January 17, 2010

“Wanna Do Art With Me?”

Yeah… That is the exact question that was asked to me by this crack-head while I was sitting in front of the Starbucks on the corner of Howe and Arden one night.

Well actually, he first approached me with his finger in his ear and said “I have my finger in my ear. You wanna do it too?” I kindly told him that I was just getting ready to put my finger in my nose, and thought that it wouldn’t be a good idea if I put it into his ear first. So he left, and returned a few minutes later with four Crayons that had been chewed down to nubs and an old napkin. “Wanna do art with me?”

In hindsight, I should have said yes, as I’m certain the pictures that would have poured from Jimmy Buttcheeks (jacked up on caffeine) and Finger In Ear Guy (jacked up on crack) from the Starbucks patio that night would have been sensational and to be honest, I’m sorry that I passed on that moment.

So… why am I telling you this little story about the Coloring Crack-Head? Because it reminded me that I do, in fact, “Do Art”!

And what better place to showcase it for you than here, hidden in the pages of The Ballad Of Jimmy Buttcheeks?!

So it all started with my girlfriend. As I’ve mentioned before, she’s a Pin Up Model. Old School type. I had just returned from a trip out to her house and while I was there, she showed me a picture that a girl had drawn for her. It was really not that great of a picture in my opinion, but then again, beauty is in the eye of the beer holder, and I wasn’t holding any beer while I was looking at it. Anyway, what really blew my mind was that my girlfriend had paid this girl $20 to draw a picture of her. How cool is that?! Getting paid to draw a photograph of someone! I remember setting the picture down without a second thought. I really didn’t think about it any more until I got home.

I was driving home from work one night and I thought back to the $20 drawing. I wished that I had some type of artistic ability, but I’ve always thought that I didn’t. Unless of course, one could get by on drawing Stick Figures.

STICK FIGURES!!!!

Hey! I can draw those!!! I can do this!!! I’d use the same system as the girl who drew the picture of my girlfriend. But instead of making them all nice and pretty and proportioned and um, good, I’d draw Pin Up Models in the Stick Figure form!

This just might work! But… I needed a way to get these girls interested in my drawings. So I opted out of selling them at $20 a whack and figured I’d pay the girls $1 if they let me draw them! Now all that I needed was a medium to get these pictures out. Oh, I’d also need a test subject!

This is where The Pinup Lifestyle came into play.

See, this website is a place where like-minded professionals get together and share contact information, lightning ideas and concepts, hair and makeup design, and photographs. It’s filled with Pin Up Models, Hair and Makeup Artist, Photographers, and Artist that work with paper and pencils on up to Bamboo Tablets and Macs. And it just so happened that my girlfriend is good friends with the couple that run the site. So locked in she is, that she actually got me approved to have my own page on The Pinup Lifestyle Network!

So… now I have my concept. I have a venue to showcase my idea. I also have a girlfriend that might let me draw her. All that I need now is something to draw with, as well as something to draw on!

I had just moved back into my old house and I had nothing to draw with, or on. Nothing I tell ya! So I dug around, found an old pencil from the refinery that I was working at. Next I went into my backpack that I used while traveling the country for work. Sure enough, I found an old Clarion Hotel receipt. The front was filled up with the 30+ days that I had been living there. It documented check in time, check out time, and a list of “movies” that I had watched while I was there. But the backside of the receipt was clean! This would do the trick! Taking my switch blade from my pocket, I quickly sharpened my pencil and sat down at the coffee table on my knees. I can’t remember that last time I’d been so excited, and the feeling took me back to being seven years old and sitting at my Grandmas house, drawing my ass off while I waited for mom to come and pick me up.

Below is the very first Jimmy Buttcheeks Stick Figure Pin Ups, featuring the lovely and talented Wink Holliday.

See, Wink has a love for cupcakes. So I drew her falling madly for the coolest cupcake that I could come up with. To read the full description of the drawing and how it was made, please click here.

Next up comes Désirée. She actual owns and operates The Pinup Lifestyle Network with her boyfriend DC. Wink was in town one weekend and we decided to head down to the Bay Area to meet Désirée and her boyfriend DC for dinner. We had a great time and I also did the “robot” for DC’s son. It was a good time! So good in fact, we went back down the next day to goof off and do some shopping. While we were out and about, we stumbled upon this guy dressed as a pirate. He was juggling knives while eating apples and doing all the shit that park performers do, but this guy was different. He was selling a CD on how to become a Juggling Pirate. The kids were crowded around him and seemed to love him, as he was pretty kick ass. But in the twisted mind of yours truly, I pictured the kids being terrified, running in all directions, dodging stray knives… that sort of thing. And from that came the second installment of Jimmy Buttcheeks Stick Figure Pin Ups. This time featuring Desi… and you can find the full description here.

As you can see, I stepped up my game a little and when it came to drawing Desi, I actually bought a sketch pad and a box of colored pencils. Things were starting to move along, and I was starting to get noticed by some pretty cool people. Rockabilly Richie, for example!

I can’t say enough good things about this man. But in a nutshell, he is my motivation, inspiration, and my biggest support. He has helped me in ways that no other has. Examples? Well, he turned me on to the Wacom Bamboo Tablet, he offered up support and insight to my drawings, he hung two of my pictures in his art room where he works. One of the best things that this guy did for me?

He put my art work in a real life, totally legitimate gallery at Claude Gallery in Eastchester, NY.

