Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Draft #195
For Pat Graven, Now is the Time
For some of us, the news of Enrique Iglesias and Anna Kournikova parting ways from their five year relationship is no big deal. But for 29-year-old bachelor, Pat Graven, this unexpected unraveling just might be his ticket to the motherland....(otherwise known as Anna's cootch). As we all know, a girl on the rebound is a girl in need of some serious rogering. Her emotions are so scattered and unpredictable that the only thing she does know is that she needs the soothing feeling of about two hundred pounds worth of sweaty flesh ravaging her every crevasse.
And this is where Pat Graven comes in. All poor Anna wanted was Enrique's hand in marriage and a couple of kids to boot. Personally, I don't think that's too big of a request for one of the hottest females on the planet. For one reason or another Enrique has decided that he would rather not be tied down at the moment, choosing a foot loose and fancy free lifestyle over being the permanent love slave of America's sexiest Russian import. Now is the time! Pat, your dream is on the cusp of becoming a reality and the only thing sitting between you and a Sunday afternoon leather whipping from Anna is a simple phone call (we all know you like that schtuff).
Now Pat, I'm sure you're reading this and thinking to yourself, "There's no way Anna would ever want to marry me?!?!" But if you take a second to examine the situation, you'd find that you are a more than suitable mate for the once darling princess of tennis. According to a recent Fluff Magazine article, Anna listed drywallers as the the only profession of men that gets her bean burning more than firemen "Guys that crap in cardboard boxes make me hot!!!" Add to that her love of all things that sag to people's knees and the stars couldn't be aligned more perfectly.
Now is the time! I urge you to not think of what might be, but rather what will become. Imagine you and your new love attending all the social events of the year... like Action in Jackson, the Jackson parade, and the grand opening of the new Walgreens. Imagine what could be bent over the railing of your back porch and who will be doing the bending. Imagine what it will be like to have her fetching everyone's cocktails during the annual Chili Sheepshead Party and the record number of participants you'll have that year.
Now is the time! Pat your destiny has arrived. If it's offspring she wants then offspring she will get. Your LHSS is a product of what I would assume to be a surplus buildup of baby batter. Rumor has it, the buildup is so severe that you are capable of impregnating an entire U.S. female hockey team. For the love of God you are an Ironman, it's high time you perk that chin upwards and start acting like it! She's been number one on your list for as long as I've known you, sure Reese Witherspoon and Christina Aguilera may have graced the top spot in sparing moments of desperation, but we all know who your heart belongs to.
Now is the time! Do whatever is necessary to reach her, whether by water, by bicycle, or by foot. Fame is relative. Restraining orders are arbitrary. The bruises left by security guards will eventually fade away. But the open wound left on your conscience for not trying will absorb every ounce of salt this lonely world has to offer. Go my son, go!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Draft #194
You've been avoiding it for years. You know it must be done, but the thought of it makes your spine shiver. You've heard the horror stories of others who have gone through with it and your mind shutters with all the terrifying mental images. They say when Bob from accounting had his examination they found the remains of what was believed to be a 42 lb turkey. Larry from human resources went in for his checkup recently and now he's lost his ability to speak the English language due to his advanced state of shock. The only things he can say now in a disturbed and shaken tone are "Oh no" and "get that out of there".......he's an absolute wreck.Of course I'm referring to the debilitating effects of a prostate exam. It's probably one of the coldest rights of passage a man will endure in his lifetime besides the institution of marriage. With every passing year you realize you're one step closer to the day when you will eventually have yourself voluntarily probed in the name of health. Part of you clings to the chance that technological advances will turn prostate exams into nothing more than a quick and painless magnetic resonance imaging snapshot. But the other part of you knows that there is no substitute for the cold and sturdy touch that only a complete stranger with a medical degree can provide.
It's a harsh reality that every man will have to face, unless you've previously lost your prostate in a horrible fishing accident during your youth thanks to an inattentive uncle. Odds are you don't even know what the prostate actually does. Many people subscribe to the theory that the prostate doesn't actually exist and that it's just some sort of pseudo organ that the medical industry cooked up because they were running out of places to shove their fingers. Others have theorized that the science of proctology (otherwise known as the devil's craft) was brought into existence in 1827 by a wild batch of butt pirates that migrated to America from their orginal habitat just off the coast of the French Guiana.
Dr. Travis Cutlawn was the first American born doctor to take up the practice of proctology. Though his methods today would be considered harsh and somewhat unorthodox, his fish based method was extremely effective during this era of medicine. Dr. Cutlawn would insert a live trout into the anus of his patient and if after 10 minutes, the fish was still found to be alive then the prostate was deemed healthy and in working order. On the flipside, if the trout appeared distraught and had a purple ring circling the base of its head then the prostate was deemed agitated and in need of repair.
Until 1867, patients that were diagnosed with an agitated or irregular prostate had no cure available to them. These societal outcasts were immediately stoned to death by concerned villagers who feared that the ailment might spread and infect others. But in 1867, one of Dr. Cutlawn's disciples, Meret Brevenfield, developed the first known cure. Through his studies, he formulated a mixture of frog intestines and fig juices that was able to fight off the swelling and cause the prostate to revert back to it's normal state.
