My Diseased Mind

Dirty Haiku

ropey yellow streams
burning your face, stinging eyes
urine luck again

Posted in Dirty Haiku | No Comments »

… And Now, Back To the Dick Jokes

This is a special message to my new friend in Oman, who found this site by way of typing the words ‘picture how to fuck women’ into Google yesterday. I’m afraid that you probably didn’t find the information you required, so I’m going to take a little time now to try and help you out. Before we get started, we must establish the vocabulary. For our purposes, a penis will from this point on be referred to as Tab P, and a vagina will be referred to as Slot V. Now, let’s get on with the business of getting you up in her business.

The Approach
It is very important to note that during the approach, you should keep Tab P put away. It’s generally considered rude, and at best, probably won’t help your case any. Attempt eye contact. If my knowledge of Oman is up-to-date (it isn’t), the eyes may be the only part of the women that you can see. At this point, your goal is to make her agree to sexual contact. Honestly, do whatever works here. Begging, pleading, bargaining, or cajoling are all on the table.

Once she agrees to engage in the sex with you, you’re ready for…

The Foreplay
Foreplay is a very important and often misunderstood part of the process.

The Execution
This is most mechanical aspect of the fucking of women. In a nutshell:

Insert Tab P into Slot V.
Remove Tab P almost entirely from Slot V.
Re-insert Tab P into Slot V.
Repeat until both are satisfied that the act is completed. Or until you are, whichever comes first. Get it? Comes? Dick jokes, Baby! You will know that you are done when suddenly you feel tremendously happy, followed by tremendously tired.

There are more advanced techniques, but this will serve to get your foot in the door. Note: If you’re putting your foot in the door, you’re doing it wrong. When the time comes, you can ask me about the more advanced techniques, and I’ll go look them up.

You can often tell if you are doing an effective job by listening to the sounds that the woman makes. If she’s moaning, this is usually a good sign. If she’s screaming, it can be an excellent sign, or you may have inserted Tab P into the wrong slot. If she’s grunting, it might be a good idea to take a look around the general area of Slot V, just to make sure that nothing horrific is happening. If she’s sobbing quietly, you should finish up quickly, disengage, and leave. Knowing why she is sobbing will not make you a better lover. In fact, it will most likely hurt matters.

It’s also worth noting that in the case of sexual relations in Oman, there may actually be two executions: this one, and hers a day or two later.

The Aftermath
Dude, you just fucked a woman. That’s it. I’m not here to tell you how to put your pants back on, Douche.

Posted in Assclownery | 1 Comment »

And now a word from our sponsors.

I do not have TV in my home.  Normally that statement gets a reaction along the line of ‘How do you live without TV?’ Very well thank you.  Let me explain.  We have televisions for watching our extensive DVD & video collection.  But no cable, no DirectTV, no Dish Network, & not even an antennae.  We haven’t seen the last Olympics, last World Cup, 2 St. Louis Cardinals World Series, & over 3 years worth of HGTV, Food Network, Discovery Channel, & Michigan games.  My family & I like it that way.  We get more done, we do more things as a family (like having dinner together & actually talking to each other), we’re more prone to get outside & be active, & my kids are more willing to listen & help out around the house.  It’s not that I think TV is pure evil.  Although there are a few negatives about it like anything.  No, the thing that made my wife & I decide to turn off the boob tube was the commercials.  You can NOT get away from them.  And they are worse than just about any show on television today.

Take for example, Apple Jacks.  A wholesome, nutritious breakfast cereal with enough sugar in a bowl to sweeten 20 cups of coffee.  Their commercials (from 4 years ago as far as I know) consist of kids usually aged around 12-13, sitting around in various cool outfits with trendy accessories eating Apple Jacks while an adult is doing something in the background while dressed like a thrift shop refugee looking like an overall idiot.  The adult invariably questions why they like Apple Jacks to which the kids will replay ‘We just do.’  Then it will wrap up with the tag line ‘We eat what we like.’  Spiffy. Let’s review the implied messages.

The kids - The kids are cool, they have cool things & they’re eating Apple Jacks.  So if you want to be cool & have lots of cool stuff, you need to eat Apple Jacks. End of story.
Adults - The adult is so uncool & embarrassing it’s not even funny.  All adults are this way.  Don’t listen to them.  Treat them like morons.  They’re old & deserve it.
Dialogue - ‘We just do.’ & ‘We eat what we like.’  Do whatever you want.  It doesn’t have to make sense.  You’re smarter than anyone else so up theirs.

That’s exactly the kind of things I want my kids to learn.  That & that if you drink lots of beer you’ll end up a chiseled, handsome dude that spends most of his days in exotic locations doing exciting things with your shirt off.  Usually surrounded by beautiful, surgically-enhanced women.  LIARS!!!  I tried it.  It didn’t work.  You just feel that way when you’re sloshed.  Not that I’m bitter.