Richie not only put my work up in this gallery, He invited me out to the opening and even let me sleep on his couch for the night that I was there. Again… this guy is no joke. Please check out some of his work. He’s all over the place and one of the Koolest Kats that you’ll ever meet. Look for him here, and here.

Richie… I can’t thank you enough my friend.

As the Stick Figures picked up momentum on The Pinup Lifestyle I made a lot of new friends and had a lot of request for more drawings. Unfortunately, my job was in full swing and the seven days a week, fourteen hour shifts cut deeply into my time to draw. I had time to put out three more drawings. One for Miss Rocket Girl, one for Tabitha, and one that was  just a goof on bands that open for bigger stars such as Social Distortion and the hell that those bands go through, and also put the crowd through as well. Take a look below!

Full description here. Read it!

Full description here

Full description here.

So here is what came from one pencil and a hotel receipt. Not to shabby, eh?

There are a few others out here in the wonderful world of “art” that you might want to stop by and take a look at. For example, there is SF Photojournal. Don’t ask me what he really does for a living as I don’t think anyone really knows. I’d have to take a shot in the dark and answer with; “He makes funny little movies on YouTube that involve “festive dances”. This guy is an amazing photographer. I’ve seen him in action, I’ve even been in front of his lens a time or two. He’s a great guy with an eye for the perfect shot. You should swing by and check out his work. You wont be disappointed! His Pin Up related photos are here.

There is also this guy Amano Jyaku. He’s a hoot! Basically his art revolves around super hot cartoon type girls with really nice boobs and long red hair! Every once in a while (like once actually) I can get him to draw a picture of Debbie Gibson for me. He does a super job and is a pretty funny character. I’m not sure, as I never asked, but I think his cat is named after one of the bagpipe players from the Dropkick Murphys. You can follow him on Twitter. His Wednesday Twitter Sketches are pretty neat!

Okay, Loyal Readers! I know this post wasn’t as funny as some of the other things that I done, but I was at the bar last night and just kind of thinking of some of the wonderful and creative people who have come into my life in the last year or so. I wanted to pay some respect to them, and possibly turn you on to some good art and some nice web sites.

The other thing that I wanted to point out is that I really did get to go to that “other coast” that so many people speak of and see my stick figures hanging on the wall next to some terrific artist. Sure, there was a lot of help along the way, and one nice person lead to another (Yeah Downs Custom and Robert Hatch, I’m talking about you!) but it really all started with a pencil and the back of a hotel receipt. I get asked a lot; “Jimmy! When you gonna draw some more Stick Figures???” and the truth is, I don’t know that I ever will. It’s not that I don’t want to, and it’s not that they’re not fun to do, it’s just that those pictures… they were drawn with heart! You know? I didn’t have to think about them. There was never a “rough draft”. They just happened. They poured right out of me… hell, I couldn’t have stopped them if I wanted to.

But I just wanted to leave you with this… If this guy can get from California to New York on a stick figure, think of the shit you can get up to!

Take your dream, give it a hug and a pat on the back, and run with that fucker!

The only person stopping you, is yourself. Don’t be scared. Life is too short.

If you get some time, share a story or even a link with me in the comments section of this blog. I’d love to see what type of art inspires you!

Until next time, Readers!

Jimmy :)

4 Comments

Filed under Art, Drawing, funny, humor, Photography, Pin Up, Pin Up Lifestyle Network, Pinup Lifestyle, Pinups, Stick Figures

December 20, 2009

I know that I shouldn’t… But I read the Comments.

Okay.

How many of you loyal readers spend time on-line reading other things besides the outlandish misadventures of Jimmy Buttcheeks?

All of you? No shit?!

Well, so do I!

You see, I’ve found myself in this phase where I can’t read enough of the CNN Justice section. I find this new title “Justice” to be rather funny, only because it used to be called “Crime”. I guess the good folks at CNN thought they’d get a few more readers if they changed the name to something a little more pleasing to the ear… but whatever. This isn’t what my post is about.

My post today is about the “Comments” section that are at the bottom of the “Justice” section stories on the CNN website.

Now… Before you start giving me a bunch of shit about how “Those people have really been hurt.” or “that’s some ones Mom/Dad/Sister/Brother/Son/Daughter/Aunt/Uncle…” I’m gonna ask you to kindly shut your pie-hole. I know what the story is about and yes, it’s a shitty story for sure. Which is exactly why I wont weigh in under the comments section!

But people do. And it’s a combination between ignorant, sad, and disturbing. But mostly it is funny! And when I say funny, I mean wiping tears from your eyes, hoping you never meet these characters in real life type of funny.

For example we will start with the story out of Salt Lake City, Utah. The brief Jimmy Buttcheeks version is that a Dad leaves the house at 12:30 am on a Sunday to take his young kids camping. The kids are between 1 and 4 years old (depending on which story you read) and they head up to the mountains during a snow storm. When they return, like on Tuesday or something, Mom is gone! Dad calls Cops, Cops ask questions, Dad wont answer, Dad gets an Attorney… the story is fishy for sure. But now I’m going to pull real quotes from the comments section so you can read about how some of our neighbors understand the judicial system, the law, law officials responsibilities, and how much detective work can be learned from a Nancy Drew book or a copy of True Crimes from 1977.

Here’s one from Linda B. in GA.

  • “I heard they want to question the 4 yr old. Do it, he should be able to shed some light on the matter….kids are VERY SMART, at that age.”

