Browsing "weird"

Salty Sardines

work, life, reality, fantasy

Had an interesting customer today.
An attorney from the Big Apple nonetheless.
His corpulent and somewhat vocal wife sat her crinkly bumcakes on a leather chair while hubby proceeded
to thrill me with his infinite knowledge of cavendish/aromatic pipe tobacco.

Customer: Yeah, I had a blend you guys make and I liked it. It was called . . .  um . . . 4 . . . 43 . . .  43 something.
Me: 432?
Customer: Yeah, yeah, that’s it. You got something that’s kinda similar but different? (this guy IS a lawyer)
Me: Sure do. (pick up a can of whatever and offer him a sniff)
Customer: Oh, man! That’s way too strong! (It isn’t) How about something a little milder?
Me: Absolutely, sir. (pick up another can of whatever and offer him a sniff)
Customer: Oooh! That’s nasty! Maybe I should just stick with the 432.
Me: I pegged you as a ’432 guy’ the minute you walked in the door, sir. (winking) You like what you like, right?
(we have another name for this blend that’s unfortunately proprietary)
Customer: Yeah, I guess so. (laughing, while gazing not so lovingly at the lounging and now sweating profusely Wifey)
[No AC in store] [No lie]
Me: How much would you like, sir? An ounce? Two ounces?
Customer: Two ounces. I’m just going to peruse your pipes while you do that.
Whiney Wifey: (in a commanding and demeaning tone) You’re not buying anymore pipes today!
(to me she says) He already has too many. (a look of disgust on her face)
Me: How many pipes do you have? (I’m already feeling sorry for this choad)
Customer: 6 or 7
Me: Oooh! You animal! (my associate has over 400+ Castello high grades worth God knows what)
Customer: (smiles, and very slyly says) I started making my own pipes, too. (eyebrows going up to impress me)
Me: Really? (not really curious but being polite)
Whiney Wifey: You should see ‘em! Pff. (offering up a nasty and disapproving grin)
(to hubby) You’re such a loser! (hubby looks at me, and . . . )
Customer: {{{shrugs. admits defeat to his personal ball and chain}}}
I’m wondering if they have children.
To me, it seems a virtual/sexual impossibility.

Whiney Wifey( WW)(Anti-Cougar) finally goes outside to test the weight limit of our all too ancient benches as hubby looks at more pipes.
He finds one, takes it down and places it on the counter before running out of the store like a kid at a carnival to ask for WW’s permission to buy it.
WTF?

I found this sale comical in ways but so damn sad in many others.
Here’s a smart man (supposedly?) being controlled 100% by a woman that defies the definition of ‘loving and beautiful wife’, in my most humble opinion.
She was demeaning and down right salty.
My opinion? She’s in need of some high colonic irrigation. With Liquid Plumber. (ooh. that was a bit harsh)
And who knows, maybe 432 keeps her away from him like Off! spray keeps skeeters away from me.
If it does, he should have bought 40-50lbs of the stuff.
Hey, she’s worth it.

Boil a fetus

digusting, Uberhumor, vile, evil

 

I can laugh at many things I see on the internet but very occasionally
I find something that just leaves me cold.
I troll UberHumor every now and then and have re-posted some of their material to Facebook, Twitter and my blog.
Some of the posts are really funny.
I have an off-kilter sense of humor but sometimes something really bothers me.
LIKE THIS.
I don’t recommend clicking on the link because it’s quite simply offensive in numerous ways.
“get pregnant so you can have an abortion”
Really?
As I said, I have a great sense of humor but not this time.
Why someone thinks this is funny eludes me.
I love that the internet gives us freedom of expression, freedom of speech and stranger personal values but
how the f*^k does something like this slip through?
Shame on the crazy folks at UberHumor.com
This shit just ain’t funny, my friends.
Time for an editor with some sack and intestinal fortitude to police the site and send this crap to the shitter.
Just my opinion.

ps. you clicked on the link, didn’t you?
Yeah, yuck . . .

 

Strange daze are theez

weird, Boston, strange

 

Working in Boston there are things that happen on a daily basis that defy any logical definition.
Although I haven’t chronicled all these weird/blessed events, they do play out daily/nightly in my brain like
a bizarre Charlie Chaplin movie.
A guy came running into the store today and yelled to no one in particular,
“There’s a pig outside! I’m not kidding! There’s a pig outside! You gotta see this!”

I said, “Dude, this is Park Square. There are pigs everywhere.”

It was then that I saw a little white pig with a curly tail waltz his fat ass by the open front door.

