Sunday, February 13, 2011

Blood Sucks - Part 4

Let’s go back to Christmas Eve night. I am really worried because I have no idea what is wrong with me. So I go online. We all know the information highway has the answer to everything. I go to Web MD and type “Bloody Stool” into the web search box. Now, I don’t have “Bloody Stool” but figure that can lead me in the right direction. I see a listing for “Bright Red Blood,” which I have. The answer says “Hemorrhoids” or a bigger internal problem. Well seeing that I am in no pain, I figure the latter is the answer. Blood, blood and more blood started to run down my leg. And by now I am going crazy, thinking I’m going to die because I have something wrong with my insides.

Now I call my girlfriend and tell her I need to go to the Emergency Room. She asks me what is wrong, and I was hesitant to answer at first, because it is embarrassing. Finally I tell her, “My ass is bleeding!” She says, “What?” And I repeat to her, “My ass is bleeding and it is bleeding a lot.” Now she starts to worry and I have to go back online to find out what Hospital is covered by my insurance.

Now what really suck was that it was Christmas Eve and we had planned to spend a nice night together. We were going to have a nice dinner, I had bought green and red Christmas tree pasta, have some nice wine, open presents and then I was going to make my family’s traditional Christmas dessert, Cherries Jubilee. But instead she has to pick up her boyfriend who is hemorrhaging from his anus and take him to the fucking Emergency Room!

So we get to the Emergency Room and I tell the guy at the desk that my ass is bleeding. That thought of blood, blood and more blood flashes through his mind. His reply to me is, “Oh, it is either hemorrhoids or a prostate spring.” The blood threw this guy off and made him worry. I mean if I walked in and told him I had a gerbil up my ass he would have been fine. He would have given me a Habitrail and told me to wait for the doctor!

Fuck, I’m thinking to myself. Prostate, colon or some other internal organ is screwed up. All from the blood! I finally get in the waiting room and put on one of those ugly hospital robes. As I discard my clothes, I look at my jeans and see a huge blood stain on the back. (That really sucked because they were brand new.) Then I look at my boxers, my Christmas boxers with little Santa Clauses on them and they are covered. My thighs, my balls were totally covered too. I see all this blood and I can feel my heart beat and blood pressure rising to record levels, higher than an illiterate’s S.A.T. scores. And why, because of my fear of the crimson tide!

To be continued...

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Blood Sucks - Part 3

I had a very scary situation with blood about six or seven years ago. Every once in awhile after you take a crap, you might wipe a little bit too hard. It may be you or it might have been the toilet paper you used. (You know the kind that feels like it is made of Plexiglas. That is why you should never steal TP from hotels.) Hell, it may have been something you ate, but you will see some red. Not alarming, it is just the nature of the dump trade. (I always like using the word dump, it makes me laugh. When I was a kid we called it bom bom. I have no idea why, and haven’t gotten around to asking my mom why we used such a stupid term.)

Well, I ended up wiping blood for about three days. I was a little worried, but I was regular so who can bitch. By the way they say you should eat five fruits and vegetables to become that way. But to be honest over the course of a week that is thirty five fruits and vegetables and I don’t have the time for that. So on Sunday I eat thirty five fruits and vegetables. Now, I’m not regular, I’m fucking congruent. Anyway, I bought some Preparation H and figured it would go away.

Fast forward a few nights later and it is Christmas Eve. I use the bathroom and wipe. First wipe no brown, just bright red. And I mean fucking bright red. Brighter than a heavy metal band member’s leather pants. Second, third, fourth wipe and more bright red. No pain, just red. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m bleeding out my ass. Not something I’m familiar because I am pretty off limits down there. I mean hell I can’t even handle a suppository. And remember blood = worry, so I’m thinking what should I do.

Ok, I need to digress for a bit. I said down there is off limits but there was this one time years ago. I was living back East and my buddy owned a dry cleaner. One of his customers had tickets to a Phillies game, so we all went. The game got rained out and we were drinking before hand. We were pretty lit, with nowhere to go, so my buddy’s customer, who was married, suggests we go to an Asian Bath House and get massages. So we show up and go into our private rooms. This Asian lady is rubbing my back and then asks me, “You want happy ending? Fifteen dollar!” Well, I’m pretty loaded and was a single 25 year old guy so I figured what the fuck.

Then I notice I have no money, but knew one of my friends did. So I wrap up in a towel and run down to another of the private rooms. I barge in and there is my buddy getting a happy ending. He was like, “What are you doing, Cooper?” I told him taking some money out of his pants that were on the floor, and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it right now. So I run back to my private room and give the lady my cash. As she is stroking me, she is also putting her finger, you know where. I would have told her to stop, but she is a professional so probably knows what she was doing. Plus I didn’t want to piss her off because my dick was in her hand and I didn’t want to get an Indian burn. Anyway she gets done and we all meet up at the car. I ask my friends, “Hey, did any of you get a finger up your ass?” And they were like, “No, dude, you must have gotten the bonus plan!”