Really, Linda? Kids are “VERY SMART” at that age? If that’s the case, why aren’t any of those little assholes running Wall Street? I’m sure the kid might know something, but the last things the Cops want to hear is a statement from someone who thinks Santa is going to fit down a 8″ stove-pipe, believes in The Tooth Fairy, watches YoGabbaGabba, eats his boogers, and poops while he’s in the bath tub!  For Christ-sake you may as well ask the crazy homeless man from across town! I can see the interview now… “So, Little Guy. tell us what happened.”  ”Well, Daddy woke me up at dark time and we went to the forest to look for the Great Pumpkin. Can my imaginary friend have a glass of water? Do you have a red telephone to call Batman? Sometimes my poop floats and sometimes it doesn’t. Do you like DJ Lance Rock?”And if this isn’t enough to make you see a glimmer of common sense in it all… read my two blog post were I pooped on my front porch and posed in my Superman Under’Roos… I think you’ll reconsider your stance on the intelligence of a four year old, Toots.

Next we hear from Susan Lewis out of NYC. Susan writes;

  • “I read true crime all the time. He did it. Question is, if and when they find the body, and whther or not their is forensic evidence anywhere. This is an Ann Rule book in the making.”

Susan, Susan, Susan… Where (not wear) do I start? First of all, I’m scared of you. Second of all… is that all it takes? Reading True Crime and Ann Rule books??? Well fuck me running! Think of all of the money that local law enforcement could save by having a year subscription to True Crime and signing up for the Ann Rule Book of the Month Club!!! No more training, no more tax payer dollars… wow! They could even get Ann Rule Mouse Pads to put on their (not there, or they’re) desk! You know… to ask advice from in the tough times when their November issue of True Crimes is coming up short! Hey Susan!!! I watch Scooby Doo!!! Can I help too? I bet if we jump in the Mystery Machine and head over to the Haunted Amusement Park and pull the mask off of the old caretaker it will be the Dad!!! But then again, it could have been Professor Plum in the Conservatory with the Lead Pipe! (Editors Note: I’ve never heard of Ann Rule until Susan enlightened me about her crime solving skills, but I did a little (as in, I went to her website) research and anyone who makes a mouse pad and gives the money to Angels For Animals is good in my book! Crime solving skills or not!)

Next we hear from Linda M. Linda writes;

  • “Its obvious this man killed his wife, either because he has a mistress or he has a big insurance policy. Who in their right mind would take two young children on a camping trip at midnight?? And from what I heard on the news, it was cold outside. Come on Mr. Powell……..couldn’t you come up with a better story than that??”

I LOVE this one… why? Because even if the Dad did kill his wife, it wasn’t because he was a little crazy. It wasn’t because she bitched at him for 10 years straight and he’d (not heed, Susan) finally had enough. It wasn’t because he accidentally gave her some shell fish and she had an allergic reaction and died in her sleep and he freaked out in hid the body. No… It was because of his Mistress and that huge insurance policy. Linda M., meet Susan Lewis. Susan Lewis, this is Linda M. Now that you two crime busters have met, and this case is closed, we need your assistance finding Osama bin Laden. Don’t bother with the Haunted Music Hall… the Gang is already down there (are you catching how this works Susan???) with Jerry Reed and they came up empty.

What’s that, Chirp? You’ve got something relevant to the case, something that could put this all to rest??? Well please, share it with all of the readers on CNN! Chirp writes;

  • “he does not want to speak to them cause if police cant find her, they will focus on him as a killer. Word of advice, never speak to police.”

Brilliant idea, Twerp, um… I mean Chirp!!! I’m guessing that Chirp lives in the “bad part” of Richmond, CA., Boston, MA., or any of the other finer cities across the US were people watch people get killed and then say nothing. I have one question for you Chirp… how many people do you have buried in your backyard?

JoJo is a brilliant bastard and writes the following;

  • “This guy is innocent. so he went camping is that a crime?”

Ha Ha, JoJo! You’re a complete jack ass! The only difference between you and me is that I got up and walked away from my computer before I wrote the damn near exact same thing!!! I don’t know if I love you or if I hate you! We’ll settle on the love portion of it. Yeah, that was pretty funny. And no, I don’t write in the “Comments” section of CNN under the alias of JoJo!

Okay… I’ve pretty much had enough of this one article. But here is something that I will share with you, simply because I think that I understand what the guy is trying to say. I think. It comes from another sad story about someone being killed and the court system, and… screw it. All of that is irrelevant. I’m adding it based off of spelling and grammar alone. It actually makes a lot of sense (I think) but it is an exemplary case proving that Hooked On Phonics really can fuck you up.

Jack S. writes;

  • “i don’t think the sheriff’s or any one else shuold be releaseing,vidio or any other photos,statments,ect.it’s wrong,unethical,and surely unprofecinal. the jodge shoud tell the porsecuter that if it happens againg he’ll he would declair a miss -trile!!!!!!!!”

First of all, Jack, you’re the first person that I’ve ever met who uses exclamation points more than I do. I salute you, my No-Spelling-Friend! Second, I think you have a valid point, although I don’t really know because I can’t read a damn thing that you’ve written here. Third, Where exactly did Miss Trile place in the Miss Universe Pageant last year anyway? Did she at least make the Top 10 Finalist cut?

Hell yes it did!!!

Okay… If you haven’t gotten my point yet, I’m going to explain it here.