Unfortunately in 1871, Dr. Brevenfield was stoned to death by a group of concerned villagers who figured that Brevenfield was merely treating patients that had no symptoms to begin with and that his formula was indeed fraudulent and merely an act to improve his social status among the more buxomly women of the village.
Proctology remained a predominately underground practice until 1950 when it penetrated its way into the mainstream of U.S. medicine becoming a permanent fixture even to this very day. The only other piece of prostatorial history that was actually recorded was done so in 1987. This was when a noble minded trail blazer by the name of Phillip Wonderstock took it upon himself to try and get proctology back into the streets where it belonged. Phillip despised the Big Medicine industry with a passion and wished to place it firmly on its backside. His plan was simple...devise a fleet of mobile trailers that could travel from town to town with one goal in mind. To provide high quality prostate exams at half the price.
Mr. Wonderstock's plan was to set up trailers outside of popular male hangouts like baseball stadiums, moose lodges, and pretty much anywhere else that alcohol was being consumed in mass quantities. There, men were invited to have their prostates examined in a dark trailer with the hopes that their inebriated state of mind might convince them to get it (the prostate exam) over with since most men do not have this test done frequently. Men would often question Phillip's credentials and ask, "Hey, how do we know that you ain't just some weirdo who likes to stick his fingers in other guy's butts?" Phillip's degree from the Belmont Tech Community College hanging on the wall inside the trailer would usually settle the argument.
As it turned out, Mr. Wonderstock really was just a weirdo that enjoyed sticking his fingers into other guy's butts. All in all, a total of 115 men fell for the traveling prostate exam scam which was said to have lasted for almost 6 months in certain areas of Kentucky and Tennessee (other similar operations in different states were shut down within one or two days of their attempted start up).
Mr. Wonderstock's whereabouts remain a mystery even to this very day, though some have speculated that he returned to those very areas of Kentucky and Tennessee (after a brief 10 year prison sentence) where his operation discovered the most success. He is said to be currently employed as a high school gym teacher.
This has been another episode of History Lessons in Awkward Medical Practices.......Join us next week when we take a look into the mysterious world of dentistry!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Draft #193
Listen and React
Today I will be listening to CMT radio and making comments about the songs that are played. Actually, I'll probably be making comments about random things that the lyrics made me think of, but you (hopefully) get the point. It's all pure crap anyway, this blog that is, not country music.
Freddy Fender- Before The Next Tear Drop Falls
-No clue who Freddy Fender is but he's speaking Spanish in the middle of the song so that's a huge downgrade. If I was Chris Berman I'd nickname him Freddy "I'm coming off a twelve day" Fender.
Anne Murray-Could I Have This Dance
-No you may not you dirty whore.
Faith Hill- Breathe
-Actually this song is about what Faith has to continually tell men when they see her in person. I know I'd be panting like a hyena if I ever came within 4 feet of her.
Charlie Rich- Behind Closed Doors
-If I know Charlie like I think I know Charlie, I'd say he gives the most gentlemanly donkey punches in town. And he only slaps things that need slapping.
George Strait- I've Come to Expect it From You
-Whenever I hear this song I feel I should be wearing a cowboy hat and kicking a mule in the ass.
Alabama- Love in the First Degree
-Just a great F-in song.
Tim McGraw- She's My Kind of Rain
Translation: She's got a great ass and can cook.
Hank Williams- Hey Good Luckin'
-Quite a far cry from rapper Deez Nuts' hit single, Bitch What's Crackin'.
Randy Travis- Forever an Ever, Amen
-Oh darlin, I'm gonna love you forever (assuming you kick that drug habit and don't put on an extra 50 el Bees).
Johnny Cash- Ring of Fire
-If you haven't heard this song in a bar before you've either never been in a bar before or you're just plain deaf and couldn't hear a locomotive if it was sniffing your ass while walking a set of railroad tracks.
Roy Orbison-Crying
-Whenever somebody mentions to me that it looks like I've been crying, I tell them I just got done shitting a whole pineapple.
Michael Martin Murphy- What's Forever For?
-A common line you ladies might hear from guys that probably own 3-7 venereal diseases.
The Judds- Mama He's Crazy
-"Mama, he wanted me to go bowling. Do I look like the type of girl that wants to go bowling?" -Brooke from Real World-Denver
John Denver- Annie's Song
-Lloyd Christmas said it best, "That John Denver is full of shit."
Ronnie Milsap- It Was Almost Like a Song
-Instead it sounded more like 50 cats in a blender.
Hank Williams Jr.- Real Men Eat Their Own Scabs
-Yeah, I made that one up.
George Strait- Check Yes or No
-I actually tried that strategy in the 4th grade (sending a girl a piece of paper that asked if she liked me- check yes or no) and apparently (as I found out) if the girl is smart enough she'll write in a third checkbox with the caption "Go F yourself" and then check that option. A simple no would have done just as well. Anywho, she got hers in the end, two years later she was clinically diagnosed with cooties.
