Monday, June 30, 2003 Well once again I have come across a conundrum in a recent conversation with a friend of mine (hint: he uses the alias “matt” on this website) that has left me in a somewhat confused state of discord. We were talking about how unpleasant a man’s genitals must taste to a lady – especially after a long day at the salt mines (please note we were drunk at the time, which is really just an excuse to dodge answering why we were talking about genitals in the first place). But we came to the conclusion that some sort of flavoring agent could be a welcome addition to the already sick and twisted cornucopia of sexual devices I employ in my standard sexual practices. Now there are at least a few thousand ideas for flavors that I could come up with and I am doubly sure that the readers of the House could add even more. But the real question that I am hung up on is this: How would one match said flavor with said mate or said situation without creating problems?
If I am using a meat flavoring on my genitals, say A-1 sauce or just simply a steak seasoning rub, would I have to ensure that my mate was enjoying a red wine for fear that white wouldn’t compliment the situation?
If my mate were from Mexican extraction and I used a Louisiana style Hot Sauce on my genitals rather than authentic Cholula Mexican Hot Sauce, would I be offending the nationalistic pride of said mate?
If I were to use a butter sauce flavoring would it be necessary to have a side of mashed potatoes available, or some other starchy dish to offset the overly rich nature of the butter sauce?
My point is that simply coming up with flavor ideas, while amusing, really only addresses part of the issue that this potentially revolutionary idea creates.
So, in my never ending effort to maintain my indie-rock poser lifestyle, I went to the Salvation Army Thrift Shop on Route 17 South in Paramus to pick up one of the off-color quirky T-shirts. The place is going out of business and everything is 50% off and all of the books are now 50 cents. Although I don't read, I scanned the stacks and found a gem called "The Trainable Retarded."
(Insert any of 100 jokes here).
I didn't purchase it. I didn't have the balls. Someone must do it. We're all assholes here - someone step to the plate.
My tards usually aren't very adept at thinking for themselves. They tend to mimic. Occasionally you'll find that one of them does something the others view as "cool" and they all start in copying it. Unfortunately what that one person does isn't usually cool, in fact it's usually retarded.
This was the case with our ice cream day. The entire class had been rewarded with an afternoon where we ate ice cream and played games. Just as a side note, no one other than the aides pointed out that ice cream day was actually a half day, but what do you expect. Anyway while the tards were eating their ice cream, and I was going around trying to make sure the ice cream went in their mouths, Kunte gets the brilliant idea of starting a food fight.
Kunte grabs a scoop of ice cream from his bowl, screams "FOOD FIGHT!," and smacks himself right in the face with his ice cream. He didn't even know that a food fight meant you throw the food at OTHER PEOPLE!
Almost as soon as he does this, all the tards in the room start grabbing ice cream and smashing their faces with it. It was absolutely amazing.
Eventually my aides and I calmed everyone down. I was trying to figure out how I should punish Kunte, and I asked him where he got the idea for his food fight. He said he saw it on TV, and that someone grabbed a handful of food, stood up, and then he couldn't remember what happened. I considered explaining the concept of a food fight to him, but instead I just sent him home early with a note telling his parents what he did. Maybe they'll tell him.
Thursday, June 19, 2003 There has been some inquiry into a comment that I added to the first “wedding” post. I made reference to a woman I know who has two assholes, or more accurately, how funny it was when she told me that she had two assholes.
First of all, I can say that this information is 100% true and has been documented by the same team of scientists that brought you such great films as “Two Dicks, One Dude” and “If SheMale, We Wail.”
I was asked what in the world one would do with an extra exit in their mate. To which I replied, “My God man, what wouldn’t you do!”
A few benefits (and any more that our fair House readers could come up with would be appreciated as always):
You start with one orifice, when it gets too loose, you move on to the next. When that one is done, YOU STILL HAVE ANOTHER ONE LEFT!!!!