People are missing, people are dead. Daughters are gone without a trace. Children are left alone and are completely confused and bewildered. Everything that you write on the internet (including this blog) is going to stick around for a long, long time. People that are dealing with deep emotional pain right now are trying very hard not to read the stupid bullshit that you write in the comments section of the CNN website, or even your local news affiliates website. But as hard as they try, it still gets back to them. The News is a fucked up device to keep you programmed. It keeps you scared, and thus by doing that, it controls you. You buy guns, you buy alarms, you start to hate other cultures, and other countries. It tells you nothing of the good things that happen in life everyday. It never reports about how many people went to bed with a tummy full of food and a kiss on the forehead from Mom. It will never tell you how many people got to kiss the girl or boy of their dreams last Friday night. It didn’t say a fucking thing about how me and Screamin’ J Pito opened the door two times at Starbucks for a little old lady and then helped her put her soda pop into the trunk of her car last night.

The news is there for you to read if you want to. Twenty years ago, you didn’t have the option of putting your misspelled two cents of complete bullshit at the bottom of the page. One thing that I noticed on the CNN page is that it will post a statement saying “Comments have been closed for this article”. Until the time comes when CNN won’t even let you put a comment under a news article, I will be sure to stop by from time to time… just to check your spelling, grammar, and make fun of you. After all, if you’re willing to write it all down for the world to see, maybe I can get you a little more exposure by putting it on my blog.

It is, after all, what I’m doing too… isn’t it?

And to those of you who are just about to say; “But Jimmy! How can you stay aware of all of the bad things that could happen to you out there in the big wide world if you don’t read or watch the news?”

I say this, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Ignorance, truly is, bliss.

If I don’t see you before the first of the year, Happy Holidays!

Be sure to open the door for a complete stranger, give someone cuts in front of you in the line at the post office, and keep a smile on your pretty face… because they’re contagious! It’s the least we can do, and it goes a long way…

Buttcheeks… OUT!

9 Comments

Filed under CNN, comedy, Comments, Crime, funny, humor, Jerry Reed, Spelling Is Hard

December 1, 2009

Who The Hell Dresses Us When We’re Small, And Why Isn’t There A Line-Judge?

Seriously.

I had a few moments after a pretty busy Thanksgiving Weekend to sit down and do nothing, so I took that time and flipped through about two hundred photographs from my childhood. I’d say based off of the dates stamped on the edges of the earliest photos, the time line starts around 1972, which would make me at least one (if not one and a half ),and range up to about two months ago.

There were a few common “themes” that I noticed in these photographs over the full 37 years that they encompass.

  1. It seems that starting at a very young age I wanted nothing more than to be a Cowboy.
  2. Your parents take pictures of you doing the craziest shit, and sometimes even pose you so that the angle and lighting is just right as to show off how big of an idiot you really are.
  3. No one, and I mean no one, ever so much as looked at as you ran out the door for a day of playing. Either that, or there were different Dress Codes for Northern Indiana in the ’70s.

Below you will find some pictures. Pictures of me, Jimmy Buttcheeks. They will run the gamete from the “Cute Little Chubby Baby” era, to the “Awkward Teenager Trying to Find Myself” stage, on through the “Fuck You, I’m Twenty Now and I Can Dress Myself” angst era, and on to the “I’m Almost 40 and Completely Washed Up You’re Lucky I Even Have On Pants” finale.

So here’s the fun part for all six of my loyal Readers!

Each photograph will have a number attached to it. It is your job, fine reader, to take your favorite picture of me and in the “comments” section of this blog, write your own caption for what ever number picture that you feel like!!!

That’s right! You get to caption any picture in this blog post that you want!!!

Will there be a winner??? You bet your sweet ass there will be!!!

Who will be the Judge??? I will, you WingNut… It’s my Blog Post afterall!

What will I win??? Here’s what you’ll win! Not only will you get the smug satisfaction of knowing that I think you’re funnier than the other 5 Readers of my blog post, You’ll also win an original Jimmy Buttcheeks pin(button) to put on your favorite coat, hat, scarf, or child!!!

But that’s not all!!! You’ll also receive a GalacticRobot pull tab that hooks to the zipper of your favorite coat, purse, handbag, or child!!!

So… grab yourself a Pepsi over crushed ice, hot cup of cocoa, or what ever the hell it is that you feel like drinking right about now and join me on a Trip Down Memory Lane of Shitty Fashion and Bad Hair Cuts! Won’t you???

Enjoy!

Picture 1

Picture 1. You can see where this all started, can’t you??? That’s my Dad. I would assume at that young age he still loved me. I mean after all, I hadn’t been around long enough to be that big of a pain in his ass, yet still… there he is, dressing me. In God knows what.I blame my shitty fashion sense (or lack there of) on him!

Picture 2

As you can see in Picture 2, I tried to rebel against my Dads keen sense of style. Here, I opt for what I would guess is my big brothers T-shirt or maybe it’s my night-shirt. Either way, they were one in the same… but that’s life growing up poor. I chose to accessorize this shirt with some Ray Charles/Plasticman type glasses. Standing on the linoleum floor in our old kitchen really sets it all off.

Picture 3

In Picture 3, I have no fucking clue what I’m wearing. I’d say it’s a bathrobe with a belt from a flannel night robe, cinched at the nipples to ensure that it doesn’t fall off. Next it looks like I’m wearing some type of hand-made slipper-socks. But then again, they could have been my mittens… you just never know. Finally, we top it off (literally) with, a… Kippah???? Hell I don’t know!

