Not too long ago, a good buddy of mine and I were having a few cold ones on a hot summer day in New York. It was Friday, and people were getting out of work, and getting into bars, which only meant that stupidity was sure to ensue. This friend of mine was telling me about his latest trip from work. He's usually a bit disgruntled when he has to travel, because he's not usually going anywhere fun, and he's usually caught up in a maze of airports, hotel rooms, and client offices. However, this time, he had a dirty grin on his face, which I knew could mean only one thing....he met a girl.
"She was the hottest Indian girl I've ever seen" he said. "I have never seen an Indian girl with such a slammin body" he uttered. My friend began to tell me how he was at the airport, and as most bodacious bodies on women tend to do, this body caught his eye. A tight white blouse, and a black skirt where hugging her in all the right places. Being posessed/intrigued/curious, he made his way over to her, to see the rest of her. "I walked past her on one side, and just from the side of her face, she was amazing. She had sexy lips, and a nice skin tone, with high cheek bones. I'm telling you bro, this girl was gorgeous." I replied, "Wow, that sounds like something. How'd you know she was Indian?" "You could tell, she definately had the classical Indian features and stuff, so if you see her, you'd definately be able to tell she was Punjabi." So he's carrying on describing her in vivid detail, and I'm just amazed, because it takes a lot to get my friend to talk like this about a girl, so I was under the impression that this girl must've just been a goddess from his description. "So what about the other part of her face?" I asked. "You said, you only saw one side right, you didn't get a chance to see the other side of her face?" He says to me "Oh hell yeah, I went in for a close up, and that's when I saw it" he says. "What, dude? What did you see?" I exclaimed.
There are times in this world when two people are such good friends they can almost finish the other person's thoughts. Its hard to explain, but you just know the other person so well, because they think just like you do, and as a result before the person can say something, you almost expect it coming. "She had a herpes sore!" he said to me. "Dude! That's Awesome! A hot chick that gets down!" I yelled back. By now the few folks who were sitting around us and intrigued by this story were privately chuckling by the griminess of me and my friend, but it was true. "Dude, you are the only person who I've told this story to whose had the same exact reaction as me! That is fricken Awesome!" I can't explain it, but for some reason instead of being grossed out by that detail, I immediately pictured a hot chick that's a freak, and it was absolutely hilarious. I couldn't even believe my instant reaction.
"So what happened? You talk to her?" I asked. "Na bro, I saw her man come up to her a few seconds after I saw the mark of love". "What a lucky guy eh?" "You know, I guess there's somebody for everybody" he said. Unfortunately after this discussion, all I could think of were the Valtrex ads, and how everyone claims "to be doing their part", and I was quite hesitant to talk to any female in the bar after that. I figured if she heard our conversation, she was either disgusted with us, or she probably had Herpes and now had new-found confidence and was ready for a one-night fling with someone that's got their head in the gutter.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Saved By The Dot
In my religion we celebrate the birth of the Lord in the summer time. We do so, by sitting on a hard floor with our legs crossed for 3 hours, and conducting different actions and saying different prayers. In our religion, this is typically called "Pooja", but when its a special occasion they call it a "Maha-pooja". The orchestrator who conducts the actions, prayers, and explanations is called a "Poojari (pronounced 'poo-ja-ree')" and is equivalent to a priest or reverend giving a sermon. There are various Poojaris out there, and some make the time go by fly with funny stories containing ethincal lessons, and others are cut and dry, and you actually "feel" the 3 hours. You feel it when your legs go numb, and you think your paralyzed from the waist down.
In any case, many years ago, I was at such a Maha-Pooja, and after it was done, I was volunteered to drop the Poojari off at the airport since his services were required in another state. Mind you, we were in central New Jersey, and the Poojari had to go to JFK airport in New York City. If you've never been to JFK airport, you should know that in order to get there you have to cross through the monumentous traffic of several boroughs of New York City. It is not fun, and in the summer time it gets quite annoying. I was young, and could not yell "Not it!" fast enough, and as a result I was nominated to make the trek. Just thinking about the journey made me flabbergasted, and I was not looking forward to the task at hand. At this point, I probably would've rather gone swimming in a pool full of piranhas and then taken a salt-water bath instead of putting up with that traffic.
