Thursday, August 28, 2014

Best Nude Scenes Ever #10 through 7

In this first installment, Crom and myself discuss our personal top ten lists, numbers 10 through 7.  Stay tuned to when we finish out lists and come up with a master nudie list.  This is important stuff, people . . .

A couple quick things . . .

1. There was a time where I really did think I would be a published writer of some kind.  As I get older, the creative juices don't flow like they used to.  I wish I could bottle up whatever manic crazy energy I had back then and use it for a couple hours a day.  Just a couple.  Not all day long because I might have been out of my mind back then.  

2. Want to know what I'm doing these days?  Still podcasts that hardly anyone listens to.  And the topic of the latest one?  The best nude scenes in film history.  Yeah, still stuff like that.  But who cares.  As long as I stay busy.  Tonight my good friend, Crom, is coming by to edit the podcast and fix up some snags we have hit along the way.  Look for an installment to come out really soon.  

3. Oh, here's a funny story.  I'm lying down on my stomach the other day (editing the boobie podcast), and Mrs. Noisewater says, "Ooh, I think that's a spider vein on your leg.  Does anyone in your family get those?"  I sullenly reported that my dad gets them, along with varicose veins, and hemorrhoids.  To cheer myself up I said, "But can we call them spidey veins?  It's cuter."  That got a laugh.  That's all I need are laughs from friends, loved ones, and you fine folks . . .

Thursday, August 21, 2014

On Ice Buckets

Like most of us, I'm really tired of people dumping ice on themselves to raise money for ALS research. Curing diseases is a good thing.  Yes.  But when your Facebok feed is full of people dumping ice water on themselves, it just gets a little old after a while.  Also, I had been in saying that this trend praying on people's addiction to filming selfies and obsessing over social media.  It is kind of genius, actually.  But I had made up my mind that if I got "challenged," I would just give the money and not make it all about myself with me on my porch being an idiot with some cold water.  Also, I'm really cynical, and I can't help but think that with all the insane amounts of money being raised, someone is going to get greedy and pocket some of it.  I have seen too many famous charity events that turned out to be later the victims of someone having sticky fingers.  So, I decided I'm out if anyone asks me to do this crap.

Then I got asked by a good friend who I play volleyball with all the time.  He is a terrific dude.  I remember when ladies would ask if I had any single friends, he was just about the only guy I could say was a friend who is single and a decent human being.  That being said, he does have a fatal flaw: he is always late.  Having 24 hours to complete the challenge, he waited until the last hour possible.  He didn't bother to check the framing of the shot, so his head is cut out of it.  Also, It was dark outside, and I guess he didn't have the means to light up his back porch enough, so he dumps the water on himself just outside his screen door, getting water all over the carpet.  It cracked me up, and it made me love the guy even more.

I think it would have been easy to say no to a lot of friends, but with him I was put in a bind.  However, Mrs. Noisewater's parents were coming in town, and I had to hang out with them through out the whole next day while Mrs. Noisewater was at work.  They're great people, and I really couldn't see myself saying, okay, you guys hang tight for a moment while I buy some ice to dump some cold water all over myself because someone dared me to do it.  Or even worse, "Why don't you guys help me film myself dumping water on myself while you visit your daughter and her idiot boyfriend in Chicago."  Believe it or not, I worked out all the details and found a way to get it all done on my own, under the deadline, but ultimately I just decided to give the money away and skip the ice bucket challenge.

How about you, readers?  Answer one or a few of these questions:
Have you been challenged, and have you completed it?  Or have you even heard of this thing?  Do you think social media fundraising challenges will be a trend, given the success of this movement, and what do you think about that?  

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Doctor Kenny-o Euro Gigalo

Mrs Noisewater and I are headed to Dublin, Oslo, Bergen, and Stockholm in that order. I'm typing this blog post on my phone and just learned that the auto correct for Noisewater is nauseated. That is merely a sidebar.

I likely won't be updating until I return on the 11th. Who knows, I may be ambitious and keep my travel log on the ol' blog, but if you have been following me at all, then you know that I will do more boozing than writing.

In case this is the last you hear from me until my return, go ahead and leave a comment on another recent post and I will comment on them all when I get back.

Okay, blog buddies. Talk to you soon!

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Top Secret Coaches For the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights

The fantasy football league that I'm in is 10% so that I can get excited about meaningless plays by random players in insignificant games and 90% to stay in touch with high school friends who all have kids and live in the suburbs.  I rarely hear from some of them, if at all, outside of the emails and message board from the league.  So that's why I do it.

Sometimes people get mad when I won't join their leagues, and I have to explain to them that I hate running the one team, so why on earth would I want to run another?  If this were a bunch of guys from the office and not my good buddies from high school, I would have bowed out a long time ago.

