Get off my quote!!

Perhaps I am grasping at straws here. Or maybe Arron Sorkin has taken up speech writing. Here is a tidbit from new Governor David Paterson's inauguration speech.

"Let me reintroduce myself. I am David Paterson and I am the Governor of New York State."

Cool right? Damn right it is because Michael Douglas already said it. . .

Days

The Days Inn website just hit on me. . .

After booking a room in Chicago for a May day a chat box popped up with a lovely young women named Jessica asking me about my upcoming stay in Chi-town.

Is there anyway she could help me with?
What is the nature of my visit?
Would I like to take a survey?
What sizes shoes do I wear?

twas a day

Some things there should just not be a first for.

I got hit by a bolt of lightning last week and in a bind had to go and get a happy fun time test. Too much time in the ball pit eh?

-Before progressing with itchy said story; know that everything is good. I am Clean like Mr. and Safe like Way.

Soo. . . IN a bind I had to leave the land of medical insurance and take a stop by the Haight Free Clinic. Great place, Great people, Really helpful, too funny not to write about. May my terrified day bring a smile to your face.

It takes me 5 mins to climb the stairs to get to the clinic, Not because there are alot, heavens no there are only around twenty steps. But the man, as he tells me, who just had his 7th hip replacement is in front of me. 7th!!!!!!! clearly they had been using old red vines instead of titanium.

I check in, they ask why I am there, I stare blankly. . . how can we help you?.... COughSTDTESTcough. . . .

To check my vitals the clinic is employing the hottest student nurse in the history of hot nurses. Seriously, she was George Clooney of women hot. And as will be todays theme she asks me why I am here. However, this time I just slightly tilt my head to the side and raise my eyebrows "STD test" it comes out almost like an acknowledgement "Yeah that's right, I can do it".

My blood pressure is high she smirks. As she leads me into the room where my doctor will meet me.

The Room: is not a room. it is a kinda sorta closet complete with a street level window to put my shame on display to the man sleeping on the concrete outside.

My Doctor: is in fact a doctor. He has a name tag that says as much. He is also in fact wearing a significant amount of blush and lipstick. Howdedoo here we go. After a brief informal yet informative lecture he gives me on STDs, its pants off dance off time. Standing there with the now Venetian blind covered window breeze blowing on my back, pants down holding my shirt up staring at the celling for fear of looking down and having him meet my eyes and haivng me burst into laughter, I made a solemm promise to myself-

This will be the first and last time a man wearing makeup plays HAHA you just grabbed my balls with me.

With the pound of flesh now being taken I gave blood and was pronounced a quite cleanly 26 year old. Nothing itchy, nothing scratchy just a bit of a bruise on my ego.

Jason-1
STDs-0

I win burning pee I win

Own Goal

Dear David Beckham's junk,

Go away! Great Jerry Lee Lewis his package is everywhere. As a frequent inter web tube user I don't like going from ESPN (David Beckham junk of the month calender). To CNN (Fed raises interest rate on David Beckhams's abs).

I am terrified to go to bed, what if my mom has replaced my sheets with David Beckhams?

Sandwich Frisbee

JAson looks up to the sky and just shakes head. "Ah come on now, what the fuck?" I am asking no one in particular "what the fuck" is going on. I just like the sound of the word and the day has been so blatantly stacked against me "What the fuck?" is the only sentence that adequately describes what is going on.

If the word "Fuck" was replaced by the word "Hippo" things would be funnier.

I had a bad show. This happens more often than not. I should have that checked out. So I decide I am going to take a cab home. Get home fast plant myself in front of a box of cheezits and video game away the nights worries.

Problem: There is a huge line of tourists waiting for cabs.

OK. I will just take the bus. Pop in my Iignore head phones and pretend I am Huey Lewis.

Problem: I just miss the bus and the happiness that is the F-line won't be back till I grow a Brawny man beard.

Finesicle, I will walk. 30 minute walk, 30 minutes of a clear head, I can still pretend I am Huey Lewis.

Problem: Wooooo!! Splat!!! A rouge Honda Civic that I am sure smelled of Hugo Boss and copious amounts of hair gel whizzes past and out the window comes a hurled sandwich.

"Ah come on now, What the fuck!" Who throws a sandwich?! At least hit me with a snake filled with some batteries. Shakes fist at no one in particular.