To be continued...

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Things I Am Thankful For - Conclusion

I am thankful that I know how to tell a joke and know a lot of them. I can’t stand when some dunce tries to tell me a joke and it takes the person ten fucking years to spit it out. And then they screw it up and have to start over again and again. As they drone on through what seems like an eternal hell, you are praying that the punch line is funny. But it never is and you already knew it anyway.

I am thankful my parents taught me manners and for the people who appreciate them. However, I swear to god, if I hold the door for some ignorant asshole one more time and they forget to say, “Thank You,” I will put them in a blender and push frappe’!

I am thankful for cameras on cell phones. When I am out drinking and get a girl’s phone number I always can snap a picture of what they look like so the next day I know whether to call them or not. However, women I meet have snapped my photo and they haven’t called me back. Bummer!

I am thankful that I am not a one upper. You know that type of person. Whatever you have done, they have done it better. If you drink 7-Up, they drink 8-up. If you said you have dated some beautiful women, they say that they have dated models that have walked the runways in France. (Oh, and the one upper is a fucking troglodyte.) If you say you saw Springsteen front row, they say they actually jumped up on stage and instead of getting thrown off, Clarence gave them his tambourine and they jammed with the E-Street Band! You all know the type of asshole I am talking about, unless you are that asshole. If that is the case I am sorry you have to read my blog, because you probably have published a 600 page, Pulitzer Prize winning novel.

I am thankful I have never wanted to be a mime. Well, I was a tap dancing mime for awhile and I was good. So good, you couldn’t hear my feet! Who becomes a mime anyway? How fucked up do you have to be to wear white make up on your face, a beret, a red scarf, a striped shirt and have Shields and Yarnell posters on your wall?

I am thankful that I know how to give a compliment and enjoy doing it. I would hate to be the guy who gives a compliment and it comes across insincere, perverted, creepy or like you are just trying to get down someone’s pants! Of course if the latter happens because of the compliments, I am not going to complain!

I am thankful that I have never been the new annoying person at any job I have worked. I am usually quiet when I start and once I get to know my co-workers I let them see my funny side. I can’t stand that asshole that is always “on” and thinks he knows everything. He needs to be popular even though he never has been and never will be. Oh, FYI, “We don’t give a fuck how it was done at your other job. So go into the corner, put a rope around your neck and I will come over and kick the chair out. Thank you, jerk off!”

I am thankful that I have a good sense of humor and it allows me to get away with saying things that other people can’t. It is a great feeling to tell someone who is an asshole that they are an asshole to their face and follow that up with the line, “I’m just joking,” which even though you aren’t, it seems like you are. It is even better when that asshole laughs and buys you a drink. “Thanks, for the beer. Asshole!”

I am thankful that I can be a dick, but I know I can be a dick. Because when that happens and you admit being a dick, then people don’t really think you are that much of a dick because you admitted it. I would hate to be the person who can be a dick, but doesn’t think they are a dick. When that happens you are then perceived of being even a bigger dick then you are!

A serious note. I am thankful for, well one thing, spell check and the green lines that show up if you wrote the sentence wrong. (Because grammatically, I am a fucking moron!) Actually, I am thankful for my friends and family and being able to express myself. I am thankful for those who read my blog, because without you, I couldn’t get gratification that my writing makes you laugh. So, happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Things I Am Thankful For - Part 1

As Thanksgiving approaches, we need to reflect on what we are thankful for in life. That is what Thanksgiving is to me, because to be honest, I’m not a real big fan of turkey. It tends to be dry unless you add a shitload of gravy to it. I prefer the dark meat which is moister, but when ever I eat it, some health addicted fucker says, “That is the unhealthiest part of the bird!” Well, no shit Sherlock! But it tastes good so leave me alone.

My favorite part of the meal is stuffing. And I don’t mean that bullshit, gourmet kind with apples, raisons and walnuts. Just give me good ole’ stuffing and lots of it. Make me a turkey out of motherfucking Stovetop and I will be one happy camper!

So, here is what I am thankful for:

I am thankful that even though I am bald, my head looks good when I buzz it. I am glad that I don’t have a cantaloupe looking dome with bumps and veins all over it. Also I am glad that I don’t have a huge friggin’ head and I don’t look like the gay Mr. Clean being bald.

