli.

Colediggy, you seem to be quite well versed in passing gas in front of females. What it is your most entertaining fart-related story with a female?

So many to choose from but if I had to narrow it down to one, it's a no brainer (sorry, it's a Schiavo). I was lying in bed with my girlfriend at the time. At this point the fart barrier had already been broken but little did I know I was about to go where no man had gone before. Well at least no man with this girl. It was a Saturday morning and my girlfriend and I had been out drinking the night before. We were both a little hungover and engaging in some frisky morning activities. The stank morning breath kisses led to some heavy petting which then led to a little tickling of the grundle. Big mistake on her part. I lost all control as she pleasured my undercarriage and blew the loudest fart in the history of humanity. I mean I let the thunder drop out of my bunghole directly onto her hand. My body froze. I had no idea what to do. We looked at each other in disbelief. After another awkward second or two we broke down into hysterical laughter. She knew it was unintentional and if anything, it was her fault for making me lose control of my sphincter. We still laugh about it to this day.

Now that you have the tools and knowledge to successfully tear down the fart barrier, get to it. Your days of discomfort in the presence of that significant other are numbered. Good luck and God bless.

Random Thoughts

2005-12-06T23:10:00.000-08:00

Quite a few things running through my head so I thought I would just throw them out there...

Richard Lewis and Katie Couric are the two ugliest people on TV. Between the heavy bags under his eyes and her awful tooth to gum ratio, these two should be banned from reproducing. To this day I have no idea how Katie Couric has achieved anything in this world but more power to her. She's the Pauly Shore of news anchors.

Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" is not only the greatest holiday song of all time, but possibly the greatest song of all time. Alright maybe not #1 but definitely in my top ten. Believe it or not this song has been on my iPod for the the past 2 years and I do listen to it at the gym from time to time. I was pleasantly surprised to hear it in the car today and told my friend I would call him back because I was singing along to the song and did not want to be interrupted. Homo.

I wanted to share a few humorous interpretations of the term "jerking off" that my friends introduced me to. The first one is "rough up the suspect" and the second is "firing off some knuckle children." Fine work Jesse and Scotty.

While we're on the topic of humorous phrases, the next time someone tells you that the decision you are about to make is a "no-brainer" please correct them by telling them that it's not a no brainer, it's a "Schiavo." This one liner works out great at cocktail parties. Thank you again Scotty.

I often times find myself listening to 97.9 FM (aka the Spanish station). Is it me or does every Spanish song sounds exactly the same? I guess I'm supposed to say they all look alike too but I won't go there.

Has anyone ever seen a paper toilet seat cover that actually fits the toilet seat? There's no such thing as one size fits all when it comes to toilets. Despite the presence of toilet seat covers in my work bathroom I will always use toilet paper instead. The custom fit of your own hand made toilet seat cover is much more enjoyable and prevents you from sitting in another man's anal shavings.

We, as a society, need to develop a universal rule for cell phone disconnections. How annoying is it when you lose someone's call and the both of you attempt to call each other back for a few minutes only to get each other's voicemails over and over again. I don't get angry at much in life, but this makes me furious. From here on out, I declare that the person who initiated the phone call should be responsible for calling the person back in the event they get disconnected. This will save us all great deal of stress.

While I'm on the topic of being angry, nothing gets me more furious than when I show up to McDonald's well before the breakfast cut off time of 11:00am and they tell me they ran out of Egg McMuffins. I honestly don't know why I lose all self control but I've banged on counters, screamed at bug-eyed retards in McDonald's hats, and stormed out of the restaurant on a number of occasions. It's just that I enjoy the Egg McMuffin so much and feel that I should not have to suffer because some fucking degenerate who can't spell his own name can't microwave another egg and piece of pig anus and slop it on an English muffin. I'm getting agitated just thinking about it so I have to stop this.