The Best Part is Thinking Up an Excuse

"So, Ken, how exactly did you break your nose?"

"Well, there was a mugger, two dump trucks and Godzilla..."

Now that the financial markets have officially hit the skids (or as Ken so delicately puts it, "shit the bed"), I'm a tad annoyed because now my beloved dive bar has been positively packed with down-and-out realtors and investor dudes who normally would be drinking $15 martinis and are now arguing over $3 PBR's. I suppose the bright side is now there'll be plenty of sympathy fucks to go 'round, or hey-the-world-is-ending-tomorrow-so-let's-get-drunk-and-screw moments. Never dull.

The Office Perv, Volume 312

You may or may not recall this post of mine from about a year ago:

So in the hopes of getting employees "healthy" and "engaged" and "clad in gym shorts," our company unveiled an in-house fitness center last year. While the thought of working out next to Clive from marketing didn't quite appeal to me, I realized it was free and probably the easiest way to keep on a workout schedule, so I succumbed.

After a couple months, I noticed one of the many hot chicks from accounting working out roughly around the same time I did. And said chick developed a pattern of going from one machine to the next without wiping down that telltale smudge of ass-sweat, which is in direct violation of all known gym etiquette.

Myself, well, I could care less. And actually found it a bit of a turn-on. But others didn't care for it. Like Mel, a coworker who, for some reason, felt insulted by the fact that this impossibly hot woman would dare leave an ass imprint on the recumbent bike seat. So he lodged a complaint with HR.

Problem is, when hot chick was called in by HR to discuss the matter, she inadvertently assumed the accusing party to be me, and said, according to my reliable source, "Are you kidding me? That dog's probably just upset because he wasn't able to lick it up without someone seeing him."

My reputation at the office: solid as ever, folks.

Well, the woman in question unceremoniously tendered her resignation last week, and one of my pals in HR (keep your friends close and enemies closer, people) informed me that during the exit interview, she noted me--Me!--as one of the reasons she was leaving. "I think he's got a sort of ass fetish," is what she supposedly said, and I am thrilled beyond belief that this very line might be making its way into my personnel file.

I've got a sort of ass fetish, ladies. Watch the fuck out!

Is May-December Out Of Season?

I've never dated anyone older than me. OK, scratch that; I did date someone older than me, but I forced him to stop taking his antidepressants when we were going to have sex because I wanted his libido at full mast. Mo' years, mo' problems - also thanks to the ubiquitous Viagra and Cialis ads, I'm convinced that anyone over 45 needs a little blue pill before takeoff. Whereas younger colts, whist having the attention span and relationship experience of a tsetse fly, at least never have any issues in that area. Selfish and superficial? Egotistical and self-centered? You betcha. But hey, perhaps the difference between the sexes is not quite so distinct.

Next Position Please

Thank god someone had the good sense to start adding detailed definitions of sex acts and positions to Wikipedia. Because now, future generations will understand the subtle differences between a Dirty Sanchez, a Lucky Pierre, and the Squashing of the Deckchair. When I have a chance, I'll get around to adding some of my personal favorites:

The Who's on First
Man strategically positions bedroom TV set so that he can catch last few innings of Sox game while going down on Woman. Man blows cover by screaming, "Fucking umpires!" after a particularly close play. Woman beats man with table leg.

The I Swear I Saw This in a Porno Once
Woman lies on bed, holding American flag in one hand and lit sparklers in the other. Man stands on dresser with erection pointing forward, leather flight goggles and scarf in place. Man assesses trajectory, creeps to edge of dresser. Woman spreads legs wider, looks nervously at sparklers. Man falls to floor, snapping penis in two.

The Was That You or Me?
Man and Woman go at it like tasered marmots. Rhythm of intense fucking is interrupted by bizarre, squeakish, flatulence-like sound. Copulation haults momentarily as both Man and Woman go pefectly still. Man excuses himself and heads to bathroom, where he promptly jumps out window and runs home.

The Hey, Does Your Roommate Want to Join Us?
Woman brings Man home from Cask n' Flagon. Man is escorted to bedroom, but spies hot roommate in thong brushing teeth. Man begins asking Woman if her she'd ask her roommate to join in. Woman eventually caves, conveniently neglecting to inform Man of roomie's crabs.