Hippo this day.

P-Day

MY mom wanted a gay son. That is the only rational reason I could and still can come up with for this one.

I was listening to sports talk radio the other day at my masculine job work where I build Chevy's out of old tank parts while listening to Bruce Springsteen and stabbing Vampires. When the host began to talk about his football sheets as a child. He described how he was so protective of his sheets even at a young age and would get into fights with his brothers if they dare to try and take them.

Then I remembered. Then I had a brain aneurysm-

I don't have a kid. . . that I know of. But if I did I would use THE GOOGLE to figure out how to potty train him. Or I would hope that by 1.5 years old he could use THE GOOGLE to teach himself. This is what he would find:

"My personal recommendation is to first teach your son to potty training sitting down. Once he completely potty trained for both and is accident free, then I would recommend training him to pee standing up like his father and brothers!!" Weeeeeeeeee!!!

My mom did not have THE GOOGLE. She had OLD MOUNTAIN DEVIL WITCH METHODS. Which is why I had Bambi Sheets.

Listening to my manly sports talk show shot the memory of my mom putting me to sleep with a tuck in, kiss on the forehead and a "Don't pee on Bambi's mom"

This was notNOT followed by "Gee the old girl had it hard enough what with being shot, she doesn't need you pissing all over her face." Oh no no noes!

"You don't want to get Bambi's mom dirty." Would anyone be surprised if I said I was in a onesie Culture Club jumper?

Return of the Theory

Just go ahead and mark this one down next to my Dinobolicaly brilliant theory Which you may read here-

My genius is this: What if this giant Dino they found had T-Rex's for fingers?

And for years now instead of finding what they thought were separate T-Rex's they had just been finding fingers for one giant Dino, (cue shot of a perplexed Sam Neil).

Sort of like "Alien" but instead of a mouth-monster they had Finger-Rex's

Furthermore, if this idea ends up as a Dane Cook joke or a Steven Speilberg movie, my lawyer will take issue, (cue shot of a glowering Sam Waterston).

Episode 7.5 A New Contract

cue music:

Scott Boras watches Star Wars. And this is solely how he went about A-Rods new contract. Darth Vader was bad. Like- he told his kid to get a switch from the peach tree and it was a lightsaber and he cut his hand off- bad

(ugliest face in history NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

But in the end we end up liking Vader because there was someone even worse for us to hate, The Emperor. The Scott Boras. Follow. . .three more dots to get it. . .

A-Rod comes to Scott Boras and says something to the effect of, "I want to stay a Yankee, I love it here, hitting in this lineup is like shooting Womp Rats in Beggers Canyon."

Which means easy

"They hate me though. They boo me. I am good looking and the best baseball player ever, but they would rather have Scott Brosius who looks like Aunt Beru playing third."

But Boras has been watching episode: 4-6 and he knows.

Here is the plan he says. I will do something so despicable that every ones natural disdain for me will be multiplied. Then you come along and in a moment of clarity and wisdom throw me under the bus/down the wellpowerconverterthingy.

So Boras announces A-rod is opting out during the World Series- A rebel alliance is formed

Boras says A-Rod is not coming back to the Yankees- Someone puts plans to stop him into a MAC strapped to a trash can on roller blades

Boras says A-Rod is asking for 400 million "Boras Bucks" which is roughly translated to the money pit Scrooge McDuck dives into- five multiplujillion, nine impossibidillion, seven fantasticatrillion dollars and sixteen cents

all the while A-Rod remains quite and lets the furor build. GM's says there is no way in hell they or anyone else will approach him with a price tag that large.

IT'S A TRAP!

Just when all seems lost, A-Rod is going to be a Los Angeles Angel of Southern Californiaville and make 400 mil. A-Rod Vaders up. He claims Boras subverted him and made him throw Sam Jackson out a window. A-Rod swoops in and saves his own day. Claiming he always wanted to be a Yankee. He negotiates his own contract, which can't be that hard when it comes to 300 mil, right? And all of the sudden people start to like A-Rod. He turned on the guy who was destroying Baseball. A-Rod saved the day!

All the while Scott Boras goes on being hated, which he was anyway. And getting the best for his client, which he always does one way or the other.