White, well behaved pigs on a leash.
I wondered what would have happened if I approached said hog with a bottle of ‘Sweet Baby Ray’s’.
My mind wanders.

Then there’s the guy that walks into the store, waits patiently for 15 minutes and then asks me, “Where can I get tour of Germany?”

“Dude. I sell cigars. And pipes. And tobacco. I don’t sell tours. You’re in the wrong store.”
He looks at me as if I just spoke Latin.
Tours?
Germany?
Do you see a fucking beer stein here?
*sigh*

Now I will move on to a regular customer that I will refer to as ‘PhillyCheese’.
This is a guy that has confessed to wearing panty hose, heels and a wig while he vacuums his home.
I hear the neighborhood has taken up a collection to allow/force him to put up curtains.
His dialect changes on any given day from stoutly English to a NY Brooklyn accent.
He’s like a box of fucked up chocolates when you never know what you’re going to get.
Run, PhillyCheese, Run!!!!
PhillyCheese was engaging an unknowing customer the other day when I heard him say this:

“I collect jock straps sir, and I like to wear them around the house when I’m doing something pleasurable.”

What activity would be more pleasurable when wearing a banana hammock?

I can’t make this weird shit up.
It just happens.

Had a weirdass oriental dude come in one late Monday morning and asked/said, “Save Lenny?” [Save Lenny?]

“Save Lenny?” I asked.

“Yeah, save Lenny,” he said.

“I got nothing dude, hang on.”

I called on my friend and colleague Charles to make the situation right.

“What do you want?” [said Charles]

“Save Lenny.”

“What are you talking about?” [said Charles]

“Save Lenny.”

“We’re all out.” [said Charles]

*customer shakes head and leaves withoutsave lenny‘.

Whatever the fuck ‘save Lenny’ is.
I guess.

This is the proverbial tip of the weirdness iceberg that is 100% Park Square.
As I always say, “Everyday is Halloween.”
Bring on the crazy.
I’m ready every day.
Most peculiar, mama . . .

~m

10 Things

memory, dying, stupid stuff, head exploding

 

Ten things (11) I will not think about in My Last Seconds of Life

I have thought about this for a few days now and believe I have come up with a viable, albeit weird, list of 10 things.
These have occurred randomly as I go about my day but I think it’s a pretty good list.
These are in no specific order in terms of magnitude but they are somewhat funny and insightful.

I will not think about:

(1) The guitar solo in ‘Keep on Lovin’ You’ from REO Speedwagon (dumb name).
This is quite possibly the lamest and out of tune solo I have ever heard.
I can’t believe the producer didn’t say,
“Are you shitting me, Amato? I’d rather hear the sound of a puppy being run over with a lawn mower. For the love of God, tune your frickin’ guitar, dickboy. And how about a real solo? ”

(2) The fact that my car is 3K miles over for an oil change.
The story of my life.
And it keeps telling me via a caring message on the dashboard every single time I start the car.
*Sigh*

(3) Iambic Pentameter.
Iambic pentameter (from Greek: ἰαμβικός πεντάμετρος meaning to have five iambs) is a commonly used metrical line in traditional verse and verse drama. The term describes the particular rhythm that the words establish in that line. That rhythm is measured in small groups of syllables; these small groups of syllables are called “feet“. The word “iambic” describes the type of foot that is used (in English, an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable). The word “pentameter” indicates that a line has five of these “feet.”
Yeah.
Won’t be needing that definition anymore.

(4) Dance Moms.
I know, it’s sad that I actually know about this show.
Abby Lee Miller, the corpulent porpoise of a dance instructor, verbally hacks away at the fragile self-esteem of young female ‘born with a silver spoon in their mouths’ dancers.
The self-righteous mothers of these girls need to be water boarded for allowing this abomination to happen in the first place.
Think I’m pretty clear on this one.

(5) Who really killed JFK.
Nuff said.

(6) Politics.
Like the time I sent out an off the hook ‘conservative’ email to about 75 people.
It found its way into the Inbox of a screaming yahoo liberal (not mentioning names, thanks, Lisa)
who decided to hit a ‘reply all’ and rip me a new one because she thought it was her responsibility as a citizen. Yup, won’t be thinking about that one.

(7) Where I left the numbers for my Swiss bank account.

(8) The day I gave my father an enema.
In the end (no pun intended), my father was actually laughing while I was doing it.
Long story short, he needed a colonoscopy and I could find no visiting nurse that would do it the day of the procedure.
I was elected.

