Monday, April 28, 2003 Not unlike my normal life, my last summer vacation (a week at the exotic Club Med Resort in the caribbean) resulted in no sex of any kind, in addition to a significant decrease in the amount of masturbation. Sure, it's not like I didn't have my chances. For example, a girl we affectionately nicknamed 'Psycho Killer' because of her crazy stares, the creepy stab wound down the side of her leg, and her ridiculously fat friend. Actually the friend had nothing to do with the nickname, but I felt it was an important detail. There was also the spunky, 45 year old red head who wanted to try a three-way with me and Frank. The worst part about that situation was, given the choice between the red head and Frank, I think I would have just ended up dry humping Frank's leg the whole time.
So let's try this again. This year, the plan involves a road trip up the coast of the Pacific Northwest. You see...rather than basing the desirablity of a destination on the chance I will have sex, which is clearly 0% based on experience, logic, and a survey I handed out recently, I'm expecting this trip to kick ass for things I know I can attain...alcohol, drugs, and alcohol. But if for some reason, such as all the planets aligning (especially Uranus), a girl presents her baginas to me, I guarantee that it will be the best five seconds of sex that girl has ever experienced. Sure, since she will probably be under 15, it will be the only 5 seconds of sex she's ever experienced...but I still stand by my irrational boast.
Thursday, April 24, 2003 As I have already detailed in an earlier post, I was suffering through a nasty bout of mono for the last month or so. Well I am all better now; a doctor told me that. This means I can drink beer again. Let me tell you this, not drinking is really noble and healthy and all that crap. But when you aren't allowed to drink because some two bit jack-off with a "med school" degree tells you your liver will explode, life gets very close to unlivable. So I have learned the hard way that beer makes life worth living. Unfortunately, it can have some nasty side effects. Too much beer can artificially boost your ego or make you think you look better than you really do. It can really harm young kids who have very little experience with alcohol. Bust most importantly, it can cause you to make bad decisions. There is nothing worse than finding out the person you hooked up with really wasn't that great looking. But hey, you can always drink away the pain.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 Being Old Must Suck Like an Oreck
Well, the nation's oldest person died today at the old-ass age of 113. I am not sure if she was still producing ova - probably not though. Anyway, MSN.com summed up her life brilliantly in its subheading:
Mary Christian, witnessed 1906 San Francisco earthquake, indulged in Twinkies
Poor old codger. Well, a dead codger now - but you mean to tell me this woman did absolutely jack shit for 113 years? I'm not saying she needed to cure cancer or anything as super-cool as that, but an inspiring "worked with children" or "had the remarkable ability to cough dust" would have been better than that. And who doesn't indulge in Twinkies? By pure virtue of all Hostess snacks being deliciously sweet and moist, yet bad for you - doesn't that inherently constitute "indulging"? How many Twinkies do you need to consume for that aspect of your life to make your obituary? She must have been a sick-o Twinkie freak. Click here for a Twinkie-light vigil.
Then, like the 113 years counted for nothing, MSN.com continues on to tell you who the next person in line is to garner the headline "Oldest Person in Nation Dies." And, in case you were wondering, these records are kept be the UCLA School of Medicine, a member of the research group which tracks the "ultra-old" (obviously a medical term).
Friday, April 18, 2003 Good Friday? Get Your Lord On 'Cause This Shit is the Bomb...
Does anyone think that the Good Book leaves out the part about how pompous Jay-C was when emerged from the tomb on Sunday morning. He was probably all up in everyone's grill with a smarmy grin and a puffed out chest frontin' "That's right motherfuckers! Who's God now?" He flipped everyone the bird and did that Stone Cold Steve Austin 'Suck It' hand maneuvre - still without dropping a single Cadbury Cream Egg. Then he probably did a few brakedancin' splits set to some 80s Glen Fry tune - all Teen Wolf style. Which raises a great question:
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 I'd also like to add a new segment to the house of thrill, entitled...