You could use one for “Pooping” and the other for “Porking” (or even "Eating" if that is your thing)
You could use if for storage, a place to carry your wallet or cell phone.
In my final post on the subject (hoorah) let's take a look back at some of the more memorable moments from Wedding 2003:
Robot Dance - The wedding party introduction I wrote for myself and my date was (read as if you are introducing two presenters at the Oscars): "During a wedding reception, his favorite dance is The Robot, she prefers to sit down and drink raspberry marguerites, let's welcome Matt and Jackie!". Bahahahahahahahaha! Although I was a bit disappointed to see that Jackie did not drink any raspberry marguerites (or even one blue drink of any kind, if memory serves me right), I did get to do the Robot Dance. With Jackie, I believe. I hope someone got a picture of the look of disgust on her face. Not as bad as when my cousin Tommy asked her to dance, but it was the same type of look.
Stealing Signs - My brother Gabe was certainly a highlight of the weekend. In addition to the break dancing and steady supply of narcotics, he also did a hell (i'm not saying 'hella' because it's queer) of a job vandalizing the hotel. He ripped about ten hotel information signs off the walls. You know the kind of signs I mean...the ones that say 'Vending Machine' or ‘Indoor Pool’. Although we left most of the signs back at the hotel on our neighbor’s balcony, we took a couple of them home for souvenirs. According to the new sign on my door, my bedroom in my apartment is now officially the ‘Refreshment Center'. Now all I need to do is trick some young lady into my room with the promise of Mountain Dew and a bag of Skittles.
Nana Stripping – I saw it, but I didn’t believe it.
Karaoke – Karaoke is evil. Some fucking asshole decided to invent an apparatus that provides a sloppy drunk with an easily accessible outlet to completely embarrass themselves. However, once that apparatus is programmed with a Weezer song, it becomes a rock star creating machine. My sister and I did a rendition of ‘Buddy Holly’ that made Rivers Cuomo's version sound like something off their crappy Green album. Particularly, the part where I hit her on the head with the microphone to produce that cool ‘POP’ sound frequently overused by bad comedians.
So in conclusion, much like the band Weezer, that wedding rocked. The pressure is on, someone in my family must get married POST HASTE so we can party hardy once again. Don’t worry everyone, I’ve got some spare cash, a membership to russianbrides.com, and a little thing called class!
Everyone who knows my family knows that as weird as my immediate family is, my extended family is much, much worse. So with that in mind, I bring to you, my cousins at the wedding reception:
Ralph - Not really my cousin...I think he's technically a cousin once removed? Regardless...he came by my table during dinner and we had a short chat.
Hey Matt, how's work goin?
Good man, how about you?
Goin OK...I was down in Florida for some conference the last few weeks.
Jacksonville...it's near the northern border of Flor... see ya later.
Literally in the middle of his response, as if he suddenly skipped ahead in our conversation using a time machine of some sort, he said 'See ya later', stared at me uncomfortably for a minute, and then left. Maybe you had to be there, but trust me, it was funny.
Jim - Big Angus Young fan, snazzy dresser. Apparently he's a bit of a hot head when he's drunk. He tried picking a fight with the best man over our improper care of our younger cousin (who was puking on my bed at the time). Sure, perhaps I shouldn't have split those three bottles of champagne with her, but she puked on my bed didn't she? Isn't that punishment enough? Luckily for them I was the voice of reason and broke up the fight. Actually, it's more lucky for Jim, because I've seen that look in Patrick's eyes before, and usually it means someone is going to get stabbed.
Tommy - Oh good lord where do I begin. He says he owns a software company, which I don't believe. He said his ex-girlfriend looked like Pink, who I think is repulsive, yet I still don't believe it. Conversations with him inevitably turn to computer games, computer game conferences, and computer game parties he throws in his parent's basement. I take his word for all those things. He also hit on every guy's date at the wedding except for his mom and the bride.