(9) Long forgotten Facebook game requests.
No explanation needed.
(10) Lost things.
St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come down
something is lost and can’t be found.
Our Wedding album, a pipe rack filled with nice smoking pipes, my Swiss bank account numbers,
my six-pack abs, my sanity . . .

(11) Mayonnaise.
I know.
Weird.
Maybe that’s why this list goes to 11.

For fun, sit down with a piece of paper and give yourself 10 minutes to write out a list.
I would be curious to see what you come up with.
Post your answers on my Facebook page or my blog if you’d like.
This was a great writing prompt.

AND . . .  check THIS out.
Pretty cerebral . . .

 

 

 

Lush Me

Lush, massage bar, I would so eat that

One question before I start.
Would you eat one of the above creations?
If you answered yes, please continue.
If you answered no, then you answered no.
Carry on.
Take out the garbage or go for a walk.
There’s nothing more to see or read here.

Here is a picture of a funny monkey to help you forget why you came here in the first place.

monkey

I have lived with 4 women/daughters for the better part of 29 or so years.
I’m used to all the stuff associated with their personal hygiene too;
hair products, hair brushes, blow dryers (they torch at least one on a monthly basis),
gel/goop crap for their hair, conditioners, face wash [with Hawaiian pumice!], ass wash, back wash, foot wash and feminine mouthwash.
It never ceases to amaze me the amount and selection of products available.
Guys have two major categories: shaving and deodorant.
We don’t need much more.

There are some products available to guys as well that simply elude me.
Axe body spray, for one.
Oh, it’s infused with pheromones so no woman can resist you.
Let’s lay that one to rest and say that if you stink like BO or smell like Charles Manson, no pheromone spray, body wash or Godly bar of soap will ever eliminate that.
No wonder you go home alone.

Living with women I’ve gotten used to oddly named products that have no relation to anything ‘male’;
‘The Brusher’, Pink Grapefruit Exfoliate, Slick Works, Catch the Wave gel, Got2B hair motherfu*&$^ Complex,
TRESemme Simply No Frizz with *Frizz Defense!( and God knows how many more).

I used to think these products were okay as long as they didn’t interfere with my life as a hair growing Neanderthal.
That thinking changed a few weeks ago when I went to the fridge after several perfectly chilled Harpoon Leviathan Ales.

Looking into the freezer I spotted an Italian Ice that was the perfect size for a nightcap dessert.
I picked it out and saw the name ‘Whoosh’ on the lid.
Judging from the color is was a blue raspberry ice.
Perfect.
One of my favorite ‘ice’ flavors.
As I began lifting the lid off I noticed that this was not ‘ice’ at all but something called ‘Shower Jelly’.
My monkey brain screamed: DO NOT EAT THIS!

The company that made it is was called ‘Lush’.
They make fresh handmade cosmetics.
Or do they?
Their shower jellies include ‘Sweetie Pie’ and ‘Whoosh’ (the one I almost ate).
They have bath bombs with names like Butterball, Bon Bomb, Dragon’s Egg, Sex Bomb and The Sicilian
(oooh, tease me with your seductive Italian flare! Grazie!)

This company has stuff called ‘Gorilla Perfume’.
Gorilla? For a woman?
Maybe a hairy woman.
Why not call it ‘Primate Scent Enhancer’?
What’s the difference?
The names are quite amusing though . . .
‘The smell of weather turning’ . . .  (here comes the big one, honey!)
‘Snowshowers’ . . .  (get out the shovel you lazy, fat bastard!)
‘1,000 Kisses Deep’ . . .  (not going there, evah)

The other thing I almost ate was a ‘Lush’ bath bar.
These things look like little oval white hunks of chocolate imbedded with yummy things . . .  like nuts and stuff.
I almost ate a ‘Wiccy Magic Muscles’ bar that looked more like a white chocolate Snickers bar than a massage bar.
My olfactory senses slowly connected with my brain and said, “Dude? The tummy ain’t gonna like this. It ain’t food.”
Nuff said.
I had learned my lesson.

Lush has some great names for their products though;

Nutts ( a massage bar. Not touching the name)
Strawberry Feels Forever (giving them a *Beatle for that one)
Heavenilli (looks like Sushimi, minus the wasabi)(rub sushi all over my face, please)
After 8:30 (looks like a piece of carrot cake with 1” of cream cheese frosting, who can resist?)
Dorothy (a bath bar that looks like a little doggie turd on a blue urinal hockey puck)(truth)

Guys like me can’t understand this stuff.
We are happy that it makes you happy but we will never comprehend the obvious product innuendo.
And there is much of it with ‘Lush’.