Picture 4

Moving along… In Picture 4 we find myself (Superman), flanked by my little brother (very front, Captain America) and two of my cousins. Superman UnderRoos. This picture needs no explanation, It’s only here to prove my point of the evil poses that our parents would make us do. I actually blame my Aunt or Grandma for this one. I seriously don’t think my Mom would have let this shit slide!

Picture 5

Lets bump up in age, shall we??? In Picture 5 I’d guess I must be nine. If my memory serves me correctly, I’d guess that we’re posing for our first day of school-waiting-for-the-bus- pictures. Yes… this is me going to school for the first time in California. You are correct… that is a silver belt buckle and you bet your sweet ass it has a turquoise inset. And had I known the ass beatings that I’d soon be taking for this outfit, I wouldn’t be looking so damn cocky!

Picture 6

What??? Did I hear you correctly??? There is no way I have a picture of me that’s gayer than Picture 5??? Well get a load of Picture 6!!! Yep! Red tie to match my red belt! I don’t have this ensemble any more as when I got older and started drinking I’d confuse the belt for the tie every time. (and no… my Mom didn’t make me strike that pose… I came up with it on my own!)

Picture 7

Come on, Man! Everyone was wearing the LeTigre shirts and Members Only jackets in 1983!!! Just not with faded 501′s and a Team Yamaha ball cap. You can tell how old this photo is based off of the color of the hat. Yes Kiddies… back in the day, Yamaha motocross bikes used to be yellow and black. And our version of Ricky Carmichael was a guy named Bob Hannah. Bob Hanna would have approved of this outfit. This, my Readers, is Picture 7!!!

Picture 8

Mother F@cker, say what???!!! You’re goddamned right I’m rocking a mullet!!! And if you’re a girl looking at this, it’s making you hot! If you’re a guy looking at this, it’s making you jealous!!! Don’t deny the power of the 10/90!!! Picture 8. Recognize!

Picture 9

It’s a well-known fact that me and brother Gabe (right) went on to form a pretty tight little three-piece punk rock band with the help of his then girlfriend, now wife, on the drums. But what a lot of people don’t know is that our Boy Band prior to that failed miserably. Thanksgiving Day, going to dinner with my parents. Don’t know exactly how old I am in this picture, but lets say 19 or 20. Picture 9. Stop staring at my package. Thank you.

Picture 10

Picture 10. At about 22 years of age, I hit this angry streak. Here I am in the Chevron Refinery in Richmond California. Looks like a chalkboard that I’m standing next to, but it’s a brand new pressure vessel that I was inspecting before my brother-in-law interrupted me to take this picture. Surprised I got to work that day with all of that scruff on my chin. Oh!!! Check that tiny earring in my left ear!! I’m a bad ass!!!

Picture 11

Picture 11. I had to be about 36 when this baby hit the streets. Note the cowboy hat and wife beater under shirt. This is right around the time I started forgetting my pants.

Picture 12

Picture 12 shows me reverting back to my old days. With no Ray Charles/Plasticman glasses to be found, I settled for late ’60s Elvis Shades. I had priced out a Members Only jacket, but those suckers are pretty expensive these days so I bought a 12 pack of PBR and made the one that I’m wearing here while drinking it.

Picture 13

Picture 13. We’ll wrap it up with this one here just for the simple fact that I’m tired of doing this shit tonight and want to go to bed! Let me see… definitely 38 in this picture. Looks like I just dyed my hair. Not much on the fashion side, but you all should know this. That is a Ben Davis, 1/2 zip work shirt. I cut the sleeves off of it and fashioned it into a knock off version of the karate-coat-thing that John Kreese was wearing in the Karate Kid. Don’t know who the hell John Kreese is??? Then feast your eyes on picture 14.

Sensei John Kreese

Now I think you know who the hell I’m talking about! There is no mercy in this mans dojo.

Okay, Readers!!! Thanks for joining me on the mini-trip down memory lane!!!

Now… pick your favorite picture, and write a funny caption in the comments section! One so funny, that it would make even Sensei Kreese giggle!

“Do you have a problem with that?”

8 Comments

Filed under childhood, comedy, funny, humor, Sensei Kreese

November 29, 2009

It’s Not Us Weekly, It’s U.S. Weekly!!!

Shortly after my divorce, I moved back to my small three-bedroom house in the charming ghetto that is South Sacramento. After cleaning ten years of renters’ funk off of the walls and out of the carpet, I sat down at my MacBook and notified the United States Post Office of my new adventure and where they could find me, just in case they needed to get a hold of me to tell me something important.

Yeah… a fancy way to tell you that I filed my Change Of Address.

It wasn’t long until I started to receive all types of mail! Some I recognized from my old house and some of the things were junk mail from different stores that I’d been shopping at online. There was a certain publication that started landing in my mailbox on a weekly basis and this little gem was Us Weekly. I don’t know how it happened either. I’d like to tell you it was a subscription of my ex-wife or stepdaughter’s that just got forwarded with the other things, but it’s not.

It has my full name on the delivery tag, and my name only.

It is mine.

I would hyperlink you to it, but this is the stupidest magazine that I’ve ever seen in my entire existence and I feel that it’s my duty to destroy the publication as soon as it arrives in my mailbox.

After I read it from cover to cover.

Three or four times.

And share the important discoveries that I’ve uncovered about Brad, Angie, Tom, Katie, Jessica, Jen, Mary-Kate, Ashley, and Miley with all of my friends at the bar.

