Archive for March, 2009

Spreading his ‘deeds’

It looks like somebody, I’m not going to say who, but his name rhymes with ‘pill’ has been out on the prowl in Oklahoma City.

Take a look here.

Actually the real reason for posting this story is all for the last line, if you didn’t read the article I’ll post the sentence here:

People with the disease may not know they have it, because the primary symptom is a painless sore.

Isn’t that an oxymoron? I thought the definition of a ’sore’ was something that causes pain, hence the clever name ’sore’? That would be sucky to have sores you can’t feel! I’d probably think they were just red moles. That’s like saying I have smooth dry skin, or white diarrhea, have a hairy bald spot or drive a Dodge Ram and know an attractive Irishman. They just don’t go together!

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Top 10 Collapsed Gmail conversations

Sitting in my room last night I found myself slipping into a 100 yard gaze deep into my computer screen. I was worn out and tired from work and after work festivities. I was trying to muster up enough motivation to do something productive but instead I found myself reading the one-line previews of my top Gmail conversations. If you don’t have Gmail you won’t understand how it works, but after reading a few I laughed at how varied and random these conversation snapshots seemed between friends.

Here are my Top Ten at the moment, each line is from the start of a different email. Post yours in the comments!

Lots of nerve everywhere! My rice is almost done. So I guess mark me down for…

No Touching!

Haha we have irish dancers and I can’t stop laughing I just keep picturing kath and kel..

Mine is about the size of a baby’s arm.

Party for Phil! She missed her chance, now I’m gonna start AD with kelli. After I finish the..

yes come on down.

true kelli. I’m not sure but either way it’s full of pussies.

Sweet. TF2 is pretty cheap. Everyone bring your own wires. I probably have enough, but bettyer..

Feets are sexy. Except for Micah’s. He has frinkly toes: Just kidding Micah.

there is? Oh crap.

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Being Naked.

Underneath all our clothes, we’re all naked. No matter where you come from that’s something we all have in common. I know some of you out there may possibly be a never-nude but even still underneath your cutoffs, you’re naked. I think it’s funny how our view of being naked changes with age and body fat. It seems everyone enjoys a naked baby bottom running through the house after bath time. I know there exists photographic evidence of a 4 year old me climbing over the couch with my twig and berries hanging out for all to see. Most kids seem free as the wind and don’t mind streaking through the house while giggling uncontrollably. The problem is with us adults, we don’t do that anymore, or at least most of my friends don’t anymore.

Recently I stopped by my sister’s house on a Sunday morning to have brunch with my parents. I walked into chaos as my sister was right in the middle of trying to get her daughters ready for church. The 4 year old was completely dressed but my 2.5 year old niece was standing there naked from the waist down as my sister was trying to get her to put on her pull ups. The youngest looks up at me and excitedly says “HEEEEEY UNCLE! I’m getting my pull ups on.” “I see that.” was my response. Once she got both legs through and pulled them up she thrust her hips forward like Micheal Jackson and just like MJ she slapped her groin area to draw attention to her ‘princess pull ups’. “Look at my pull ups!” she squealed while prancing around. My older niece turned to look and very sincerely said “I like your pull ups”. It was very entertaining and made me wish adults could get that excited about underwear. A few years ago I bought some boxer shorts with airplanes on them, but when I thrust my hips forward and slapped my groin to show everyone, they just called the police. I guess the employees at Sears do not appreciate a man with an amazing physique (me) modeling their underwear.

Earlier this week I went to the doctor’s office to take part in a ‘wellness program’ offered through my work. The appointment was the type of checkup you would expect to find at your local mechanics’s garage for your car. They took my measurements, checked my fluids, checked my pressure, took a peek ‘under my hood’ poked, prodded and pinched me everywhere and finally hooked me up to a machine and rev my engine up to full speed to see how well it performed. Seriously, not unlike hooking a car up to a dyno and testing out it’s horsepower, except in this office it was all micahpower.

