Cat Litter Epiphany

I came to an odd conclusion the other day and it all started with a piece of blue cat litter.

I recently started cleaning my house more. Not in the realm of As Good As It Gets type of stuff, just regular things most normal people do I suppose. Which brings me to squatting naked in the shower wiping down the walls. Now keep in mind I had finished cleaning pretty much and there really should be nothing left but there it was right in front of me. A piece of blue cat litter. Now I have a cat who does play, not pee I check, in the shower so such a thing is not beyond the scope of reason. What I did with this small bit of seeming nothingness disturbed me a bit after I realized I should have stopped myself at some point. But this is what happened.

I tend to skip the obvious and try to rationalize the fringes of rationale. Sure, the cat may have put it there by accident but that just flew by before I could eat it with my mind. I thought perhaps it could be more than a piece of cat litter. What if it were an errant piece of an accidental misinterpretation of a legal process that may or may not exist somewhere far far away that could affect me more than I could ever know.

Didn’t even slow down with it. It made sense that in heaven there is a lawyer, that got past the goalie to speak, and is earning his keep doing pro bono work for people that never knew they needed it in the first place.

This is just a for instance but I needed to validate the science of my own thoughts. Say a guy is trapped in a elevator and in his dismay formulates a plan that calls for him to appeal to the lord for specifically, a duck with a phillips head beak and a size 12 golf cleat.

Now it would be the attorney’s job to represent the idiot in the elevator not to get him out of the situation without abusing his limited direct intervention face time with the lord.

The attorney might say something like this: “Yes lord, my client is not in his right mind as you can see. He panicked. Please don’t hold this against him or grant these prayers.”

The lord may answer thusly: “Hmmm. You may have a point. There are far too many of these beings walking around. This is a waste of both our respective time. Perhaps I should cut the cable and see who sticks there head in there to see what the noise is. That would kill to or maybe more birds with one stone.”

“No lord. We’re not on the same wavelength here. I don’t think you need to kill anyone. I just think my client may need real help in the future or, now I’m just free associating here, he may have a deeply benevolent thought.”

“Are you sure? Because your last client wished for a piece of blue cat litter and you had no such thoughts.”

Attorney winces a bit, “Well that’s not entirely true. I just didn’t speak fast enough and did manage to grab your hand as you tossed down there. The blue cat litter didn’t even get to the right place so it didn’t count. I don’t know where it went but some poor bastard is dealing with both our misjudgments.”

Now that may not be where the cat litter came from but it occurred to me that it was more than likely not where it came from. I decided at that moment I should probably go with my first instinct more often than not no matter what the consequences.

The Hidden Side of Fonzie

The Hidden Side of Fonzie

Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli was and shall always remain the pinnacle of cool in an era known for it’s narrow-minded approach to society. Granted the fifties were the birthplace of such heady notions as the sixties and the failed project referred to as the seventies but Fonzie was there when it all started. The straight laced perceptions of all things living during the exploratory years of his youth and early adulthood presented us with an interpretation of Mr. Fonzarelli that was to say the least, a tad askew. Please join me as I embark on a brief tour of what really happened and what might have happened.

The first item up for bids is the subject of what the Fonz referred to as “chicks”. Now I put that word in quotes for those that might not understand the reference. I, however, in tribute to the man distinguish a nearby hottie as a chick to this day. Always have, always will. Not to demean women but to tell them in my own special way without coming right out and saying it that if the Fonz were here right now and all he had to do was snap his fingers he would waste no time in getting to the business of sticking his thumb in their butt. To the point, Fonzie was a player. They never said it like that, not in those terms but he was. We all know it. He hit everything in sight. Some were hot, some weren’t. Personally I could never maintain an erection after looking down and getting a birds-eye view of one of those ugly ass period acurate hair do’s bouncing up and down on my lap. Actually, who am I kidding, that’s why the light switch was invented.

The chick’s point of origin made no difference to him either. He threw it to whomever, whenever. Which brings us to the inevitable outcome that was never, ever addressed.

I defy anyone to participate in as much sexual contact as that man did and not obtain at least some form of an STD. Now I know they could never address the issue but tell me that wouldn’t be a ground breaking show. The Fonz sitting there in the doctor’s office, stripped down wearing nothing but a white hospital gown, covered by of course that damn leather jacket, waiting for the doctor. Now if the show started like that the audience would be plunged into a state of anticipation as to what illness has befallen the beloved Fonzie. Doc comes in and inquires as to what might be the problem.

Fonzie looks around just in case someones listening then turns back to say,

“Heeyyyyy, It burns when I pee.”

Sure they would have to turn it into one of those depressing awareness shows but at least they wouldn’t be glossing over the issue.