The Beam Me Out
Girl enters Man's apartment. Girl sees stand-up cardboard Mr. Spock figure. Girl departs.

The Look at Me! Fucking You! From Behind!
Woman gets down on all fours. Man commences "doggy style" screw. Man then catches his reflection in mirror. Man continues to study himself as he fucks Woman, making exagerrated hip thrusts and shouting "Hoo Hah!" with each pump. The next morning, he heads back to his small apartment where he resumes his worthless existence. Later, he is seen dining at Arby's.

Save the Drama Fo Yo Mamma

We all have peeps in our lives whose lives are steeped in drama. When the question "So, how was your weekend?" at the water cooler Monday morning generally involves maybe dinner out at a nice restaurant, a movie, watching Sunday's game, theirs generally involves a fistfight, two keggers and a donkey show in TJ. Indeed, an exciting life. Sometimes these types seem so exciting that you simply have to date them. And whoo, this is fun! Until suddenly those stories that you were enjoying so much introduce some new characters: the mediator,the one who has to break up the fight with a bouncer because he was short-changed on the $5 cover. Or the one who gets to run out to buy Gatorade and crackers after the 10 shots of tequila followed by IHOP's Rutti Tutti Fresh n' Fruity comes back to visit three hours later. Or the one who has to look up "Bad Boys Bail Bonds" in the Yellow Pages when Drama gets arrested for indecent exposure and public urination. But hey, at least your water cooler stories are a lot more colorful.

How Vomit Can Kill a One-Night Stand

When I got out of grad school, I took a job at a small publishing company. One of the magazines we produced was a career guide for nurses. So, as fate would have it, I found myself attending lots of meetings and events with, er, nurses.

One night, after a "gala" event hosted by the publisher, a 50 year old and stunningly hot nurse started cozying up to me--fueled by booze, the fact that I was a good 29 years younger than her, booze and probably booze. A few hours later, she invited me back to her place. I was waffling at first, but the whiskey pumping through my veins and her constant tongue-in-my-ear action melted my resolve. "I'm going to bang this fifty year old nurse," I decided. And that was that.

Only, it wasn't. Because on the way to her place, she offered me a cigarette. And feeling a bit James Bond, I accepted, despite the fact that smoking makes me sicker than a hobo's balls. We got back to her place, and it was decision time. Do I take a moment to excuse myself to puke, or do I just keep things rolling. The latter won, and before I knew up from down, my head was spinning, my lungs were burning, my stomach was beginning its revolt, and this 50 year old nurse had me pinned to the wall of her kitchen, grinding her fully-clothed ass against my fully-clothed hard-on. Two minutes later, I was hoisting her up on the counter, my tongue down her throat, and I felt it. The slow churn of rising vomit.

A better man would have simply turned away, excused himself, and retreated to the bathroom. But I was green. With a woman older than my mother. Who was stroking my cock with one hand. And kneading my nuts with the other. How do I just say, "Er, can I take a breather?" Dude, I'll look amateur!

Just then, she hiked her skirt, pushed my face from her stomach to her crotch, and I went to work. About seven seconds later, I turned my head and covered her kitched floor with puke.

Worse timing? Hell no. She recoiled, closed her legs and pushed me away. I stumbled back, whammed into her fridge and knocked magnets six ways to Sunday. Then I slipped on my own puke and landed on my ass.

Needless to say, the mood was shot. The night was over. And, no, I never did get invited back.

The lesson here? Take care of shit like that before you get down to business.

Things to Do on a Date

Here's the thing: You don't want to call the girl up, then attempt to amouse her by driving around town in your Toyota Celica blasting the Top Gun soundtrack and asking if she'd like to try out "that Taco Bell that just opened." You need a game plan, chappy. And here's what we suggest: Perhaps you'll pick up some Broadway tickets and take her to a show. If you're in the mood for a long-ass drive, there's always some Texas entertainment to partake in. Or how about college basketball tickets? Hey, finding a girl who's into sports will pay dividends down the road when you disappear for six weeks on your annual "Super Bowl bender." Or maybe college hoops is her thing, which means scoring tickets to the Final Four Tourney. If she likes hockey, grab some Dallas Stars tickets. The thing is, you may like hanging out at the local bait shop with Rog and Ahmed, snarfing pizza and warm Pabst. But she... probably won't.