But how do you get informed on new products?  How do you find out about the latest & greatest stuff available?  Obviously the internet.  And call me old fashioned, but I still like to read stuff that isn’t on a computer screen from time to time.  But magazine ads can be worse than TV ads, so my favorite form of advertising is radio.  You still have to use your imagination when you hear an ad on the radio.  Your brain has to function if you want to get that visual stimulus you need.  And as I tend to be an auditory learner, it suits me well.  The only negative to radio advertising is that usually the ads you remember the best & are thereby most effective, are the ones that annoy you to no end.  It may push one of your buttons, grate on your nerves, or just irritate you for no rational reason, but it gets stuck in your brain tighter than Dion Rayford going after his chalupa.  But since I want to further radio advertising, I’ll put in a shout for one of the most memorable radio advertisers, & one of the most annoying.  Their ads are irritating rip offs of the old Bartles & Jaymes ads that overuse plays on a certain word.  Even though I don’t drink, I will have their products stored in my brain forever.  I couldn’t get rid of the memory with a drill.  But that’s effective advertising.  I give you, Hiney Wines.  You can just imagine what kind of humor is employed to use the word Hiney as much as possible.  I love them, because I hate them.  Kind of like Howard Cosell.

So turn off the TV, turn up the radio, & turn on your brain.  It’s good for you.  It’s stimulating.  And it can even give purpose to your life.  I now have a goal due to Hiney Wine commercials.  I’m on a quest to visit the Hiney Winery, find the person responsible for those radio commercials, & put a beatin’ on him the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Holyfield/Rahman.  I didn’t say it was a good purpose, but it’s a purpose.  Be warned Seymour Hiney.  You’re goin’ down!

Posted in Fridays with Joboo, Joboo | 1 Comment »

Dirty Haiku

Ok, this is the inaugural Dirty Haiku, finally replacing the long-defunct Insulting Haiku. This is something I’ve been considering for a while, but I haven’t been sure exactly how dirty I should be. But while I do recognize that this isn’t Filthy Haiku, I’m going to just be all the way dirty. Skip them if you want; they’ll be a fixture for every foreseeable Wednesday:

dead guys don’t fight back
man with a plan with corpses
necrophiliac

Posted in Dirty Haiku | 1 Comment »

Overheard at Dinner

The Boy: Hey Dad, what do you think the coolest thing in the world is?
Me: I don’t know, but it probably has something to do with sharks.
The Boy: Uh, why sharks?
Me: Because they’re pretty freakin’ cool.
Me: How about ninjas riding sharks? Ninjas with lightsabers?
The Boy: Whoa! That is pretty cool.

That was the conversational equivalent of a paternity test right there.

Posted in Book of the Dad, The Family | No Comments »

I Was An Elementary School Drunkard

It’s been amply demonstrated in the past that my dad was a father of the century candidate. Granted, he did finish near the bottom with Marvin Gaye Sr. and Bing Crosby, but the participation ribbon holds a place of honor in his trophy case. As you can no doubt surmise from the title, this blog entry covers my formative years, hanging with Drew Barrymore. Oh, right; this blog entry is about a time that my dad inexplicably avoided going to jail.

On this particular night, mom was (clearly) out of town with my sister. Dad, after apparently suffering a traumatic brain injury, decides to go out drinking with his son. The problem is, the son was still 7 years old at the time. It turns out that in Texas in the early 80s, this is not a problem. Hell, the beer joint we hit sold candy and had video games. So while Dad was getting lit, I was eating Kit Kats and playing Space Invaders. Everything was grand.

As the evening progressed, Dad made big plans. He and a friend decided that they had some drunk driving to do, and before I knew it, I was riding bitch on the second most ill-advised drive of all time (first place), oblivious to anything but my sudden lack of Kit Kats and Space Invaders. Dad had snagged a bottle of homemade wine from the house, and he and his buddy were actually passing the bottle back and forth while Dad drove us around. What can I say? It was a simpler time.

Evenutally, the bottle started making stops at me on its way across the truck. I was encouraged to drink. In hindsight, I guess it was one of those, “Hey, let’s get the cat high” situations. We’ve all done it; there’s really no reason to judge. While the immediate effect of the wine was to make me think that everything was funny, it wasn’t long before I tipped over, lying on the seat of the truck, praying for death. Turns out I was a lightweight in 2nd grade. You show me a man who says Kit Kats can’t do backflips, and I’ll punch him in the face. Dad’s friend began to enthusiastically discuss his skill at barbecuing goat, which oddly enough wasn’t helping matters. This night marks the first time of many that I have actively prayed for death.

Mercifully, the night ended, which marks the beginning of the consequences for Dad. Mom returned, and strangely, was supremely pissed. Throw in the fact that the bottle of wine we drained was actually a gift for her, and Dad was summarily shitlisted. For weeks afterward, my spelling sentences included at least one statement of my love of getting drunk on grape wine on Saturdays with my dad. It’s amazing that I didn’t become a foster child.

Posted in Even in His Youth, Texas, The Family | No Comments »