But today I had a stroke of genius: I will make my nephews run my team this season!  This makes perfect sense because . . .

A) During football season it's all I hear these two guys talk about, so they obviously enjoy it more than me.

B) It's a good way to text my nephews and stay in touch with them because sometimes two months or more will go by without me hearing from them.  If we win the whole thing, I'll split the money with them.  And win or lose I'll take them out to some cool arcade place out by where they live that they have been asking me to take them to.  

C) I'm 100% sure they will do a better job at it than me.

(It's finally the year for the Flying Fire-Breathing Shark Riding Knights!)
I told the two of them that they have to switch off weeks managing the team, so when Monday comes around the new manager steps in, and the previous manager can't say anything about any moves being made while he is out - he just has to wait to the following week to see what kind of team he has left after trades and add/drops have been made.  I decided this would be better than a simultaneous managing deal because that would undoubtably lead to the two of them calling each other idiots, getting each other in headlocks, and holding each other down and farting on one another.  And if I'm causing more headaches for my sister who is already working full time as a lawyer, raising three boys, and dealing with a shit-heal ex-husband, then the whole project will be a disaster in my eyes.

Another rule is they can't read the message boards with my friends in the league saying disgusting things.  Okay, so they will end up reading once I've told them not to because they will know some profane stuff will be on there, but they can't under any circumstances tell their mother about any of the jokes they've read.

Keeping it a secret is another trick all together.  There is only one person I can think of who might still check in on this blog on occasion who might come in contact with people in the league, so James Douglas Morrison (JDM), if you're reading this, please keep my Boy Genius plot top secret.

I contacted the two boys this afternoon via text, and the 16-year-old said yes right away.  The seventh grader sent a text back saying, "Sure.  Sounds fun."  Then another text moments later saying "Wait, who is this?"  It's all the more encouraging that he likes this fantasy crap so much that he agreed to do it without even knowing who it is!

This is going to be a fantastic season.  While I'm drinking a cold one on a Sunday game day, I'll be able to text the boys about our players that are kicking butt - and never sending negative stuff because as the prudent team owner, I know that would be bad for my coaches' morale.

Also, for no good tricking reason, here's a picture of Alien playing Predator in a friendly game of pool.
(Pretty sure Alien is drunk because he is drooling.  And the drool is probably acid.  Which will burn its way into the apartment below the bar.)

Saturday, July 26, 2014

B-4 and After the Lesbian Proposition

I went to a Cubs game the other night with my buddy, Dangerous, and he and I went to a great little cozy bar called the Burwood Tap for a few night caps.  It was Bingo night, which sounds stupid and an activity meant for folks 40 years our senior, but in reality it was great fun.  For some reason Dangerous knew all the corny jokes to yell out.  For instance, if B-4 is called, you just have to say "and after!" And when it's time for B-9, you gotta say "or malignant!"  So stupid, but funny as hell when you're as drunk as we were.
Me thinks their sign needs a comma, but I love them nonetheless. 
But here's where things get interesting.

After Bingo, an attractive woman I hadn't said one word to walks right up to me, hands me a piece of paper with her name and her number written on it and says "I can't talk to you right now because I'm kind of on a date, but call me."  Then she walks away back to her table, and her date comes out of the bathroom.  And her date is another woman.  I watched the two of them leave shortly after that, and through the window I saw them across the street both stretching their hamstrings.  What sort of insane lesbian sex acts did they have in store for the night that required stretching out their leg muscles?  And did one of them want me to be a part of said acts?
"That's it!  Breathe on my back!  And don't ever talk to a Bingo dork again!"
I'm in a committed relationship with the greatest gal I've ever known, so I discarded her number.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  I tried to get it out of my pocket as proof to some guys at the bar that it actually happened (or prove to myself that I hadn't imagined it), but I had already lost it.  I'm the least organized person I know.

When I woke up the next day with a clear head, I had decided that it couldn't be that she was totally taken with my rugged good looks and my command of the Bingo stamper.  What was going on was one of these three scenarios:

A) She was on a date with a woman who exposed all women to be what she was growing tired of, and she decided right then and there that she needed to mix things up with a fella.  And I was nothing special but the nearest halfway decent looking man with a functional wang.

B) Her date was her girlfriend and she wanted to start a fight with her by coming on to someone that would piss her off the most: a man.  Had I taken that bait, I would be in store for an epic cat fight with me in the middle and being crushed to death between their super-strong stretched out thighs.

C) She wanted me to be part of a an epic three-way sex romp that would go all night and I would have to ice my genitals all the next day.

I have actually ruled out choice C.

