That Ottoman Got Worked!

I know this Youtube video is super old, but these stupid ottoman fuckers just popped in my head.

I like the first guy, Relentless, telling us that the other four are in the back getting ready, but he's impatient; he just has to start tappin' that ottoman ass!

Next, it's "your boy X2C" (pronounced ecstasy, somehow), and he is about to show us what he's got, while Relentless dismounts the thoroughly humped ottoman, taking his shirt off not so smoothly as it catches on his head, and then he rolls his belly in-and-out like Wayne in Waynes World. That's frickin' hot!

Then comes the fella with my favorite name, Pipelayer, who can't wait to get a piece of that sweet ottoman ass, at which time Relentless exits stage left, and X2C sits on his rear end, awkwardly making air butterflies with his legs and pelvis. What I like about Pipelayer is he's not conventional and doesn't follow trends; notice how he humps in the opposite direction of the other boys. So, would that be the ottoman's mouth?

And along comes Pressure, who has a solo act just after Pipelayer falls off the fornicated furniture and leaves, and X2C clumsily crawls out of frame.

Satisfaktion has no speech at all - just states his name and gets to humpin, while Pressure squats down before the three foot mirror to watch himself do some crouching undulating.

Of course, we then have a grand finale' curtain call, with all our Ottoman humpers coming out at once! At this point, it's getting a little crowded, strange, and perhaps a little gay. Okay, a lot gay. Relentless goes right after the door, gyrating upon it while rubbing his own face, then grabbing the door knob and the handle on the linen closet and humping some serious air. They all have an air orgy together and casually walk off, leaving us feeling . . . I'm not sure what.

Have a look and let me know what you think. As always, make sure you turn off the music player along the left side of the blog before hitting play. Enjoy. Give my best to Pipelayer.



So, your thoughts?

"There he is!"

The best things to say when you don't know someone's name and they seem to know yours are . . .

"What's up?!"

"Hey, buddy!"

"Hey, big guy!"

"Hey there, chief!"

"Good to see you!"

Any of those will do, but when you work with kids like I do, and every damn kid seems to know Dr. Ken's name, you do like this:

Kid: Hi, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater!
Dr. Ken: There he is!

The expression "There he is!" implies that you have been looking for him or just looking forward to seeing him, making the guy feel special, even though usually you're pretty sure you've never met him. It does wonders, especially if you deliver it with a smile and some enthusiasm.

What's your standby phrase when you don't know who in the heck someone is?

West Rules

Yesterday, while having lunch at a McDonalds on the West Side of Chicago, I heard a man say loudly in front of customers, "I left my mufuckin' jacket in the car." I thought to myself, maybe this guy doesn't work here. He couldn't possibly use the MF word so blatantly like that and be on the clock, but yes, then I saw him change a liner on a garbage can continuing to pepper the conversation he was having with his friend with sporadic expletives.

I learned this is okay on the West Side, and you know what else is a-okay by me in that part of town or any other? Hushpuppies dipped in tarter sauce. Sound gross? I say judge not until you've dipped one of those "mufuckas."

Excuses, Excuses

It only happens around two or three times per jog, but I don't like people passing me up when I'm running; I immediately get tired and deflated, so I make up excuses to make me feel better about myself. Like this . . .

"God bless! I feel like a champ. Legs are holding up well and -

(Runner whizzes by Dr. Ken)

oh shit, look at this guy flying by me. But, you know, he's nose-to-toes in spandex, so he doesn't count cause he's all hardcore and stuff, so I'm good. I guess . . . except for this little pebble in my shoe. How is it that they start to feel like boulders after a while . . .

(yet another jogger passes him up)

"Son of a . . . who does this guy think he is? Oh, but wait. I saw this same fucker walking a little ways back, so he must be doing some sort of stop-start circuit training or cross training or what-have-you. What is the difference between circuit and cross training anyhow? Oh well, I still feel all right, except I'm getting a little chafing action on my inner thigh. Is that because I have fat thighs or something? I don't think I do. Maybe I need to lube up with Vaseline down there before I . . .

(Again, another runner blows by him)

"- oh, what the hell! And this is a woman! And she's old. Older than baseball, this one! This is humiliating. But . . . If she's old, odds are she's been running a long time. Experience goes a long way in the running game, I'm told."

How's about you, Seven Readers? Does anyone use any positive/negative self-talk to get you through the day? ?

Grapples

I came across Grapples today at the supermarket, and I just had to buy them. They're part apple, part grape. Turns out they're just less crisp than apples with a mild grape flavor. They're not bad, but I'd much rather have an apple, like a Granny Smith. Who the heck was she anyway? Who cares? This guy. Just looked it up, and it's named after some lady who created them in Australia in the 1800's.

Even if Grapples are less than spectacular, I think the name Grapple kicks so much ass, that I have no regrets buying Grapples.

Just say it a few times. "Grapple, Grapple, Grapple."

The homepage has a link where you can become a fan of them on Facebook. Who the F would do that? This guy.

This (mostly) every day posting is causing an all time low in material . .

Let's Pet Puppies!

There's a shop on Ashland and Roscoe in Chicago called Let's Pet Puppies in which patrons walk in the door, sanitize their hands, and take all kinds of puppies out of their cages and pet the shit out of them. It's good in that you can cheer yourself up on a bad day by holding all kinds of adorable little puppies of various breeds, but bad because you feel like an asshole when you have to put them back in their little two by three cages. Today, Gancey Girfriend and I petted Multipoos (Multese and poodle mix) and Shih Poo (Shitzu and poodle mixes), and they were God damned cute as fuck.


(Shih Poo)


(Multipoo)

How about you, Seven Readers? At which shop do you like to window shop with no intention of buying a darned thing?

Dr. Kenneth "The Gancer" Noisewater began his embarrassing Mixed Martial Arts "career" with a humiliating defeat in which, after being on the receiving end of a series of hammer fists in a ground-in-pound, actually said in his post-fight interview something no one calling himself a "fighter" should say: "I want my mommy." He didn't fare much better in his second bout where he was submitted by a rear naked choke after going in for an ill-advised "noogie." In his third and final fight, the doctor was again submitted, this time by a guillotine, after he tried to climb out of the cage, later claiming that it was not an act of cowardice, but instead an attempt to win because he thought it was a "Steel Cage Match, you know, like Hulk Hogan and shit."