You see I didn’t always have an undying love for this publication, at first I hated it. I’m willing to bet you that the first six that I received went straight to the recycle bin. I thought about calling them up and telling them to stop sending the magazine, but I have a ton of great ideas that I never follow through with and that was one of them.

I’ll never forget the first day that I sat down and really got to know her.

Have you ever been driving, and realized that you have to go to the bathroom really bad? You know… you’re only five miles from the house but with each passing mile your need to “drop the bomb,” “take the Browns to the Super Bowl,” “negotiate a hostage release,” what ever you want to call it, multiplied by 10 in the “this needs to happen ASAP” category?

Well, by the time I had keyed the lock on the front door, grabbed the contents of the mailbox, and sprinted to the bathroom my need to “go” had gone from a rating of Blue to Red in accordance with the Homeland Security Advisory System.

Yes… in West Sac i was “Guarded,” making sure to avoid all bumps in the roadway and trying to find a faster route home. By the time I parked the car, there was a “Severe Risk” of me shitting my pants.

So… I’m in the bathroom and I’m getting ready to “drop the kids off at the Swim Center.” I’m flipping through the mail, trying to find something good to read. I have two Netflix movies and the current edition of Us Weekly. I can’t hardly watch a DVD in my bathroom (not yet, anyway!) but Us Weekly is so damn gay that I actually open the Netflix envelopes so that I can read the little write up on the movies that I’ll be watching later in the week. Yeah… that’s how much I hated Us Weekly at that point in my life.

Anyway… that takes up about ten seconds of my “Tour Of Doodie” and alas, I’m forced to flip through that damn magazine.

I don’t know the best way to describe the experience, but I’ll give it a whack.

Say you have a friend, and he’s dating a girl that you just can’t stand. You don’t know why, but she just drives you nuts. But one day, by accident, you’re left alone with this girl and she’s all that you have to talk to. You’re forced to engage in conversation with this person to pass the time. But upon talking to her for fifteen or twenty minutes you realize she isn’t really all that bad.

After an hour, she’s really quite pleasant to be around!

Two hours later you realize that her once-annoying voice is actually quite lovely and that she smells like a mix between really sweet flowers, baby powder, and funnel cake!!!

By the end of the night you’re driving home and actually thinking of a way to get rid of your buddy (making it look like an accident, of course) so that you can have a crack at this girl!

Yeah… that is exactly like reading Us Weekly for the first time.

It grows on you.

Much like mold on that tomato in the fridge, or algae at the bottom of a shallow pond.

I don’t really recall how much time had passed. But when I tried to stand up from the toilet I fell face first into the wall, and nearly sideways into the bathtub.

You know how a certain girl makes your stomach do flip-flops when you hear her voice, or your lips tingle when she leans in to give you even the smallest kiss?

Yes, my legs had fallen asleep… and I was in love!

Oh the things the she showed me over the months to follow…

  • Why yes, Us Weekly, now that you mention it Eva Mendes does look much better than Selita Ebanks in that white-hot dress by J. Mendel! 64% better??? Well I don’t know about that, Sweetheart… but whatever!!!
  • What’s that you say, BabyCakes??? Tom Cruise totally embarrassed Katie Holmes at a dinner party by forgetting what college she went to?! What an asshole! Everyone knows that she deferred acceptance to Columbia in 1997 so that she could focus on acting! Geeez!
  • Listen, Honey… I have to take Miley Cyrus’ side on this one. Twilight is pretty gay. I can see way she doesn’t watch it.

Oh… And the feelings of happiness don’t stop there! No!

Us Weekly understands that I’m just a working stiff from the Power Plant up the road. She knows that I sometimes get jealous of all of the famous people that she knows, and that sometimes I feel insecure because all of the movie stars are doing super cool things while I’m stuck at the supermarket buying cheese and toenail clippers, or waiting in line at the liquor store buying PBR, cigarettes, and a copy of Hustler. But she helps me through those times…

  • What??? Renee Zellweger uses the free Wi-Fi at Starbucks just like me??? Does it totally suck for her too, you know… like never working? Wow! I wonder if she’s ever thrown her MacBook across the Starbucks lobby while screaming “FUCK YOU AT&T!!!
  • No way!!!??? Gisele Bundchen texts while she walks, just like me??? I SOOOO don’t believe that one! Oh wait, you have a picture??? Wow! I wonder if she ever throws her iPhone into the busy intersection while screaming “FUCK YOU AT&T!!!” Oh, yeah… I see it now, right there in the photograph, plain as day! She’s smiling alright! Yeah… I bet she is using Verizon!
  • Seriously??? They grab bags too??? Sharon Osbourne actually puts her fresh fruits and veggies into those little plastic bags in the produce section in the supermarket? Boy, I wonder if she ever gets so frustrated when the little bag won’t open that she pulls the whole roll down and throws it at the produce kid while screaming “FUCK YOU AT&T!!!” No… of course she doesn’t! I know, I was just being silly!

Sure… Our relationship is like anyone else’s. Sometimes we argue, but it doesn’t last too long.

For example, one time I was just feeling grumpy, you know… one of those days, and I kinda sorta lost my temper with her. I remember shouting at her;

“If these Stars are just like me, then why aren’t there any pictures of Ewan McGregor sitting in front of his computer late at night with the lights off mesmerized by free internet porn?!?! And where the hell is the picture of Hugh Jackman crawling through a puddle of his own urine to get in the back seat of a rental car in the middle of a dirt parking lot at a strip club made from a double wide trailer in Rozet, Wyoming??? Huh??? Where the hell are those pictures, Toots!!!???”

