The above video is my Nephew playing drums. It's a nice, wholesome break from the discussion of my scrotum and its varying degrees of destruction.

To "Pole Dancer" in reference to the comments postings: It's not like a mammogram without the blood. It's like a vasectomy with the blood.

In response to the other inquiries, my balls are fine. Thanks for your concern.

pimps:up
hoes:down
gooch:out

DRAMA IN REAL LIFE: The Tanning Bed Incident.

Like my scrotum here it is in a nutshell - BloodHound Gang,
"Return of the Great White Dope"

I went tanning today. I like the lay-down tanning beds primarily because I feel awkward standing still in an upright for 16 minutes.

So I'm laying naked in a tanning bed and when the timer shuts the bed off, I open the "clam shell" cover, sit up, and swivel so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed (pretty routine). Apparently, while sitting on the edge of the plexiglass and metal bed, I pushed the plexiglass away from the metal frame. Just enough so something like, say, my scrotum could slip in between. As I stood up, the plexiglass decompressed and went back against the metal... pinching my scrotum in the process.

"Fuck," i grunted, as I stood up quickly in a panic and managed to cause some sort of blood-letting damage to my sac (evidenced by the blood stains on my boxers discovered hours later; I still can't look).

It sucks when something like this happens. If someone asks how my day was, it's not like I can really answer.

So I'll write about it on the internet. That makes sense.

goochout.

Props to Q-Ball for going through the same thing. Sort of.

Like a tractor beam to the Millenium Falcon, I was drawn to Montego's after the soccer game, after the post game drinking last night. I went to visit Ryan (Q-Ball) who helped me develop a plan for the best T-shirt ever (that's right... a capital T shirt). We laughed our asses off, I drank more, I introduced myself to someone I've met several times in the past, drank more, and woke up here. In my house.

I need adult supervision.

I need a nap.

gooch:out

Here's a little something while I try to think of funny shit to write about. So far, I've got something alluding to gay people role playing in the bedroom. Otherwise, nothing. What I've got above is a presentation of the history of cell phones from 1985 to present. I remember the first cellular phone call I ever made. It was in 1990 to my friend John Barr. He wasn't home, so his Mom answered. So... my first cell phone call ended up being to Phyllis. I think the conversation went something like:

"Is John there?"
"No... he's not"
"Oh... (anticlimactic tone follows) I'm calling from a car phone except it's one you can carry around."
"He'll be back later..."
"You see... the phone isn't in the car... I'm just walking around downtown on my Dad's friend's phone."

Honestly, the conversations haven't gotten better since then.

goochout.

I'm a bit hungover this morning. I was lacking interpersonal communication this morning and when I finally got a call, the person was pissed off at me.

"Nobody likes me... I'm simply tolerated by the masses." - me

I just didn't want to post anything for the sake of posting something. I mean, Jesus, do you really need another post exclaiming that I have nothing to write about? I have plenty to write about, just nothing that I want to tell the world.


I'm two for two in solving minor network problems so far today. The gratitude-to-ease-of-work-ratio is fucking phenomenal.


Oh, the people (yes... there was more than two) that were perplexed by the post-it note from the last post: I'm sure it was written in jest.

Here's a picture of Kristen Bell's ass. Who is she? Who cares. You've seen this already if you've been to thesuperficial.com lately. I stare at this picture like it's television. Television that doesn't move. What would you call television that doesn't move? A picture!

goochout

People are strange.

I, on the other hand, am perfectly normal. Okay, I'm normal except for the flaws that my friends and family routinely remind me about.

I have nothing to report. Happy Memorial Day.

goochout.