In any case, I was the sucker, and I had to go, so I sucked it up, and got in my car with this Poojari. He was a tall, bald man. He wore glasses, and was overweight. His hair that surrounded his bald dome, was tied in a small little tail in the back by a rubber band. He had these Sherlock Holmes type glasses that constantly slid down his sweaty & oily nose, and the fact that he spent every two minutes pushing them back up, added to his quirky personality. I had never met the man before, but several hours in traffic, will certainly cause a man to open up to you. "What are you looking for in life? Are you on the path you want to be on? Can you turn up the air conditioner?" were some of the several thought-provoking questions he asked. The whole time I was trying to listen to the radio, and avoid these questions, because at the age of 22, you're probably more worried about your next female victim, then wonder about these types of things.
We were finally cruising a bit, and took the exit for the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway off of the Verrazano Bridge. I thought I was doing well since the speedometer had actually hit 40 mph, and I thought another 2 hours and I'd be home free. We take the exit, and to my dismay the traffic is worst then ever. There are 3 lanes, and all of them are packed. Cars were sitting bumper-to-bumper and there was nothing to do but sit, wait, and ponder life. I was trying to make some small talk to kill the time, and avoid it being a one-way conversation. As I was doing this I noticed in my rear view mirror a motorcycle was driving. It was driving in the small gap created between the lanes of cars. Apparently there was enough space for this guy with his motorcycle to weave in between the lanes of traffic. I thought it was quite dangerous to do this, because there wasn't much room for error. In any case, I acknowledged the man's riding ability and dismissed it. I waived over to the car in the lane next to me, and he gave me the hand signal that when the traffic starts to move he would let me get in front of him in his lane.
As I was waiting for the traffic to move, I saw the stupidest thing ever. A man who was probably 6 ft. 5 in. and weighed about 300 lbs, was riding his bike in between the lanes. Then several more of his idiotic friends were wizzing by. I mean going a good 50 mph in between the lanes of cars! I didn't realize how many there were, but when it looked like the last of them had passed, the traffic started to move and so I proceeded to move in the next lane. Just then however, the traffic abruptly stopped, and I was now blocking the middle lane. I hear a loud screeching. Apparently another person was on his bike and still riding. I regretfully looked over my shoulder out my back window and I see a HUGE 6 ft.-something guy, with his girlfriend who was even bigger than him. This man looked like he was carrying a blimp on his motorcycle. On top of that he was trying to weave in between the lanes at 50 mph! He had to slam on his brakes because I was blocking the lane. BAM! BAM! BAM! I look back and this huge dude, is now hitting my car with his boulder-like fists, and yelling "I'm gonna fucking kill you asshole!" "You know what you just did!? Your fuckin dead! I'm gonna kill you!" This was followed by his blimp of a girlfriend yelling "Yeah, asshole, you dead! Ma man gonna fuck you up! You betta recka-nize!"
We were on the BQE, so I did the one appropriate thing to do. When the traffic moved, I got my ass out of there and started driving like I was fricken Mario Andretti! I thought I lost him, and I was in the last lane next to the divider. The traffic had stopped. After what happened next, so did my heart. To my left was the divider, to my right was the huge man who wanted to kill me with his girlfriend who probably wanted to eat me, in front of me was another one of his gang-riding friends, and behind me was some more people. I was isolated. The traffic was moving around me and they had cornered my Plymouth Acclaim on the middle of the freakin highway! They kept banging on the door, and telling me to come out, and of course I refused. At this point, the Poojari tells me not to do anything irrational! A little too late for that.
So here I am, 22 years old, and the last man who doesn't want to kill me I will see is this Poojari, I figured I"m going straight to the top at this point. The banging did not stop and neither did the threats. I figured if I was gonna get my ass kicked, I was gonna take one of them out too. I dropped the Acclaim into Neutral and started revving my engine. I figured, I'll at least take out the one guy in front of me by running him over, and the rest will be in god's hands. Besides the guy in front of me was skinny, with dread-locks and I think the only thing bigger than his hair was his ridiculous sunglasses. I say a quick prayer and put my hand on the gear shift. The engine is revving really loud and I figured, well this is the end. Before I drop the car into drive, the guy in front of me yells "He's a fuckin Hindu man!" "What the fuck?!?" Still being scared shit-less I look over at the Poojari and it turns out he's got the biggest red dot on his head. I overlooked it when he got in. So, I open my window, and yell "Yes, we are Hindus! We didn't see you driving in between the car lanes man!" "It was a fricken accident!" To which the big dude, who has beaten my car in says "You gotta use your eyes man. You gotta watch where your goin!" Then they all drove away. Of course the only thing I was thinking was "you gotta use your fuckin brains man, you can't be driving 50 mph in between a shit load of cars you ass monkey!"