It took a while, and I had to settle down before she listened to me (you all know how girls can be, they don’t respond to shouting) but I think she understood my point that that section of the magazine should be called “Stars- They’re Sorta Like Us” instead of “Stars- They’re Just Like Us”.

The real problem is keeping this affair under wraps. I think that people are catching on to us.

For example, I have a girlfriend. Her name is Wink Holliday, and she is a pinup model. Not the Hawaiian Tropic Swimsuit type, and definitely not the Low Rider Magazine type. She is a full-fledged pinup girl, like the ones from the late ’50s and early ’60s. And it ain’t no joke to her.

Everything she does pretty much revolves around that era. So, we attend a lot of events and car shows and things like that. There are times when we are all standing in a group; me, her, and a few of the guys and gals from our crew.

One of the guys will comment on a girl that’s across the way from us, usually something about her, um, how do I say this… Ass?

Then our attention focuses on her. Most of the guys will say that she’s totally hot, and some of the girls will comment on her clothing, noting if it is period correct, or if the colors match. It’s times like this that I let my affair get the best of me and say something, such as;

“Oh my God! Call the Fashion Police! Did she borrow those shoes from Madonna’s 1985 ‘Like A Virgin’ tour???”

Yeah… It gets real quiet and my friends just kinda stare at me, as if to say, “You’re a gayrod!”

But not Wink… She gives me a different look. Hers says, “Where did you come up with that? Are you hanging out with other dames???”

I defuse the situation by saying something such as “Wow! I’m hella drunk!!!! WooHoo!!”

Then there was the time when my friends Rob and Ally came over to the house.

I screwed up big time.

See, I usually keep her on the back of the toilet seat for easy reading access. But I always hide her away under a copy of Drag Racing Magazine, the current Playboy, and the 2009 NHRA Rule Book.

BUSTED!

Except this one time… and Ally found her!!!

Oh man, did I have a lot of explaining to do! I settled on defending myself with the “Oh wow, it’s Us as in you-and-me, huh?” and follow up with “I thought that said U.S. you know, like it was a magazine about our Country. I haven’t even read it yet, how was I to know???” A bad attempt, but I’m pretty sure that it worked and threw them off of our trail.

So here’s the sad part. I know that my subscription is about to run out. I know that I wont renew it either.

A love like this wasn’t meant to last forever. A flame that burns this hot will consume the both of us, leaving us in a pile of lustful ash to be swept away by the next strong wind, or washed into the gutter by the next wet California winter storm.

Sure, it hurts; even stings at times, but I know what must happen.

And when I walk into the check-out line at the supermarket, I know I’ll see her there. Looking as beautiful as the first day I ever saw her. Not a wrinkle or worry line on her lovely face.

We’ll pretend not to notice each other and quickly look the other way, and when that old lady with the blue hair and Lee PressOn Nails picks her up and caresses her pages with wrinkled fingers that I’m sure smell of ham and BenGay, I’ll hold back the tears and place my cheese and toenail clippers on the conveyer belt.

And as I swipe my ATM card and the burning of the tears is almost too much to hold back, I’ll think to myself;

“She used to be mine. We were as one. She used to be… mine.”

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Filed under comedy, funny, humor

November 28, 2009

That Haunted House Scared The Shit Out Of Me… Literally!

Ever lived in a house that was haunted?

Ever been so terrified that you lay under the covers hearing every creak and groan of that old haunted house, not being able to sleep no mater how hard you tried?

Ever been so scared of that house that you didn’t feel like going into it when you were alone, so you copped a squat on the front porch and took a dump there, rather than risking being screwed with by ghost while you were trying to poop inside??

Ha! I got you with that one, didn’t I!

But truth be told, that is exactly what I did one time when I was about six or seven. Below is the story that leads to the “Mystery of the Turd on the Front Porch”.

See, I was born and raised in Northern Indiana. We (being my parents and two brothers) lived in an old rented farm house. I don’t know the specifics of the place, but trust me… it had spooks living in it!  On any given night, once the house settled down and we were tucked lovingly into our beds (I need to point out, on arrival of my little brother, I and my older brother were moved to the “upstairs” which was really an attic.), the evidence of the ghost would be made perfectly obvious.

I had this little plastic craptastic guitar and when it wasn’t being used to smack my older brother over the head (I’m a huge fan of El Kabong!) it would sit in the corner.

Many a night we would lay under our covers and listen to it being strummed by God knows who or what. It wasn’t playing an actual song mind you. Neither of us was getting out of bed to dance a jig to it… but just a low, lonely strum from the low E to the high E. Over and over it would go and eventually stop, just before the guitar was knocked to the floor.

Sure a lonely guitar playing itself in the middle of the night is quite spooky, but in the safety of the daylight hours my brother and I discussed the situation. We decided that there was in fact a ghost in the attic, if not in the house.

We also came to the conclusion that it must be a fairly nice ghost seeing as how it was playing a nice, soft tune!

It definitely wasn’t a hard rocking, Death Metal riff… and in our little minds that is exactly what we thought an evil type ghost would be playing.  So we learned to live with it.

It wasn’t until some time later that the next “spooky” event happened.

My Mom and Dad were throwing a party. You know, having a few friends over for what ever it is that adults do after kids go to bed. At any rate, it was still early in the night and my undiagnosed ADD was on high! Long story short, I was exiled to the haunted attic early in the evening.