Since we’re already in the doctor’s office why don’t we play around with that for a minute. The show was taken off the air before he got too old but let’s pretend. Let’s take a short glimpse into a Fonz in his early fifties. What’s the biggie that strikes trepidation into the hearts of men everywhere? The colonoscope. Granted I don’t know when the medical profession finally got around to inventing a male friendly version of the mammogram so bear with me. Just the thought of an episode of Happy Days depicting him going in there for one of those exams is enough to put it well into the high end of the ratings scale. Think about it. How would he go about making that cool? He wouldn’t. Can’t be done. Well not to pull rank but Elvis probably could. Hell he wouldn’t even know if they just told him it was a new type of southern, fat-rich yet nutritious snack with a somewhat unorthodox delivery system.

Since we’re there already, flip the whole idea up to the next level with a guest star. Let the doctor charged with the daunting task of convincing Arthur Fonzarelli to let another man do that to him be someone like Mickey Rourke. Well in fact since it’s not real we’ll just go ahead and say it is Mickey Rourke. I envision the scene going like this…

Fonz seated on the table garbed in a white gown still wearing the jacket of course, when there’s a knock at the door, a brief pause and then a violent rattling of the door. A shout comes from the other side. It’s Dr. Gusman played by Mickey Rourke.

Gusman: God damn fucking doors locked. Hey in there open the d-

(The door slams open and the doctor jumps into the room as if shoved from behind. He grins and pulls his sunglasses up to rest them on top of his head, chart in hand)

Gusman: Forgot you gotta push that fucker.

(A slightly puzzled expression fills his face as he eyes Fonzie from head to toe)

God damn son take your coat off and stay a while. And lose the boots...'That fucking dress you look like the crazy bitch that lived in the mobil home next to me when I was a kid.

(Looks at file. Giggles then looks up at Fonzie)

Gusman: Looks like you’re here for the big show partner

(Fonzie does that thing where he straightens up and you’re not sure if he just shit his pants or is going to kick someone’s ass)

Gusman: Nurse Jenkins can you come in here for a minute?

(A too hot to be a real nurse appears at the door wearing what could barely pass for a Halloween costume. Fonzie barely notices but then he does notice and stops his arousal so as not to swing it around in the company of another man.)

Gusman: (He starts to speak to nurse but pauses to take in the sights)

You know I don’t give a shit that you got your degree from a box a cracker jacks. I wouldn’t let you go for the world. What say you bring me one of sticks with a camera on the end for Mr. Fonzarelli here. Oh and nurse Jenkins, take a look at that round thing on the wall up there and tell me what you see.

(Nurse Jenkins looks at the clock and feigns ignorance but she’s so hot it doesn’t matter)
Nurse Jenkins: It’s eleven fifteen.

Gusman: (to Fonzie) Ain’t she a peach?

(To nurse Jenkins) You know what that means don’t ya.
(she nods and leaves the room)

(He turns back to Fonzie then calls out over his shoulder in the direction of the door)

And put one of them fucking umbrella’s in it. Place is dead around here.

Fonzie: Maybe I could come back when your not so busy.

(Gusman slaps Fonzie on the thigh leaving his hand there for an uncomfortable moment)

Gusman: Now I know what you’re thinking. Let me assure you I god damn test all my equipment and shit every day for safety.

Why that thing I’m about to shove up your rectum was fully certified as operational by nurse hotpants over there this very morning before we opened. I’m a professional. I have enough control over my mind so as not to think of her magnificent pinkness while I’m starring at your hairy ass. That’s the shit they don’t teach you in medical school.

(Fonzi seems to be hearing this for the first time. His naivety often plays into the hands of plot as it does in this case.)

Fonzi: Are you going to shh…(clears throat) shh… (Turns his head to stretch his neck) shu…uu…uuu…

(He reaches out and grabs Gusman by the lapel with one hand)
Are you going to shove something in the backdoor?

Gusman: Easy com padre. I done this a million times. You got the easy part. I got to stand back here and line that fucker up so as not to rip your tird cutter any more than I have to.

(Nurse Jenkins enters carrying a colonoscope painted like a barber pole in one hand, highball glass filled with pink fluid topped with an umbrella in the other. The ice cubes in the glass clink as she closes the door)

Gusman: Thanks honey. That’s Grey Goose not that cheap shit right?

(She nods)

Well all right. Say Mr. Fonzarelli you don’t mind if the nurse here sticks around. This morning I promised her she could watch one of these here procedures on the condition I got to watch her do roughly the same thing to the secretary before you got here.

(Gusman drifts off for a second then comes back)....

Back to my point that would be a great show but there might be an issue or two with the FCC. Either way it’s one to think about.
In closing let me say this. Fonzie is the shit. Sure he probably in the course of the original series did experience the occasional case of drip dick. Sure they pretended it never happened. Who knows maybe when it happened all he had to do was make a fist, blow on it and tap his nuts just like he did with the jukebox.