I don't know why, and I don't know how, but for some reason that was it. They noticed the big red dot, and they told us to watch out, and they went on their way. I have a couple of theories:
1. Their doctor is a Hindu, and they don't want him messing with their health care, or cutting off their Viagra supply
2. The quickie mart owner is a Hindu, and they don't want to have their cigarette supply getting cut off
3. The guy really fears the fury and the wrath of the dot
I tell you what, the rest of that trip I enjoyed listening about life, and talking about the path I'm traveling, and what my plans are for the future.
In any case, many years ago, I was at such a Maha-Pooja, and after it was done, I was volunteered to drop the Poojari off at the airport since his services were required in another state. Mind you, we were in central New Jersey, and the Poojari had to go to JFK airport in New York City. If you've never been to JFK airport, you should know that in order to get there you have to cross through the monumentous traffic of several boroughs of New York City. It is not fun, and in the summer time it gets quite annoying. I was young, and could not yell "Not it!" fast enough, and as a result I was nominated to make the trek. Just thinking about the journey made me flabbergasted, and I was not looking forward to the task at hand. At this point, I probably would've rather gone swimming in a pool full of piranhas and then taken a salt-water bath instead of putting up with that traffic.
In any case, I was the sucker, and I had to go, so I sucked it up, and got in my car with this Poojari. He was a tall, bald man. He wore glasses, and was overweight. His hair that surrounded his bald dome, was tied in a small little tail in the back by a rubber band. He had these Sherlock Holmes type glasses that constantly slid down his sweaty & oily nose, and the fact that he spent every two minutes pushing them back up, added to his quirky personality. I had never met the man before, but several hours in traffic, will certainly cause a man to open up to you. "What are you looking for in life? Are you on the path you want to be on? Can you turn up the air conditioner?" were some of the several thought-provoking questions he asked. The whole time I was trying to listen to the radio, and avoid these questions, because at the age of 22, you're probably more worried about your next female victim, then wonder about these types of things.
We were finally cruising a bit, and took the exit for the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway off of the Verrazano Bridge. I thought I was doing well since the speedometer had actually hit 40 mph, and I thought another 2 hours and I'd be home free. We take the exit, and to my dismay the traffic is worst then ever. There are 3 lanes, and all of them are packed. Cars were sitting bumper-to-bumper and there was nothing to do but sit, wait, and ponder life. I was trying to make some small talk to kill the time, and avoid it being a one-way conversation. As I was doing this I noticed in my rear view mirror a motorcycle was driving. It was driving in the small gap created between the lanes of cars. Apparently there was enough space for this guy with his motorcycle to weave in between the lanes of traffic. I thought it was quite dangerous to do this, because there wasn't much room for error. In any case, I acknowledged the man's riding ability and dismissed it. I waived over to the car in the lane next to me, and he gave me the hand signal that when the traffic starts to move he would let me get in front of him in his lane.
As I was waiting for the traffic to move, I saw the stupidest thing ever. A man who was probably 6 ft. 5 in. and weighed about 300 lbs, was riding his bike in between the lanes. Then several more of his idiotic friends were wizzing by. I mean going a good 50 mph in between the lanes of cars! I didn't realize how many there were, but when it looked like the last of them had passed, the traffic started to move and so I proceeded to move in the next lane. Just then however, the traffic abruptly stopped, and I was now blocking the middle lane. I hear a loud screeching. Apparently another person was on his bike and still riding. I regretfully looked over my shoulder out my back window and I see a HUGE 6 ft.-something guy, with his girlfriend who was even bigger than him. This man looked like he was carrying a blimp on his motorcycle. On top of that he was trying to weave in between the lanes at 50 mph! He had to slam on his brakes because I was blocking the lane. BAM! BAM! BAM! I look back and this huge dude, is now hitting my car with his boulder-like fists, and yelling "I'm gonna fucking kill you asshole!" "You know what you just did!? Your fuckin dead! I'm gonna kill you!" This was followed by his blimp of a girlfriend yelling "Yeah, asshole, you dead! Ma man gonna fuck you up! You betta recka-nize!"
We were on the BQE, so I did the one appropriate thing to do. When the traffic moved, I got my ass out of there and started driving like I was fricken Mario Andretti! I thought I lost him, and I was in the last lane next to the divider. The traffic had stopped. After what happened next, so did my heart. To my left was the divider, to my right was the huge man who wanted to kill me with his girlfriend who probably wanted to eat me, in front of me was another one of his gang-riding friends, and behind me was some more people. I was isolated. The traffic was moving around me and they had cornered my Plymouth Acclaim on the middle of the freakin highway! They kept banging on the door, and telling me to come out, and of course I refused. At this point, the Poojari tells me not to do anything irrational! A little too late for that.