I arrived, filled out my paperwork and got right in. They extracted my fluids and told me to wait in the room for the doctor. I resisted the urge to lick all the tongue depressors and put them back in the jar before the doctor came in (you can thank me later). It wasn’t long before a 60-something year old lady with graying hair and glasses wearing a purple sweater came in. She seemed a bit meek which made me a little sad because I like doctor’s that are ‘go getters’. We talked for awhile about my overall health and insanely large biceps before she told me to take off my shirt and pants and slip on my running shorts. I wasn’t wearing my airplane boxers so I didn’t get to thrust my groin and pretend I was a WWII diver bomber like I had wanted to. I was sitting on the table with the white butcher paper when she returned, apparently she left to go cool her hands in an ice box because they were colder than Phil’s teet on a winter’s eve.

She tested out my reflexes and poked all around my wondrous landscape until she asked me to stand up and said she was going to need to check ‘down there’. She asked that I put my shirt on, which I thought was weird, but I guess there is some rule about only being naked in the doctor’s office one half at a time. I put my shirt on and tried to pull my pants down but she wasn’t ready. I guess I was out of ‘position’ or something, I needed to step to the left 3 feet for the examination. At this point I thought she told me to turn around and I did, and I also tried to pull my shorts down again to which she replied “No, face me”. This totally makes me laugh right now because I’m sure she was trying to figure out what the heck I was doing.

Finally I was properly positioned and I dropped my pants. I used to get nervous during this part of a physical or doctor’s appointment but since I now feel fine being naked, I felt perfectly relaxed. I figured that this doctor has seen hundreds if not thousands of penis’ (I’m not calling her a ho, I’m just saying she’s a doc) so mine would be no different except for it’s extreme length. The weird part was SHE seemed nervous. She was looking and lifting the king all the while saying “it’s almost over, almost done”. I was thinking “almost done?! I just dropped my drawers lady! This party is about to get started!” Maybe it was because I was standing there with my fists on my hips and my chest puffing out like Superman or perhaps the fact that I was whistling ‘Afternoon delight’ during the examination, I’m not sure, but she would wouldn’t make eye contact with me and she would hardly make eye contact with little Micah! How are you going to examine my bits without looking at them? Ray Charles could’ve given a better examination and he’s a piano player!

Regardless, she finally told me to put my pants back on, (a phrase I hear all too often from the ladies) and to sit tight while she gets ready to shuffle me to the next room. In the next room was nurse ‘Joan’, a treadmill and a computer hooked to an EKG. I was instructed to take my shirt off and lie down (something I don’t hear enough from the ladies ha!). She asked if I was ready for my stress test, I nodded as she reached down behind me to pick something up.

“Ok, well this is going to be the hardest part of the test.”

“Why is that?” I asked nervously

“Well..(trailing off)…you’re really hairy and we’re going to have to remove some of that hair before we put the little stickies on you”

“That’s right I’m a MAN! Oh, uh….are you going to wax me?!” (remembering she said this was the hardest part)

“No, but I am going to shave you.”

“All of me?”

“No, I’m selfish, I’m only going to shave the parts I need.”

“Oh jeeze…”

She began shaving me with the dullest razor ever invented, or so it seemed. It could’ve been sharp when she began but my Yeti-type hairs quickly clogged the weak disposable blades with curly abundance. After a few awkward moments of the nurse silently shaving me.

“If you’re going to disfigure me, can you at least put some cool design in my chest hair like a lightning bolt or something?”

“Oh I would if I could, but I’m just not that good..”

Really it was too bad because a lightning bolt would’ve been as cool as the early 90’s. She shaved me up and I ran for 25 minutes on the treadmill. Happily I kicked the EKG’s ass and nurse Joan was decently impressed. Nothing was amiss and my heart appears to be in good health, yay me.

I was comfortable being naked before, just ask any of my friends that have ever come to my door. I’m usually in some stage of undress, but now I look like I have racing stripes down my chest or just one single stripe down the middle depending on how you look at it. All thanks to nurse Joan. I guess the worst part isn’t the stripes it’s the stubble. Stubble on my chest that gets caught on my shirt and by the end of the day itches like a mofo, I hate it. Being naked is fun, but not when you look like half man, half boy.

Argh, I’m going to go shave.

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