I am thankful that even though I am over forty years old, I can still dress hip and not look like a fucking fool! I’m glad that the word Dockers isn’t in my vocabulary and that I don’t look like I just walked off the golf course whenever I go out!

I am thankful that my generation got a chance to listen to so many different and eclectic types of music. It makes me happy that we had one hit wonders and they weren’t what was supposed to be the face of music to come. I am glad that the big hit makers weren’t groups like My Chemical Romance, Limp Bizcuit and what other group was here today gone tonight! Oh and I am glad that the rap I got to listen to was groups like N.W.A., Public Enemy and Westside Connection. (Groups that were angry, but made more of a statement than just calling out bitches and hoes!)

I am thankful that my parents taught me about art when I was younger. I know Degas paints ballerinas, Dali was a surrealist and Kandinski used geometrics in his art. Oh and I am glad that I don’t pretend that I know about art. (I hate the guy who raves about Monet at a party. Monet? Come on, you are a fucking dude! Hell Trix are for kids and water lilies are for women!)

I am thankful that even though my legs are skinny, I look all right in shorts. I would hate to be that guy that should never wear shorts but still does. I don’t need to see chubby, pale, tree trunk legs when I am at a restaurant! Oh and while you are at it lose the fucking Hawaiian shirt. (They should only be worn at a Buffet concert or if you are in Hawaii or Florida. I know you are on vacation in Cali, but it is November, so please get a fucking clue!)

I am thankful that my close friends have nicer and bigger cars than me. Because that means I never have to be the Designated Driver or have to worry about driving while intoxicated. So thank you my BMW and Infiniti owning friends. You have saved me having to do a field sobriety test…again!

I am thankful for the hair metal bands that still tour. It is great that you can see Poison, Warrant and Cinderella on the same bill for about twenty five bucks. It is also great that you can see lovely cougars with teased hair, tight jeans, cleavage in excess and those little socks that the girls wore in the ZZ Top videos!

I am thankful that my parents stressed me getting an education and to follow my dreams. I would hate to be living in a trailer park and eating spam and Velveeta every night with five inbred children. I am also glad that I am not married to a pregnant Carny who is about to give birth during her shift running the tiltawhirl!

I am thankful that I have a lot of friends. I would hate to be that creepy, lonely guy at the bar that strikes up a conversation with you and then annoys the crap out of you ten seconds later. I am also glad I am not lonely like that old man in the Pet Smart commercials. You know the one who is on the bus stop in the rain on Christmas and then gets home and his only company is his dog.

To be continued...

Friday, October 15, 2010

Blood Sucks - Part 2

I think the fear of blood goes back to when you were a kid. Think about that statement. When you were little how many times would you fall down, get a bump or bruise, ignore it and keep playing? However, if you fell down and scraped yourself and saw just a trickle of blood you’d start bawling. But of course then the School Nurse or your mom would come rushing to your aid. “Oh my god, are you OK?” Then they would wipe your tears away, spray some anti-bacterial stuff on the scratch, throw a band aid on it and you would be better. But the attention and the reaction that you got from the sight of blood put a fear in us at a young age.

That fear of blood can consume you. Years ago I was in the passenger seat of my friend’s car and we were driving to the Jersey Shore. I was sipping on a plastic jug of iced tea and we were cruising down the Atlantic Expressway. We were surprised that there wasn’t much traffic and we were getting ready for a weekend of insanity and pure on debauchery. Suddenly a car stops out of nowhere, causing a chain reaction crash. My head slammed into the windshield, totally cracking the glass. On my way up, I smashed my lip into the dashboard. Although, somewhat shocked, I was fine.

I was fine until I got out of the car. I felt my lip and it felt moist and saw a little bit of blood. It was night time and I looked down at my shirt and it was very wet and sticky. The front of my shirt, and I hate to say this, but I was wearing a surgeon’s shirt, but hey it was the eighties, was mostly covered in liquid. At that moment I freaked the fuck out! I thought I had a serious injury and would have to be rushed to the hospital. Did the sight of blood cause this? Hell, yeah it did! My lip had a small scratch which made me over analyze the situation.

The “blood” on my shirt was actually iced tea from the jug that spilled all over me during the crash. If I had never seen that little dribble of blood from my lip, I would have been completely calm and fine. Yes, I would have cracked the windshield, but would have said, “Fuck it, everything is cool. Thank god I have such a hard head!”

To be continued...

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Blood Sucks - Part 1

Blood sucks. Blood is the scariest thing a person can see. Your own blood, that is. Scarier then The Blair Witch Project, The Omen or The Exorcist. We may see blood on television or in the movies, but that doesn’t compare to seeing our own blood. (Plus we know that Hollywood stuff is syrup or maraschino cherry juice or some special effect.)