So here I am, 22 years old, and the last man who doesn't want to kill me I will see is this Poojari, I figured I"m going straight to the top at this point. The banging did not stop and neither did the threats. I figured if I was gonna get my ass kicked, I was gonna take one of them out too. I dropped the Acclaim into Neutral and started revving my engine. I figured, I'll at least take out the one guy in front of me by running him over, and the rest will be in god's hands. Besides the guy in front of me was skinny, with dread-locks and I think the only thing bigger than his hair was his ridiculous sunglasses. I say a quick prayer and put my hand on the gear shift. The engine is revving really loud and I figured, well this is the end. Before I drop the car into drive, the guy in front of me yells "He's a fuckin Hindu man!" "What the fuck?!?" Still being scared shit-less I look over at the Poojari and it turns out he's got the biggest red dot on his head. I overlooked it when he got in. So, I open my window, and yell "Yes, we are Hindus! We didn't see you driving in between the car lanes man!" "It was a fricken accident!" To which the big dude, who has beaten my car in says "You gotta use your eyes man. You gotta watch where your goin!" Then they all drove away. Of course the only thing I was thinking was "you gotta use your fuckin brains man, you can't be driving 50 mph in between a shit load of cars you ass monkey!"
I don't know why, and I don't know how, but for some reason that was it. They noticed the big red dot, and they told us to watch out, and they went on their way. I have a couple of theories:
1. Their doctor is a Hindu, and they don't want him messing with their health care, or cutting off their Viagra supply
2. The quickie mart owner is a Hindu, and they don't want to have their cigarette supply getting cut off
3. The guy really fears the fury and the wrath of the dot
I tell you what, the rest of that trip I enjoyed listening about life, and talking about the path I'm traveling, and what my plans are for the future.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Just Stop
I'm finding more and more that people feel the need to impress others. I don't know why, and I can' t explain it, but for some reason, people just feel the need to show that they "know someone" or "have been somewhere" that's really cool. The first time or two you hear it at a party or something, you let it pass, but after a while it just gets down right annoying. My advice to these people is to "Just Stop!"
First of all, what you think is really "crazy and cool" is probably not so crazy and cool to someone else. For example, a guy was telling me how he and his friends are so "wild", and that when he went to Vegas, they partied til like 4 AM. That's nice and all, but it doesn't mean much to someone like me, who has done that in New York, and made it to a 7 AM conference call afterwards. The worst has to be the people who tell you a story and then when the next person comes, the story just gets bigger and bigger. I was at a house party and someone was telling me "yeah bro, I had a bottle at this one club, and we were chilling with these girls who worked at Scores, and then we headed back to my place, for some you know what" he smirked. Then my buddy comes by, and the story becomes "yeah bro, we were at Bungalow 8, and I had a bottle of Cristal, and we were hanging out with Playmates, then we headed back to my place for you know what". Let me tell you something buddy....I DO know what. I know that there was no club, no bottles, no babes, and you headed back to your place for some late night Cinemax!
Its in times like these, when my cousin, has the best line. When this happens my cousin simply tells someone, "Yo, stop trying to impress me. I'm not impressed, so you can stop now." Simple, yet effective. With this new found line, I've begun my conquest to set people straight by putting one boastful person in place at a time. Sometimes the result has been a laugh, and at others its been a middle finger. However, the best is the pure look of shock on someone's face, when you actually call them out. If you want to see something funny, the next time someone starts telling you a story, utter these words "Yo, stop trying to impress me. It ain't workin", and the results will magnanimous.
First of all, what you think is really "crazy and cool" is probably not so crazy and cool to someone else. For example, a guy was telling me how he and his friends are so "wild", and that when he went to Vegas, they partied til like 4 AM. That's nice and all, but it doesn't mean much to someone like me, who has done that in New York, and made it to a 7 AM conference call afterwards. The worst has to be the people who tell you a story and then when the next person comes, the story just gets bigger and bigger. I was at a house party and someone was telling me "yeah bro, I had a bottle at this one club, and we were chilling with these girls who worked at Scores, and then we headed back to my place, for some you know what" he smirked. Then my buddy comes by, and the story becomes "yeah bro, we were at Bungalow 8, and I had a bottle of Cristal, and we were hanging out with Playmates, then we headed back to my place for you know what". Let me tell you something buddy....I DO know what. I know that there was no club, no bottles, no babes, and you headed back to your place for some late night Cinemax!
