Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Ashley Alexander Dupre Review

With all the talk about Elliot Spitzer these days and his former hooker Ashley Alexander Dupre, I figured I’d give my “professional” 2 cents.

Ashley is capitalizing on her new-found fame by releasing music, spending time with the Girls Gone Wild crew, and I’m sure a book deal is already in the works. Someone needs to stop this girl. The fact that she’s getting her 15-minutes of fame is not the issue with me. The real issue is the prices she charged as an escort. I mean really, I heard she was making over $4,000 per “date” with Spitzer. Yes, I hook up with a lot of fat chicks, but I do still know a good looking girl when I see one, and I don’t see anything special about Ashley Dupre. Yeah, she’s OK looking, but I’ve had much hotter escorts (c’mon, they’re hookers…say it with me now…HOO-KERS). I’ve not only had hotter hookers than Ashley Dupre, but I’ve had them for $300. And that’s Canadian money back in the day (like $200 USD), bitches! Get off this Ashley Alexander Dupre kick people, because she’s just another whore, and a rip-off at that. Support your local prostitutes!

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Wrong Place but the Right Thing to Do

My friends and I went bar hopping one night and ended up at this really small bar. The total capacity is probably only like 60 people, and it was over capacity this particular night. From time to time I go out and realize once I’m out that I have to go to the bathroom, and I’m not talking about taking a leak. Nothing stirs up panic quite like having that uneasy rumbling in your tummy and your body’s automatic response of clinching up your butt cheeks.

Like I said, this night was a little crowded in this tiny bar, and there were about 6 guys in line for the mens room. I waited, waited, and waited some more, and finally I started looking around to see if I could shit in a corner because these guys were taking forever. About that time a girl came out of the ladies room and there were no other girls in line. Nobody else jumped in there within 5 seconds so I darted in and shut the door behind me. Ahh…finally some relief for my unhappy colon. About 30 seconds in I heard a hand jiggle the door handle and try to come in. I had locked the door just in case which turned out to be a good decision. The girl was obviously impatient as I sat there making sure I was truly done. Once I was done I washed my hands and gave the toilet a flush with my foot. I knew it was going to be a little awkward walking out the door leaving a smelly bathroom for the next person, especially since I was using the ladies room to spread my funky joy. There was only one thing to do…walk out like I owned the place. By this time the girl was pounding on the door so I was pretty annoyed. Just as I was unlocking the door I heard the unmistakable sound of water pouring onto the floor. I turned around and saw a mixture of brown water and toilet paper pouring over the rim of the toilet like the eruption of Pompeii. “Fuck it” I said. I continued as planned…walked out that ladies room door like I owned the place. The girl who had been pounding on the door had a look of shock on her face when she saw a man come out of the ladies room. I said “enjoy yourself,” winked at her, and walked right past her to get the beer I left at the bar. I made it about 3 steps when I heard a shriek, followed by an “oh my…” and then a gagging sound. I felt like a million bucks, not just because I had unloaded my dinner on the floor of the ladies room, but because I had made a girl physically ill as a result of my bodily functions.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Chariots of Ass-Fire

When I was in college one of my buddies went to another college about an hour away. My girlfriend and I took a little road trip one weekend to visit him, and as was the norm during college, we went out and got trashed the first night. Just a usual night of drinking, no crazy stories. The next morning we all went to this diner which was a few hundred yards from my buddy’s apartment. Nothing cures a hangover like some eggs, fried hashbrowns, sausage, and 12 strips of bacon. We all tore up the breakfast and then it happened…GURGLE…GURGLE…UH-OH!  I’ve never seen anything like this. All three of us had simultaneously come down with a severe case of “Oh my God, I’m going to shit my pants”. Check please!

We threw our money on the table and ran out the door like we just saw our competition fly past in the Cannonball Run. We were walking briskly back to the apartment and then it dawned on me…there was no way I was waiting for these two to use the bathroom before me. I just couldn’t do it, so I started running. A second later, my buddy and my girlfriend realized I was making a Carl Lewis dash for the first shot at the john so they started sprinting too. I swear I could hear my buddy humming the Chariots of Fire theme song behind me. We all forced our way through the door at the same time, something like you’d see the Three Stooges do. I accomplished my mission and locked myself in the bathroom first. Phew, what a relief that was. When I emerged from the tiny bathroom reeking of a decomposing animal, my buddy tried to be hospitable and let my girlfriend go first. She was apparently trying to keep up the myth that “girls don’t poop” so she wanted to go last. “No complaints here” my buddy said, and he took care of business next. He came out and the bathroom smelled even worse than before which I never would have imagined could be possible. My girlfriend went in last, and she was embarrassed because it was a small apartment and she was about to practice her animal sounds out of her ass. She wanted us to stay away from the door like we would try to listen or something. About 10 minutes later we were watching TV, and the girlfriend pops her head out of the bathroom to ask “umm…do you have a plunger?”  So much for perpetuating that myth about girls not pooping!

I felt like a true champion that day, my friends. Every time I hear Chariots of Fire I get a tear in my eye and think about winning the gold.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

My Own Personal Glory Hole

A few years back I used to work with this hot blonde chick. I’m talking smokin’ hot. We worked with kids and were in charge of a social event one evening. We brought them to a roller skating rink. I was all excited to be out with this girl in more of a social setting instead of the usual office routine.

I threw on a decent shirt, my favorite jeans (even though they had a hole in the crotch) and headed out the door. I pulled up to the roller skating rink and saw this girl through the window. Man, she looked even hotter in “regular” clothes. A perfect ass, perky little tits, all in all about a 9.8 on the Jake scale. We rented our roller skates and I got to show off my moves I perfected in the early 80’s.

After a while we sat down on a couple of benches and just talked for a bit. We hit it off pretty well and she kept staring at my crotch, so I took that as a pretty good sign that she was interested. She made it pretty obvious too, like she couldn’t take her eyes off my goods. After a while we went our separate ways and I headed back home. I walked in the door and sat on my couch, still thinking about how hot this chick looked, but starting to wonder why she kept staring at me. I felt a little breeze, and when I looked down I realized the hole in my crotch had gotten a lot bigger, and my “goods” were right there for the world to see. Evidently my junk wanted to get a little air and made its way out of my boxers and into plain view. Holy shit, that’s why she was staring at me…she was trying to tell me that my shit was hanging out. How did the hole in my jeans get so much bigger? How did I not feel that something was “out there”? How the fuck could I face this girl again? We never ended up going out, and work was never quite the same after that incident.