DVD of Coolrunnings

Why I feel that the universe is rife with humor and loaded on cheap chardonnay:

Upon arrival in the one horse burg I shall refer to as Man-z-needa I was the victim of an immediate match makers folly. Now on her behalf she only referred to this "man" as a potential booty call (which as I type this fills me with self loathing and a strange sense of dread), it was not one of those "OOOh you will be so perfect together snarf snarf barf barf", for that she will be allowed to live. Any how we arrive at a party out in the twigs, I love the area, it's beautiful and you have utter freedom to ride dirt bikes or dirty boys, what eva. This party was filled to the brim with hill billies all hopped up on kabobs and light beer, again, totally up my alley. So far so good, right? Our little posse of gods hottest girls nearly shut the shit hole doooowwwn. The music stopped, eyes shifted in our directions, and on cue some one releases a dozen doves. Cuntry boys know hot when they see them and they act accordingly. None of that too cool to drool bullshit you get in the cities of 10,000 or more. And then I lay my brilliant blues on the man piece intended for my consumption. Sweet mother of god was this person a disaster. Leather pants, leather coat, your accountants hair cut, your creepy cousins grin, shorter than Mr. Burns (though similar in body fat content), and the conversation skills of speed dater. Fuck me running. I nearly walked up to my friend, the devils own match maker, and punched her in the throat. However, she already knew how repelled I was the second she laid eyes on him as well and felt like a shit stain already. Turns out her only real memory of him was one shrouded in alcohol and wishful thinking. The drama turned to comedy when he decided the room was warm enough for him to remove his jacket and grace us with the sweetest sleeveless jean vest I have ever seen. It bared just enough mid riff to elevate him to god status at the FOLSOM STREET FAIR for fuck sake. It took every bit of my being to not roll on the floor in histerics. I hope Jesus is watching and keeping some sort of score because I deserve sainthood or at least some sweet ass for this one. Lawdamercy.

The funny thing is that this town is straight choked full of honeys. Unfiltered, free range homeboys who are totally capable of creating MP's. I know this because I have been the proud wearer of said undergarments on many occasion.

I miss my Fingers Stinks and Butt Hurts like a mother but it is my duty as an ambassador to MPP's every were to take full advantage of this strange new land of milk and honeys. I will plant my flag on the peak of Mt. Manhood and then, only then, will I return. Triumphant and slick with moisture.

In times like these it helps me to remember the vocal stylings of one George Thoroughgood.

"And when I walk the streets
Kings and Queens step aside
Every (man) I meet
They all stay satisfied
I wanna tell ya pretty baby
Well Ya see I make my own
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone"

Until next time,

Don't forget to wipe.