I Got Nuthin'

Consolation Video: "High Five for First Kiss" (Original) via YouTube

Why Does Everyone Go Out of His or Her Way to Meddle in My Sex Life?

I know how to do it!

And it's not a button!

It's more like a thimble--

Oh. 

You meant the doorknob.

Hmm.

That ... is ... embarrassing.

Yep.

All this for nothing.

Could you get my thumbs out of my jammies' cord knot?...

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: BOD Man: His Sexiest Musks

Being a completist and that I so much enjoyed Benjamin Franklin's His Sexiest Muskets, I asked for this item, although I'm not certain if Santa's neglect upsets me or not.

Let me get this straight. I am the BOD Man, right?

I don't want some other guy's three sexiest musks. I want my very own three sexiest musks. Otherwise:

Ewww...

'Barbarella,' Psychedelia, Oh, Yes, Yes, Yeah

From time to time, I share my favorite main title sequences from motion pictures. Just like movie posters, creative presentation of the credits can outshine the overall achievements of a film. Case in point: "Barbarella" (1968).

I rode a dismal city bus and transferred to a second to go downtown and across town to see "Barbarella," during its original release. I was bored watching the bulk of the science fiction spoof, but nothing, nothing could have topped these opening minutes with Jane Fonda.

She was airborne and weightless.

Curiously, little 16-year-old me was, too.


"Barbarella" Main Title Sequence via Blip.tv
Frank Thompson: "Now that is what every main title should look like. Except they should lose those pesky credits."

Big Weekend

I've never been one to speak of prowess in the bedroom, but my warm spot left me.

'Spay Day 25% Off'

For a Skosh Less Puppies

CONFIDENTIAL Q&A

Questions for Mr. Durrett, if He Has a Moment, Posed by The Friday Five

1) Who was your first kiss?

A blind date. She was lovely. I was a nervous wreck. I swallowed my gumbo bowl.

2) Who is the last person you kissed?

My wife, silly. I've got integrity and the cat's not a people.

3) What is the story of your most romantic kiss?

What the American people want to talk about are the issues, not someone I kissed years ago, someone in the neighborhood. We should be talking about the issues. That's what we should be talking about.

4) What is the story of your worst kiss?

I was very apprehensive, fidgety. I knew I had to do it, my first kiss. I was on a mission. There was another couple with us that would have been merciless to me if I didn't kiss her, so I manned up and went in for the score.

I slid off her face.

5) Who do you want to kiss right now?

The American people don't want to hear about my associations, who I'm palling around with. What the American people want to hear about are the issues. We should be talking about the issues. That's what we should be talking about. What are you wearing?

Ernest Borgnine: Still Happy After All These Years

The 91-year-old actor appears on "Fox and Friends" with a candid revelation.


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I'm not saying a word.

Apparently, for half another century...

Classic Lays

Thank you. Moonlight becomes me.

'America's #1 Condom Trusted for Over 80 Years'

I don't know. I kinda would like a fresh one.

Suxiest Man Alive

Once again, I failed to be named "People's" Sexiest Man Alive! I didn't even make their top ten.

This is where I sit with my mouth and chins agape for 20 minutes.

Later, That Same Night

Sure, I'll admit I'm getting a few miles on me, but the increased frequency of pebble dings and the vast assortment of pit stops are flattering.

I am a bit moth-gnawed. Some of my stitchwork has popped and I'm missing a button, a spine, and "Bee Movie" TV Juniors.

But, hey, there was no plastic surgery when I was born. They had Melmac surgery and home perms. And me without a Toni Twin.

Nevertheless, get real, "People!" I do have all of my gut and a fluent grasp of the English Leather.

The tat-eww was a mistake, granted. I didn't realize the day would come when I'd grow love handles or I never would have had those artist's renderings of love handles inked.

I checked the fine print of the Sexiest Man Alive list with a magnifying goblet. After the cross-eyed headache subsided and my windedness from the sobs, I saw I was designated as the 3,742,984,006th Sexiest Man Alive. It's an honor just to be nominated.