Its in times like these, when my cousin, has the best line. When this happens my cousin simply tells someone, "Yo, stop trying to impress me. I'm not impressed, so you can stop now." Simple, yet effective. With this new found line, I've begun my conquest to set people straight by putting one boastful person in place at a time. Sometimes the result has been a laugh, and at others its been a middle finger. However, the best is the pure look of shock on someone's face, when you actually call them out. If you want to see something funny, the next time someone starts telling you a story, utter these words "Yo, stop trying to impress me. It ain't workin", and the results will magnanimous.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Addicted
I happen to be fortunate enough to be friends with a guy I'll call Evan. Evan has that rare thing that I like to call "magnetism". He can walk into a room and just command attention. He doesn't have to say a word, but the way he carries himself, says it all. For some reason, people just seem to be drawn to him, and its just a natural phenomenon that can't be explained. The same way asians are drawn to coupons is the way people seem to be drawn to Evan. Women want him, and men want to be him. Its a pretty damn good situation to be in. Evan has got it all. The looks, the style, the charm, the career, and of course the women. He has the ability to make people laugh by just being himself. He has a divine gift for humility and candor.
Evan, my friends, has an ADDICTION. That's right, my friend who has everything in the world a man could want, also has an addiction. His addiction is not easy. Like all addictions he thinks he has it under control, but the truth is...your addiction controls you, never the other way around. For a long time he didn't realize he had an addiction, and he thought he was just being "normal" and it got him into a lot of trouble. He thought to himself "What? Everybody does it. What's the big deal"? Then came the denial, just the disbelief that he was different from everybody. How could someone that is so loved, be so flawed? He just refused to believe it.
It was a cold lonely night when Evan finally admitted he had a problem. He had just finished dinner with some colleagues, and they headed over to the Hustler Club for some after dinner drinks and "dessert" as he always called it. He was doing his thing. He was charming the women, and they in turn were taking care of Evan's clients. Everyone was happy. Then while he was sitting down and enjoying his drink one of the strippers sat on his lap and started talking to Evan and playing with his hair. Before he could realize what had happened two bouncers were carrying him out the door and threw him on the streets. "Kick that fucker's ass! He fucking tried to steal my thong! That low-life son of a bitch! I feel so violated" cried the stripper as she sobbed.
You see ladies and gentleman, my friend Evan is addicted to women's underwear. He can't get enough of it. He needs it. Its the reason why many women he's hooked up with never call him again, because its embarrasing getting into a cab without your underwear, and who would want to humiliate themselves that way? The worst came that night in the strip club, when he tried to slip the stripper's thong off while she was talking to him. In the midst of all the conversation and alcohol, he accidentally pulled too hard, and broke the thong. Not only was the stripper embarrased, but all her singles came falling down from the piece of nylon that was holding them in place. Evan, has never been the same since.
I always wondered why I never saw him with the same girl more than once, and after I knew the truth it all made sense. I figured sure its nice to be with a different gorgeous knock-out every night but at least one of them you'd like to see more than once. Anyhow, Evan is still the same charming guy he always was. However, he has to be careful with himself. He can't walk into a Target or worst - a mall by himself. The last time he tried that he was caught stealing the thong off of a manquin at Victoria's Secret, and I had to talk to security so they didn't press charges.
Addictions, are never easy. They are battles that have to be fought all the time, and require tremendous will power. Hopefully, some day, my friend Evan will be able to look at a woman's g-string or a thong as a part of her attire, and not as a symbol of conquest.
Evan, my friends, has an ADDICTION. That's right, my friend who has everything in the world a man could want, also has an addiction. His addiction is not easy. Like all addictions he thinks he has it under control, but the truth is...your addiction controls you, never the other way around. For a long time he didn't realize he had an addiction, and he thought he was just being "normal" and it got him into a lot of trouble. He thought to himself "What? Everybody does it. What's the big deal"? Then came the denial, just the disbelief that he was different from everybody. How could someone that is so loved, be so flawed? He just refused to believe it.
It was a cold lonely night when Evan finally admitted he had a problem. He had just finished dinner with some colleagues, and they headed over to the Hustler Club for some after dinner drinks and "dessert" as he always called it. He was doing his thing. He was charming the women, and they in turn were taking care of Evan's clients. Everyone was happy. Then while he was sitting down and enjoying his drink one of the strippers sat on his lap and started talking to Evan and playing with his hair. Before he could realize what had happened two bouncers were carrying him out the door and threw him on the streets. "Kick that fucker's ass! He fucking tried to steal my thong! That low-life son of a bitch! I feel so violated" cried the stripper as she sobbed.