A broken bone hurts like a motherfucker, but it doesn’t scare you. Sure you get that stomach ache when you break or sprain something. You know the stomach ache I am talking about. The one that feels like you just got kicked in the balls, times four.

Actually I have never been kicked in the balls. I think that is another one of those Urban Legends just like the people who had their luggage ripped off on a trip. Yeah, this family was in Jamaica and when they got back to their hotel room, everything was gone. Everything that is, except for their toiletries and a camera. When they got back from vacation they developed the film. And in the photos were a bunch of Rastafarians waving to the Kodak with the people's tooth brushes shoved up their asses.

I've never been kicked in the crotch but did take a hockey ball there once. I was in Fourth grade and we were playing some Sixth graders in street hockey. It was cold as shit out and I was playing goalie, without a cup on. Now there are two kind of Mylec street hockey balls. One is for the summer which is orange and harder and one for winter that is blue and softer. Well like a bunch of fucking idiots we were playing with the blue one in twenty degree weather. A Sixth grader is about six feet away from me and winds up with a hard slap shot. The ball came right at me and hit me square in the package. I went down and out. Visions of kids I would never have passed before my eyes and I got that stomach ache. The one that makes you feel like you are going to puke up a locomotive.

When you break a bone, you know exactly what happened. You fucked up your arm or leg, but you have instant realization of what has happened. Your shin is sticking through your flesh or you can’t move a limb, but you suck it up and go to the hospital and know what you are dealing with.

Blood is a different thing. And I am not talking about a bloody nose or a bloody lip. Fuck that, I’m not even talking about a shaving cut. (However if you cut your lip shaving, that shit never stops bleeding.) All the above things are easy to fix. You grab some tissues, apply some pressure and it’s done. You might get alarmed for a second, but when you think about why you were alarmed you feel like a pussy and then the blood stops and you go on with life.

To be continued...

Thursday, October 07, 2010

A Waiter's Nice Nightmare - Conclusion

"Well, if it was so great, why such a shitty fucking tip?"

"Excuse me?" He said, as if he was astonished by my comment.

"Basically, you gave me only a little bit over ten percent, which sucks! I don't know where you usually dine, maybe Denny's or Carrow's, I have no idea, but that tip was an insult. It was a fucking slap in my face!"

Suddenly it came to my attention that I just screwed up. All I could think about was him calling my boss tomorrow, and me losing my job over this whole incident. Fuck him! He wasn't going to have a chance to even pick up the phone.

He stood there and stared at me in disbelief, like I did something wrong. Hell, I just told him how I felt and he was bent out of shape. And then that's when I did it. I lunged at him and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. All my force went behind my fist, and he bent forward, clutching his gut. Then I fucking snapped. I lost it. I went crazy.

I grabbed him by the ears and swiftly and with every ounce of force I could muster, brought my knee up and introduced it to his face. I let go of him then and he dropped to the pavement and rolled up into a fetal position. Not knowing what to do, I decided to just let go and lose all self-control. Every shitty tipping, rude, jerk ass motherfucking customer flashed through my mind!

I jumped on top of him and pummeled his face until it was a bloody mess. It was very invigorating, a relief, and a cleansing experience. My self therapy continued as I began smashing his head up and down against the hard concrete. The shit that was going on could have been a scene from the movie, "American History X." His hands were covered in blood as his face became unrecognizable, and then I envisioned something.

To me, his blood was no longer red as it leaked out of him. It was light pink, just like White Fucking Zinfandel! This pushed me over the top, took me to a total boiling point. And then I did something that was even unbelievable to me.
I reached into my apron and pulled out a wine opener, and released the corkscrew. I preceded to shove it right between his eyes. Then I started screwing it in more and more and twisting it like I was opening a nice bottle of wine. I really dug the challenge of the resistance his skull gave me as I went to town on it. He winced and moaned in pain and grunted and gurgled, and I didn't fucking care. He became messier and gorier, and then it was over. He was dead. I would have put a fork in him to signify he was done, but excess isn't my thing.

Not knowing what to do, I quickly looked around and saw the parking lot was empty. I picked up his messy corpse and through it into the dumpster. I then went to my car, grabbed some napkins which were surrounded by empty soda cans, water bottles, Del Taco bags and Lotto tickets, because I never clean my car out, wiped my hands off and threw the bloody cloths away.

I stood there for a second, trying to get a grasp of what just happened, then thought to myself, fuck it. Things happen. I jumped into my little sedan and drove down the street to get an ice-cold lager of my choice. As I sipped on my brew and enjoyed some relaxation after a long night, I saw a bottle of White Zinfandel behind the bar, and actually almost ordered a glass. But that would have been fucked up, because it is “White Fucking Zinfandel.”