Bonzai!

Have any of you seen that MTV show Date My Mom? That show is in the running for #1 Piece of Shit on my Piece of Shit TV Show List. My kids like to watch it, and I’m forced to suffer through it. Actually, it’s so bad it’s fucking funny. If you’ve never seen it, you owe it to yourself to watch it. It’s a sorry excuse for a reality show. Trouble is, that the thing is horribly scripted, and even more horribly acted; kinda like George Bush does his public speaking, only worse. I understand the people aren’t actors, but in that case, the idiots who produce it should let the people just talk. I can’t stand to talk about it any more. Watch it and you’ll see what I mean. Oh, today’s show is with gay dudes; even more ridiculous than the ordinary mix of people.

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David Hasselhoff anyone?

Mantastic!

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Memory Du Jour:
Key West, FL, 1983
It was a Wednesday night, $.50 Kamikaze Night, at Durty Harry's bar, a really small place back then. It pretty mellow, unlike the way it looks on the web page. Anyway...There was an acoustic guitar player entertaining while a friend and I pounded kamikazes. There was a cute, blond hippy looking chick dancing on the little dance floor. She had a white, cotton, hippy dress on, a nice tan, and a white hippy cast from her elbow to her wrist. She was cute, but way wiped.

She came up and started talking to us. Then she asked if I wanted to dance. I don’t remember what the guitar player was playing, but it sure as fuck wasn’t dance music. But we danced; slow danced. And my olfactory nerves were punished with the pungent stench of her B.O. It was foul.

Every time her back was to the guitar player, I made two gestures to him: 1) The international signal for stop, a slashing motion across my throat; and 2) I held my nose, shook my head and grimaced. Anyone smarter than Jessica Simpson would understand. He did too, only he laughed and kept on playing. Just when I thought the song was over, he dedicated his next one to the “beautiful couple on the dance floor.” I thought I was gonna die. Finally it was over. I went back to my bar stool and ‘splained it to my friend who thought it was hilarious.

An hour or so later she came up behind me and said something like, “C'mon, let's dance again.” I swiveled the bar stool around about 90 degrees and politely declined, never letting on that I thought she smelled worse than an anchovy’s cunt.

Then I turned back to the bar. Not satisfied with my answer, she grabbed me by my elbow and spun me around 180 degrees until I was facing her. She slid her hand down my forearm, took hold of my hand and leaned back with almost all her weight (probably about 100lbs) in an attempt to raise me from my perch and onto the dance floor.

Being extremely intoxicated, and not quite up to dancing with stinky, I let go. She tried to catch herself, backpedaling and flailing her arms. She landed on a small 3’x3’ table, which slid along the floor and into another table. Chairs, tables, smelly girl and all were scattered all over the floor. I looked at my friend and said, “Let’s get outta here.” And that we did.

Quote of the Day:
In California, they don't throw their garbage away - they make it into TV shows. -- Woody Allen