You see ladies and gentleman, my friend Evan is addicted to women's underwear. He can't get enough of it. He needs it. Its the reason why many women he's hooked up with never call him again, because its embarrasing getting into a cab without your underwear, and who would want to humiliate themselves that way? The worst came that night in the strip club, when he tried to slip the stripper's thong off while she was talking to him. In the midst of all the conversation and alcohol, he accidentally pulled too hard, and broke the thong. Not only was the stripper embarrased, but all her singles came falling down from the piece of nylon that was holding them in place. Evan, has never been the same since.
I always wondered why I never saw him with the same girl more than once, and after I knew the truth it all made sense. I figured sure its nice to be with a different gorgeous knock-out every night but at least one of them you'd like to see more than once. Anyhow, Evan is still the same charming guy he always was. However, he has to be careful with himself. He can't walk into a Target or worst - a mall by himself. The last time he tried that he was caught stealing the thong off of a manquin at Victoria's Secret, and I had to talk to security so they didn't press charges.
Addictions, are never easy. They are battles that have to be fought all the time, and require tremendous will power. Hopefully, some day, my friend Evan will be able to look at a woman's g-string or a thong as a part of her attire, and not as a symbol of conquest.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better
Women are competitive. They are competitive about anything and everything. I've heard women in my family argue about who makes better food, who keeps a cleaner bathroom, even about who has a lazier son. Nowadays, I hear women competing about who can hold their liquor better as well. No matter what the circumstance, there is always room for competition.
However, British women take competition to a whole new level. According to this article 9 British women were arrested for competing in a sex competition! That's right at some point in their discussion about better recipes, to chugging, a woman may have proposed "Oh yeah, well I bet I can give better head than you!". Now as a guy there is only one thing left to ponder at this point. How does one create such an environment so women will start having these competitive thoughts? I mean if a guy knew how to put women in a situation where they'd want to compete with each other for sex, I think that would be a pretty powerful tool to have.
I can just imagine these guys overhearing a bunch of women talk about who is better at having sex. Then one of them approaches the women with a solution. "Listen, ladies. We hear you talking about this, and there is only one solution. We shall have a competition to see who is the greatest skin-slapper of you all, and award the winner a cash prize. Although, we are hear doing this for you, so you have peace of mind, we still agreed to pitch in, and at least give the winner something for her efforts. So what do you say?" The women, somehow probably saw this as the perfect solution. I'm willing to bet that after all the sex was done, the women had to stand before the men, and just like they do in the Gladiator movie the judge had to give a thumbs up or a thumbs down. As a result, the women got arrested for prostitution, and the men got charged with encouraging "obscene behaviour". Which says to me, the cop who arrested these people was just jealous because he was too ugly to get selected as a judge. I mean, I would love to be in that court hearing:
British woman number 1: "Your honor, these skanks claim to give better head than me, and I didn't want them showing me up. So when these guys over hear offered to judge the competition, and pay the winner, I thought it would be my time to shine. I'm not a ho, I'm just a woman with a dream to prove that I am the best at what I do"
Judge: I don't care how you put it, accepting cash for sex is prostitution and its illegal.
You can just picture the woman like the scene at the end of the Untouchables when Robert Deniro is yelling "Your Honor, is this Justice! Is this Justice!?!"
What also surprised me is that men in Europe can get arrested for "encouraging obscene behaviour". Listen, if that's the case men all over the world should be arrested right now, because no matter what is going on, men are ALWAYS encouraging obscene behaviour. How do you even go about measuring what is considered obscene? I mean, encouraging a sex competition may be obscene to one person, but might be worth $2.95 a minute to another.
All in all, after reading this article, I learned two things about myself. One - I really need to go to London, and Two - I gotta keep my ears open.
However, British women take competition to a whole new level. According to this article 9 British women were arrested for competing in a sex competition! That's right at some point in their discussion about better recipes, to chugging, a woman may have proposed "Oh yeah, well I bet I can give better head than you!". Now as a guy there is only one thing left to ponder at this point. How does one create such an environment so women will start having these competitive thoughts? I mean if a guy knew how to put women in a situation where they'd want to compete with each other for sex, I think that would be a pretty powerful tool to have.