Commercials I Fucking Love
For the first commercial in this segment, I'd like to discuss the Jolly Rancher Pre-Teen Breakdance commercial. I fucking love this commercial. I particularly love the part where the pre-teen asian girl starts breakdancing, and her friends start throwing jolly ranchers at her. Fucking brilliant! I know that if I was hanging out on the streets, and saw some pre-teen asian chick breakdancing, I'd whip hard candy at her fat ass too! Stupid bitch.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 Settling the Score Once and for All
Since perverted gay innuendo inevitably finds it way to the House of Thrill, I thought it might be helpful for us to quanitifiably find out who the gayest actually is. Here is the Gay-O-Meter - which will subsequently aid us in making fun of each other with more accuracy. My score was 30%.
(PLEASE NOTE: 30% = "STRAIGHT MAN, LOOSEN UP. THESE DAYS WOMEN LIKE A MAN WITH SOFT EDGES TO GRAB ON TO.")
Kindly and honestly post your scores in the comments section. There is a quiz for women as well (for all 2 of you).
Monday, April 14, 2003 If Field Day Festival were a woman, I'd have sex with it. And like most of the women I've had sex with, it's gonna cost me around $200.
Anywho, as I sit here pondering the wonderful times ahead at what will certainly be the music event of the summer, I can't help reminiscing on my last summer music festival, The Great Went. Here are the only memories I have left from a very fuzzy weekend...
Mike's weekend long stomach pains. Fucking pussy.
My half hour ordeal in the porto potty. You would think the festival organizers would understand that most of the people in the porto potties will be under the influence of a variety of drugs, and would therefore require porto potties with locks that are easier to operate.
The laughter. Oh God the laughter. Sweet Jesus, Tom, we need to shroom again.
The day that Joseph got his nickname, "Two bags of shrooms" Joe. Or "Two-Bag", for short.
Eating lunch in Canada! Huzzah!
Buying Canadian cigarrettes with a warning label indicating that "These cigarettes will kill you".
Trying to explain to customs, as we crossed the border back into the U.S., why Mike needed that epinephrine pen for his peanut allergy. Fucking pussy. The bags of weed, however, didn't seem to be an issue.
The big black guy who hung out in our van and sold my brother "Weed on a stick". I knew that guy was full of shit.
Driving home and being told by my brother's friend to "Drive as fast as you want man, there's no cops on the Palisades Parkway".
Tuesday, April 01, 2003 So I haven’t written anything for the House for some time. Well that is because I was studying the natural progression (or should I say regression) of the posts like that tasty broad who hung around with the Gorillas in the mist. OK so maybe that wasn’t really what I was doing. Maybe I was too busy trying to launch a career as a fluffer on an all lesbian “movie production.” But alas, that would be untrue as well. The truth is that I have experienced a melange of humiliating experiences, one after the other, coming to a zenith with my catching Mono (from what I think was a 14 year old girl who looked a hell of a lot like Phil Collins). So I was stuck in a bed with the kissing disease for a little under two weeks. I had a full beard, a belly full of Gatorade and Ensure (and nothing else), and a mind full of Ricki Lake. I watched so much television that I actually watched a Steven Seagal movie from beginning to end. Now this wasn’t all a waste of time. I did make an interesting discovery. There is a 70 year-old woman from Canada, of all places, that gives out sexual advice on the Oxygen network. And I don’t mean she says things like, “you should communicate with your lover.” I mean she says things like, “Honey, if you want to finger your boyfriend’s anus, you are just going to have to do it and see what his reactions is!” Now tell me that isn’t the grandmother we all wish we had. Not that I need sexual advice from a septuagenarian, what I actually need is the sex itself. So I am thinking that it is time I started combing the retirement communities for gumby givin' babies like her. Hey – by the time they get to that age, they have learned a thing or two about a thing or two. So I am thinking that they might be able to teach me some shit. And baby, I am willing to learn. So never let it be said that I discriminated against someone because of their age. Well OK, so I have done that, but not in this case you jerk.