With my older brother spending the night with friends, I was left alone upstairs.

I wont bullshit you with any of the “there was a cold chill in the room” or “the attic reeked of pure evil” type of creative writing. In fact, the room felt just fine, so fine in fact that I took out my two-foot tall, rolling Godzilla toy and started playing with it.

Not a care in the world… just me and Godzilla, breathing fire and shooting the three spring fired missiles that were in his chest… pretending to destroy something, but what I can not remember.

Godzilla also had another awesome feature. One of his arms would raise up and with a push of a button his right fist would shoot off of his hand and destroy whom ever it was that you were in the throws of imaginary battle with.

We’d launch a chest rocket or two, just to let them know that we meant business, but when the fighting got tough, we went straight to the Fist Rocket!

All was going to plan until Godzilla’s fist went shooting under my bed, and that my readers, is where the Ghost Shit Hit The Fan…

Keep in mind, when this all went down, I was a young kid… probably six, but definitely not older than seven. The point of the age defining here is to let you know that I could easily slide under a bed to retrieve a projectile fist, and I did.

The problems started once I got under that bed.

You see, I scurried right under, got the fist, fed the dust bunnies, and as I turned to crawl back out, I saw Godzilla making his way towards me. Slowly at first but picking up more speed with every inch that traveled under the plastic wheels hidden in his feet. Faster and faster he came, and at first, I wasn’t afraid. Just mesmerized I reckon.

BAM!

Godzilla slams right into my bed frame, inches from my face, and that startled me.

When he backed up a full foot, and did it again, that’s when it scared me!

And when he continued to do it, that’s when I freaked the hell out!!!

I let out a scream, turned around under the bed, and gave a well-placed kick to Godzilla’s mid-section. This sent him flying across the room, and into the far wall.

Now I’m used to this haunted attic that I’ve been living in, but when something jumped on top of my bed, and began jumping up and down, all bets were off!

I screamed like I was about to be murdered, over and over and over.

I also tried to get out from under the bed so that I could run to the safety of my Dad and the party that was only a short flight of stairs away.

But I couldn’t.

What ever was jumping on my bed that night was doing it with so much force that the mattress and box springs were collapsing and pinning me to the floor.

My Dad came up the stairs, to see what the hell could be wrong with his middle son and saw nothing. Only my feet sticking out from under the bed while I was screaming bloody murder. He pulled me out, picked me up, sat me on the bed, and started to holler at me. I think because I was ruining the party down below. I tried my best to explain what had happened, but it was spewing from the mouth of a terrified six year old crying his head off so I’m sure it didn’t make much sense.

I don’t recall where I ended up sleeping that night, but I doubt it was in my room.

Most likely on my parents bed, mixed among the different smells of the party guests coats, hats, and scarf’s…

Some time had passed, but I never trusted that room again, not the whole time I lived there. Which in hindsight was only two more years, but that seems like a double life sentence to a six year old kid.

I wouldn’t go up to my room after school, I’d only go up after my older brother had been up there for a few minutes before me, because as we all know, Big Brothers have a super power that can defeat all and save you from the worst of anything.

Until you turn twelve and realize he’s an complete asshole.

Until you turn twenty-two and realize he’s a Dad, a mere Mortal, and one of your best friends.

I can remember being sent up at bedtime, and lying with my head under the covers and analyzing every creak, grunt, and moan that old house gave up. Sometimes passing out from exhaustion, but more often than not, finally drifting off after I heard my Dad getting up at 4:00 am and the soft, sweet, safe sound of his spoon hitting the sides of a porcelain coffee cup as he stirred his sugar into his morning coffee. That sound meant that my Dad was up and awake, and I was safe.

At any rate, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that room alone, and that fear soon spread to the entire house.

It was a bright and sunny summer day when my Mom, my big brother, and myself were playing down the road at the neighbor’s house. It just so happened that neighbor was my Moms little sister, thus making her my Aunt Janie.

I remember playing out back and have a good time with my cousin Shann when I got hit with the worst “poop-pain” of my six year old life!

I ran up to my Mom and my Aunt and asked to use the bathroom.

“Sorry, Honey. Your Uncle John is working on the septic tank, and the bathroom is off limits.”

Shit! Literally.

My Mom suggests that I “… run down the road, back to the house, and go there.”

Not even thinking twice, I haul ass down the gravel road, back towards our house.

Our house.

That has ghost.

That only seemed to screw with me.

I get to the front porch and POW, it hits me.

There is no way on Gods green earth that I’m going into that house, alone, to take a crap!

So I do what any other six year old would do.

I pull down my cut-offs, cop a squat right there on the porch, and let it go!

A nice little poop of perfect consistency and shape!

Proud as punch I pull up my pants, run back to my Aunts to play, and leave a surprise on the front porch for who ever gets home first.

Which happened to be my Mom, big brother, and me.

The exchange went something like this;

Mom: “Who the hell shit on the porch!!!”

Me: “I don’t know! Maybe the dog???”

Mom: “That isn’t dog shit, Jimmy!”

(Drat!!! She’s on to me!!!)

So I look up at her, and in a last ditch effort I reply with this;

“Maybe it was the mail man.”

Editors note: To this very day, the most comforting sound in my life is the sound of a stainless steel spoon hitting the sides of a porcelain coffee cup as someone stirs in their coffee or cream. The only thing better, is when it’s my Dads.

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Filed under funny, Uncategorized