I can just imagine these guys overhearing a bunch of women talk about who is better at having sex. Then one of them approaches the women with a solution. "Listen, ladies. We hear you talking about this, and there is only one solution. We shall have a competition to see who is the greatest skin-slapper of you all, and award the winner a cash prize. Although, we are hear doing this for you, so you have peace of mind, we still agreed to pitch in, and at least give the winner something for her efforts. So what do you say?" The women, somehow probably saw this as the perfect solution. I'm willing to bet that after all the sex was done, the women had to stand before the men, and just like they do in the Gladiator movie the judge had to give a thumbs up or a thumbs down. As a result, the women got arrested for prostitution, and the men got charged with encouraging "obscene behaviour". Which says to me, the cop who arrested these people was just jealous because he was too ugly to get selected as a judge. I mean, I would love to be in that court hearing:
British woman number 1: "Your honor, these skanks claim to give better head than me, and I didn't want them showing me up. So when these guys over hear offered to judge the competition, and pay the winner, I thought it would be my time to shine. I'm not a ho, I'm just a woman with a dream to prove that I am the best at what I do"
Judge: I don't care how you put it, accepting cash for sex is prostitution and its illegal.
You can just picture the woman like the scene at the end of the Untouchables when Robert Deniro is yelling "Your Honor, is this Justice! Is this Justice!?!"
What also surprised me is that men in Europe can get arrested for "encouraging obscene behaviour". Listen, if that's the case men all over the world should be arrested right now, because no matter what is going on, men are ALWAYS encouraging obscene behaviour. How do you even go about measuring what is considered obscene? I mean, encouraging a sex competition may be obscene to one person, but might be worth $2.95 a minute to another.
All in all, after reading this article, I learned two things about myself. One - I really need to go to London, and Two - I gotta keep my ears open.
Friday, July 11, 2008
The Duck Face
Its Friday evening, and you've just gotten out of work. Your feeling good, you aced your presentation, and you got the weekend to relax and just kick it. You hit your favorite after work bar for a few brews with the boys or girls, and you get that feeling. The feeling that tonight is gonna be something special. The feeling that tonight your gonna do it BIG. No bullshit meals with a glass of wine, or a game of pool with friends. Those activities are reserved for a quiet night. But today, today you feel victorious, and victories are never celebrated quietly. You hit up a place that's quiet enough to talk to your friends and hopefully strangers, yet loud enough to display the full badass that you are such as 230 5th in NYC.You pound it out with your boys, or kiss it out with your girls, and a cold beverage finds its way into the cup of your hands, and eventually into the back of your throat. A few more refreshing gulps, and it happens. The beverage releases the stress out of your body and into the air, and the DJ plays your favorite '80's song - perhaps Livin on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. A cheesy pickup line has gotten you into a conversation with a group of random hotties, and your boy (or girl) sees you from the other side of the lounge. In that moment there is only one thing left to do....you give your friend "The Duck Face." What is "The Duck Face" you ask? The Duck Face is the universal human reaction that signifies "I am the bom-dizzle". I got this situation under control, and probably one of these ladies under my sheets in a few hours. Its a universal sign that everyone knows, recognizes, and loves.
Where did the Duck Face originate from? Like many things we enjoy in this world, it is believed to have been originated by the Italians, and then Guidos of all backgrounds in the Tri-state area perfected it. Indians being the latest group of immigrants have only recently gotten in on the action. Just see this duck face below - this takes years of practice, and hours of hair molding:
The Duck Face says to your friends - "Yo, I am the MAN, and I run this shit! These bitches ain't got shit on me, and there is a very high probability that I will make an inappropriate proposition. In the event that my proposition is rejected as my best friend you are obligated to come by and make me feel better, and if all else fails we will throw up the Ballllin sign".
Unfortunately ladies and gentleman, I have a confession to make. I - The Indian Guy am addicted to The Duck Face - there I said it. I find myself giving this face ALL THE TIME and I believe its going to get me into trouble. Therefore, to warn you I've outlined some situations when you should NOT use The Duck Face.
The following are such situations:
1. Reviewing bio-datas with your parents
2. Peeing in a public bathroom
3. Sitting next to your best friend's girlfriend (or boyfriend)
4. Talking to your boss
5. Giving a speech
6. Getting a cab
7. In court
8. At a funeral
The following are situations that are encouraged to use the Duck Face:
1. In the gym (you are a beast and everyone should know it)
2. At dinner (the waitress should know that she is serving food to a certified pimp)
3. In the club (its just too easy)
4. Family reunions (let the family know that they should be proud of the stud you've grown up to be)
5. Graduation (A proper Duck Face says I'm out suckas!)
Whatever situation you are in, I advise you to use the Duck Face wisely. It is a great universal symbol that is known globally like the peace sign or hang loose. However, I sincerely urge you to not abuse this beautiful symbol of confidence, debauchery, and griminess which says in the words of P. Diddy that you will not stand for "Bitch-ass-ness"
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
She's Aggressive
Not too long ago, me and 2 of my co-workers had gone out for lunch. One of my co-workers is a young woman in her 30's who has been married for a few years (let's call her Amy), and my other co-worker is a guy that's a year younger than me (let's call him Adam) who is in a long distance relationship, where he lives in America and his girlfriend is on the other side of the world. We were talking about relationships, and my latest blunder at the time.