Ba-heck-loney!

I'm sandwiched between #3,742,984,005, Aimee Mann, and just above a Keebler Elf suffering from a rare skin condition, the heartbreak of crumbs.

Oh, well, there's always next year. I'll be ready.

I'm going to floss after every yawn, splurge on BriteTrachea bleachings, pasteurize the cowlick, belch with reverb, and coach my Streptococcus pneumoniae bacteria to win at Texas Hold'em.

Manly. Lively. Sexly.

100 Things About Me #126

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #125," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Welcome to the Mating Game

The main floor of Fernbank, my primary school in Atlanta, quartered the offices of the principal and nurse, library, and sixth grade classrooms. As mentioned previously, I was seated beyond the second door to the right when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, yet that's not all I recall on the hall.

There was Becky.

I may have been too young in the sixth grade for a true case of "puppy love," so what I experienced was more accurately "canine embryo like."

Or "pre-pimples dementia."

Becky and I had been veteran classmates, but all of a sudden we found ourselves or our official delegates running back and forth, asking, "Do you like me?" or "Do you like Becky/Mike?"

We'd answer, "Yessss" or "Noooo." And then we'd all run away from each other real quick.

I don't know about her, but I'd regroup and puff a candy cigarette.

This went on incessantly for several weeks and then it stopped. I was crushed, even though we had never held hands or had a date or a conversation.

I could never bring myself to speak to Becky again, not even in high school. I wasn't being a jerk. I'd been perpetually stunned.

I do not believe I've seen Becky since the night we graduated and headed for college. Donna, ignore this part when you proofread this entry. If Becky were to suddenly appear, I'm sure I'd want to know if she, well, likes me, but I'd probably be too busy spit-taking, hyperventilating, and hiding to ask.


100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next

The Blended O

Now we're talking.

Smooches AND a Smoothie!

With Love One the You're

Continued From: "Oompah-pah Pah Pants and Oo La La!," part of a thread starting with "Cents and Sensibility."



I'm not sure what this gadget is, but I just had to have one. I think it's some sort of birth control device for dyslexics.


Continued: "Scratch 'n' Spiff"

Make Your Own Jokes

I was caught off guard when advertisements appeared on these pages screaming "Buy Gay-Friendly Autos."

What?! Cars can be gay?

Hummersexuals or homobiles or something?

One blurb asked:

"Does your ride reflect your Pride? Is your car out of the closet?"

Not only has my car never been in and/or out of a closet, but it also hasn't been in a parking garage or a carwash for eight years.

Manly.

Rugged.

Ram Tough.

Typo. Damn Tough! Damn Tough!

I plan to fight any Turtle Wax with shampoo and conditioner for extra silkiness.

Furthermore, if gasoline doesn't have a testosterone additive, we ain't pumping.

So, when did this vehicular phenomenon come about?

I've had gay friends and acquaintances over the years and I've heard quite a few lifestyle revelations, yet not one word concerning queer eye for the straight shift.

Well, okay, fine. I don't know about alternative wheels, but I do know comedy gold when I see it.

And the premise "Buy Gay-Friendly Autos" is definitely comedy gold, ready to be mined.

Nevertheless, I'm not going there. Nope, not me.

Sure, I have several dozen fall down funny, gaspingly hilarious, laughingly hysterical, standing ovation-inducing ad-libs loaded and begging to be told. It's just that sometimes jokes aren't worth the grief they may bring and I choose to avoid this slippery slope.

I'm biting my tongue.

That seemed wiser than backing on tippy-toes.

Parenting 101

I caught Morty sneaking a look at a saucy bedroom scene on "Greg the Bunny."

I guess it's time we had that little talk.

Probably, past time. Lately, his meows sound like Barry White.

How Morty found the show, I don't know. That's the last time I buy a Catnip Universal Remote.