Then Dangerous is taking pictures of some people he happened to know in the bar, and he says "hold on, that great big tall girl was right in the way of that shot."  And the girl got all sad about it.  Then he spent the better part of an hour consoling tall girl and trying to convince her that she is pretty.  She went on-and-on about how she has a low self concept.  I had no idea what they were talking about, so I walked over there and said "Wow, you're tall!  Do you play volleyball?  Stand up for a second and put your arms up.  You would be terrific at the middle-block position!"  I think that set Dangerous back an extra twenty minutes on his quest to make her less self conscious about her height.

We're going to need a bigger lens to make this shot work.  That or shorter trees.
So that's it.  Anyone have any thoughts about the lesbian proposition or the poor tall gal with low self-esteem?  

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Remembering Tiamat

I was tired at work the other day and said to myself "Man, I am draggin' like Tiamat.  Tiamat is the only dragon I could think of at the time, although Smaug is one more people would know given the popularity of "Lord of the Rings."  Still, I like to let my inner nerd shine by referencing the Dungeons & Dragons mythical beast and one of the stars of the 1980's Saturday morning cartoon series.

Also, Tiamat represents a dark day in my past when I was around 8-years-old and snuck down to the Christmas tree before my parents woke up to find that I had the toy Tiamat, the five-headed dragon!  I yelled "Tiamat!" and my sister, my partner in crime that morning, told me to keep my voice down.  All that hard work my parents went through assembling those toys and laying them out, and they didn't get to see my genuine reaction.  When we got back out of bed to open gifts as a family, I had to fake the surprise of seeing Ms. Tiamat under the tree and scream her name a second time and fain the same level of enthusiasm.  All five heads appeared to be shaking their heads in their disapproval of my treachery and disappointment in my lackluster acting performance to conceal it.

I damn near just ordered this shirt. 
I played fricking Dungeons & Dragons as a kid.  I'll admit it.  It's cool to like knights and dragons again, I suppose, with the popularity of Game of Thrones now, but all you have to do there is flip on the television and talk about it at work on Monday.  D & D was a big commitment.  But I didn't mind rolling dice, reading all the rules, getting out the graph paper, and creating a character with all his/her attributes.  I'll admit it.  And I still remember all five heads that Tiamat had, the color of dragons, their breath weapons, and the order of how strong they were from strongest to weakest.  Observe:

1. Red: Fire.
2. Blue: Lightning.
3. Green: Poison Gas.
4. Black: Acid.
5. White: Ice Blast.

Shit.  I think I mixed up a few.  My nerd powers are waning over the years.

I always wonder what the stomachs were like for those green and black dragons to be able to belch up acid and poison gas.  What must their farts smell like?  Actually, in the case of Tiamat, all five heads shared the same body, as well as the same dragon butthole.  Do you think she could turn around and blast out all five breath weapons at once out of her butt?  How many hit points of damage would that do?

(Notice he tucks in his legs to avoid injury?  This isn't his first rocket blast fart joy ride.)
And this free association random-ass blog post has led us to . . . dragon farts.  Why not?

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The other night I was at the bar and got talking to one of those guys with a curly-cue mustache.  The Rollie Fingers mustache, if you will.

"Top 10?  More like Top 1."
I asked him how long it takes him to do that in the morning, and it sounds like quite an ordeal, styling it and spraying it down and all.  And if he doesn't do anything, then it looks like a Fu Manchu.

"I may not have the curls, but can you guess where this pinky thingy goes?"
He went on to tell me that he won 2nd place in his category in a facial hair contest.  My first question was what the name of that category was (because it really should be the Rollie Fingers Category).  He said it was "Freestyle Mustache."  Oh.  I then asked how many were in his category, and he said there were only three.  I let him know that he also placed 2nd-to-last.  I was buzzed a little and speaking freely . . .

But also I just hate hipsters with stupid facial hair, piercings, and just dumb stuff like that in general.  You're not a turn of the century boxer.  You work for Whole Food, or whatever, and when you're late for work and don't have time to style your 'stache, your coworkers call you Fu Manchu Fuck Face.  And when you're primped up beautifully, they call you Old Boxing Photograph Fuck Face.

Fight?  I thought we agreed to a Mustache Contest?

Not all styles are coming back en vogue or are somehow ironically cool.  When does it stop?  Do you want to throw on a powdered wig and be all 1700's?  Probably if a true hipster saw people wearing the wigs, he would get really pissed and go back to a look from 50,000 years ago and just throw on a loin cloth and go to the bar and sip his Pabst Blue Ribbon.
So I guess the conversation with the weirdo from the bar was still in my head because yesterday I'm driving in the car, I'm a little lost and crabby, a hipster with a terrible old-timey mustache is crossing the street and I find myself yelling "Fuck that guy!"  He wasn't doing anything wrong - just crossing the street like everyone else.  I just couldn't take it any more.  I actually caught myself off guard with my sudden outburst.

Am I out of line here, or has the hipster thing worn thin with anyone else?