While we were eating, Amy says to me "you know my husband's best friend is half Irish and half Indian, and he has a beautiful sister". Immediately my appetite faded, and I was all ears. "She has great skin, and light eyes". To which I respond, "well you know, I happen to be Irish on the inside, and probably have the liver of an Irishman. I think your friend's sister is in luck". We all got a good laugh out of that, and Amy continued to describe this girl to me. Meanwhile my co-worker Adam had lost his appetite and as we were sitting outside eating our salads our imaginations ran wild about the possible hotness that is this girl. After finishing describing her and her brother, and how they are such good friends with the family my friend Amy says to me "but there's one thing." Immediately, I'm thinking there always is. I figured she was gonna tell me the girl is recently married, or has joined the peace corps and gone to Africa. However, Amy says to me "she's aggressive". Before Amy could even finish saying those two words a dirty smile had crept across my face. I looked over at Adam, and the same dirty smile had made its way on his face as well.
In that funny little moment, I soon realized how truly different men and women are. You see, when Amy told me her friend was "aggressive" after all the beatiful description of her physique me and Adam were probably picturing Aishwarya Rai with the libido of Jenna Jameson, and we couldn't have been more excited. Meanwhile, Amy was saying things like "she's very controlling" which I translated as "Okay, maybe she likes to be on top? - I can live with that". However, she went on to describe how her friend can get a bit controlling at times. To this day, I have not met this person. However, I'm willing to bet my left nut that she's pretty hot and I'm sure she is controlling. I haven't met a hot girl who isn't. If you have met a hot girl that's not controlling, well you're in luck because she doesn't know that she's hot, and as soon as she does, she will become controlling.
All in all, I've realized that as much as we may try, as a guy whenever you hear about women you only hear things in relation to sex. Someone can tell you that they have a friend who has long beautiful hair, works out a lot, and is really book-smart, and we will imagine a hot librarian who takes the scrunchy out of her hair and lets it all fall back, and soon thereafter completely fulfills your desires. I don't know if we will ever change, but as they say "the day I don't think about it, is the day I'd die".
While we were eating, Amy says to me "you know my husband's best friend is half Irish and half Indian, and he has a beautiful sister". Immediately my appetite faded, and I was all ears. "She has great skin, and light eyes". To which I respond, "well you know, I happen to be Irish on the inside, and probably have the liver of an Irishman. I think your friend's sister is in luck". We all got a good laugh out of that, and Amy continued to describe this girl to me. Meanwhile my co-worker Adam had lost his appetite and as we were sitting outside eating our salads our imaginations ran wild about the possible hotness that is this girl. After finishing describing her and her brother, and how they are such good friends with the family my friend Amy says to me "but there's one thing." Immediately, I'm thinking there always is. I figured she was gonna tell me the girl is recently married, or has joined the peace corps and gone to Africa. However, Amy says to me "she's aggressive". Before Amy could even finish saying those two words a dirty smile had crept across my face. I looked over at Adam, and the same dirty smile had made its way on his face as well.
In that funny little moment, I soon realized how truly different men and women are. You see, when Amy told me her friend was "aggressive" after all the beatiful description of her physique me and Adam were probably picturing Aishwarya Rai with the libido of Jenna Jameson, and we couldn't have been more excited. Meanwhile, Amy was saying things like "she's very controlling" which I translated as "Okay, maybe she likes to be on top? - I can live with that". However, she went on to describe how her friend can get a bit controlling at times. To this day, I have not met this person. However, I'm willing to bet my left nut that she's pretty hot and I'm sure she is controlling. I haven't met a hot girl who isn't. If you have met a hot girl that's not controlling, well you're in luck because she doesn't know that she's hot, and as soon as she does, she will become controlling.
All in all, I've realized that as much as we may try, as a guy whenever you hear about women you only hear things in relation to sex. Someone can tell you that they have a friend who has long beautiful hair, works out a lot, and is really book-smart, and we will imagine a hot librarian who takes the scrunchy out of her hair and lets it all fall back, and soon thereafter completely fulfills your desires. I don't know if we will ever change, but as they say "the day I don't think about it, is the day I'd die".
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