Consider their Body Butters:

King of Skin
Schnuggle (so cute the name alone makes me gag)
Aqua Mirabilis (?)(is that a constellation?)
You Snap the Whip (Shades of Quentin Tarantino)
And last but not least, ‘Buffy’;

Massage our Buffy body butter all over your wet skin in the bath or shower to make you softer and smooth to the touch, paying special attention to your backside. We add ground rice, almonds and beans to Buffy to act as exfoliants; the rough textures eliminate lumps and bumps and sloughs away dry skin cells to reveal brighter, fresher looking skin. Rinse off the exfoliating bits and pat yourself dry. There’s no need for body lotion after a Buffy slaying session, because the cocoa and shea butters keep your skin beautifully smooth, moisturized and soft to the touch.

Smack my ass and call me Sally, this is true.
I would write more about this company but I have a mad date with an extravagant bath bar called, ‘Blue Skies and Fluffy White Clouds’.
And I think she’s taking me for one hell of a soapy ride . . .

Questions 67 & 68

 

There has been a question that’s been rolling around in this head of mine for ions now.
I asked ‘said’ question to a fairly close friend of mine recently and was a wee bit startled by his answer.
It was the total opposite of mine.
Know that this friend of mine is an MD and a highly intelligent individual.
I would have thought that everyone would see it my way but that is obviously not the case.
While the question is illogical, hypothetical and a virtual unfeasibility,
I found it mind-numbing nonetheless.

If you came upon a celestial tollbooth in your life where you were told:
You need to give up either your sight or your hearing, which one do you choose to lose?

My answer was almost immediate which was no shock to me and possibly of little shock to you.
So as not to sway anyone this post will be in two parts, this one being the first.
What would you choose?
Sight or Sound/Hearing?

My answer will follow next week.
If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter there will be a link there soon.
Think about it people.
Give me your best shot.
I already have my answer locked and loaded . . .

~m

Odiferous Bezoar for the masses

hathaway, sexy, armpits, gross

I came home from work and went upstairs to change into my oh-so-comfy ‘Cinnabun fat’ clothes.
As I took off my shirt I noticed that my armpits smelled/reaked of rotting onions.
Onions?
WTF? [how about some garlic?]
I am usually meticulous regarding my personal hygiene and stinky garbage pits make me run to the shower.
But I didn’t work out.
I didn’t work in a coal mine.
And I didn’t even stretch my legs, or even my eyebrows.
Hell, I didn’t even stir a hot chocolate from Starbucks which can require a massive amount of energy.
So where the hell did this stench come from?
Homeless shelter smell, I am not.
Tomorrow morning I will shower for twice as long.
Will it help?
Only my armpits will know.
And the previously crying people on the commuter rail home as well . . .

~m

 

ps. And Miss Hathaway? Nice pits . . .

Strange days are totally Googlable

Google, post card, weird news

With hundreds of red-winged blackbirds falling dead out of the sky in Louisiana,
more tornadoes than the NOAA can count,
earthquakes the magnitudes of which the world has never seen,
tropical cyclones that can only be classified as deadly and a massive oil spill that was the worst
environmental disaster of all time, I thought it was high time for some good news.
Some funny news.
Maybe even some fake and made up news.
Anything but the bullshit the media gives us.
Just scanning the web I found a number of interesting stories.
Thank you Google.

Like THIS one.
Heartwarming and true.

Or THIS one.
Not so heartwarming but probably true.

Or THIS one.
Not heartwarming at all but damn funny in a very dark and Pan’s Labyrinth kind of way.

There, you feel better already, yes?
And no, I am not getting up at 3AM to watch the Royal Wedding.
I need my beauty sleep, for God’s sake . . .

~m

Luna

Time is like liquid,
an ephemeral step towards truth;
the marching forward of decades,
years,
months,
weeks,
days,
hours,
minutes
and finally seconds.
Sloppy seconds at best when you consider the moments that are totally wasted.
Time is like water,
dripping endlessly towards an endless sea of little to no meaning.
Or not.
3:13Am is no time to be kicking your legs off the covers.
Unless you can see the dials of the clock . . .

~m

Outliers

I stumbled upon this video and have become somewhat obsessed with it.
It was an entry in the 2010 Cannes Film festival.
I’ve  no idea how it made out but I will tell you that the genre it was submitted to was, ‘End of the World’.
This is good stuff, IMHO
Stygian, just like this dark little river . . .

~m

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