Susan - Took me aside during the puking incident, and told me with a straight face that "I know I'm supposed to be responsible for our cousin who is currently coughing up a lung in the bathroom...and I don't want to sound like an ass or something...but this dress I'm wearing cost $400....so...you know."
Monday, June 16, 2003 I've only been to a few weddings in my life, but I think I can safely say that was the greatest wedding in the history of the universe. I'm seriously considering petitioning the Vatican to have a new chapter added to the Bible detailing the events of this past weekend. It's about time we added some current shit to that book, it might as well be about a party that was good enough for Jesus. Until then, it will just have to stay on the internet.
Too many things happened this weekend to describe in just one post, which is why this week is now officially 'Wedding Stories' week on the house. All week you can expect juicy anecdotes about the things that happen when you mix insane relatives with excessive amounts of alcohol. Until then, here's a short list of ways my life has been altered from my brother's wedding.
My new favorite song is now 'Apache' by the Sugar Hill Gang. Which means that every song by Jennifer Love Hewitt is now tied for a close second.
My new favorite drink is everything. I thought that as I got older my tolerance would diminish, but I put that concern to rest and then took a big dump on it.
My new favorite dance is 'Gabe breakdancing'. Gabe is my youngest brother, a turkey killer, and apparently has a big piece of cardboard and a boom box hidden somewhere in his room.
One last note for today, my wedding party introductions were not used. Despite all my efforts to explain the complicated levels on which the intros were funny, no one seemed to laugh when I mentioned that one person was going to be introduced as "the inventor of the cummerbund". OK, so maybe that joke isn't the greatest. But if you are interested, a copy of the introductions can be attained by calling 1 (800) GO-FUCK-YOURSELF.
Monday, June 09, 2003 A new receptionist recently starting working on our floor. She's a middle-aged woman...probably in her mid 40's. Last week I had the occasion to talk with her in order to help find a person who left the lights on in their car (my good deed for the millenium). My coworker...let's call him Bill...pointed out that she was hitting on me. Now Bill is an older man, probably in his mid 50's, with grey hair and 4 kids. He's also the guy who was cursing up a storm during my trip to Atlanta. After explaining to Bill that the receptionist was a bit old for me, he proceeded to tell me that "That woman has a mouth on her that could suck a golf ball out of a garden hose."
But the adversity a female and dwarven torreador has to go through to get the top is unrelenting. The rhinestoning of midget-pants, the adjusting of the red cape to that of midget proportions, and the prospect of the ugly incident that a midget bull may gore you and then try to hump you in your midget ass.
Thursday, June 05, 2003 The position of author and editor in chief of the house of thrill has finally gotten me my first real writing job. My brother, in a move my mother deems "insane in the membrane", has commissioned me to write the wedding party introductions for next Saturday's big event. Under the terms of the contract, I will be paid in self satisfaction and devil dogs. I'll get an additional 'bonus' devil dog for each joke that gets a laugh.
For those that are concerned I might not have the time and/or talent to undertake such an endeavor, fear not! I am totally prepared for the task at hand. I've dusted off my copy of Truly Tasteless Jokes IV and finished watching almost the entire first season of "Mad About You" on VHS. What's more, I've been informed that we are being introduced to the A-Team theme, which by itself should be sufficient inspiration. The way I figure, all I need to do is find out what weapons each of the wedding party members are proficient with, and the intro will practically write itself.
Of course, if by Friday I still have nothing to show for my effort, I do have a buttload of dead baby jokes that I haven't used yet.
Wednesday, June 04, 2003 The house of thrill is now pretty ... much like the ugly duckling that grows up to be a beautiful swan, or the prepubescent girl from She's out of Control after she removes her braces and glasses, but before any body hair started growing. I guess it was just becoming apparent that I needed to divert attention away from the poor content by jazzing up the site a bit. You know what they say in all those web design classes ... "Fuck content."
And I have. Literally. Up the butt.
But I'm not giving up entirely on the concept of providing some sort of content. For example, anyone remember SledgeHammer?