Revisting the Mayan Tradition

"No quiero níquel ni quiero plata: yo lo que quiero es romper la piñata." “I don’t want nickel/I don’t want silver I only want to break the piñata…”

Today is little Jimmy’s ninth birthday party. All his friends are gathered at his well integrated, sublime suburban home. A modest spread awaits their appetites consisting of four kinds of pizza, both flavored and plain rippled chips, three varieties of humus, eight liters of soda and frosting laden cookie the size of a tire. A mound of hand-wrapped gifts covers a table in the corner. Right now, the party is centered around the action in the middle of the living room where the couch and coffee table have been pushed out of the way for safety. The kids cheer wildly as Jimmy’s mother hands him a three foot long dowel rod a full inch and a half in diameter. A complementary sleep mask from Southwest Airlines is placed over his eyes. His mother spins him several times for full disorientation. From the end of a string attached to the ceiling hangs a paper mache bust of Shrek. It looks like a tacky float from an all midget parade. Jimmy starts to swing violently at the air. The game has begun.
What’s wrong with this picture?
Should this innocent celebration of life incorporate one of the most ruthless aspects of human sacrifice spawned by an ancient civilization? Before you decide, examine a brief history of the poorly conceived piñata.
The Mayan’s use of human sacrifice in their rituals is widely known. In one instance, twenty thousand people were extinguished in a week-long melee of blood and gore. History views such events as barbaric but in their defense, I can only say ‘you had to be there’. Amazingly, the origin of the piñata comes from this once barbaric race thanks to the little known god of dysentery whose name is unpronounceable but is easily translated into English as “Source of the Ass Fount”—hereto referred to as Fount.
Fount was blamed for the rampant seasonal outbreaks of explosive dysentery among the Mayans. His appearance coincided with the rainy season which in truth widened the breeding grounds for the parasites that caused the real problem. Those suffering from a visitation by Fount would appeal to the chief healer for relief. The healer would then decide upon the severity of the situation and if bad enough would call for a Pishazza or as we say Piñata. The pishazza was not a vessel filled with festive treats but person selected by the healer from the stockpiles of future sacrifices.
The pishazza would be adorned with many colored flowers and leaves. This was not for decoration but due to the fact that the Mayans though considered barbaric still liked to have a sense of home décor and used the various colored flora to clean themselves after elimination. It apparently felt good and the variety of colors went with the theme of the area designated for such activities.
Fires were lit just after sunset and the pishazza was strung up by his or her heels over a stone basin. The affected person was blindfolded and handed a lightweight sword. He would then swing until the the blood of the pishazza filled the basin hopefully banishing the evil Fount. The skull of the sacrifice was then cleaned and adorned with tiny tiles and placed over the door of the infected person's hut.
It is unknown how this tradition started but with a few modifications I believe we can reinstate the essence of the original idea.
First line the present day piñata with plastic rendering it waterproof. Next, fill the cavity not with candy but the exact list of the following:
One raw cow-heart
Three feet room temperature chitlins
Five whole chicken livers
Two pounds of tripe
One quart of pig’s blood
One large can vegetable soup (not condensed)
One Snickers bar, wrapped (for the hell of it)
It is suggested that this be done outside for obvious reasons.
Capture the moment on video because the reaction of a dozen or so nine year olds when one of them effectively kills Spiderman or Shrek is as the Visa ads say ‘priceless’.

If asked, I would fuck an alien

Star Trek dared to boldly go where no man has gone before. I hope to one day come where no man has come before. Sounds crude but I have my reasons as well as a few standards.
I am not a pervert. Well I don't consider myself a pervert but alas an insane man feels normal. Never put my unit anywhere it wasn't designed to go. The idea of sex with a being from another world just sparks my curiosity more than anything.
This notion is not without standards. If prompted, I refuse to fuck a Chewbaca looking bitch no matter how good she smells. No what I'm looking for is a relatively smooth skinned, amphibian type with receptive parts.
It's disingenuous to think that these creatures might trek all that way just to say hi or start a war. They have needs and curiosities as well or would hope as much. Without curiosity they wouldn't be here in the first place.
The whole exercise would just be an experiment anyway. Not looking for anything long term. I'm quite happy with the wonderful woman I have now and have discussed this matter with her. She proposed that if the opportunity arose she would not stand in the way.
This might even serve as an act of galactic good will on the part of all of earth. I have no high hopes for such a thing but if it turns out that way I think it might be cool to have my penis on a stamp or a flag.
Finally let us consider the extra-terrestrial vagina. More directly as to if it even exists. Numerous accounts have been posted dealing with alien abduction and probing. I take this as a step in the right direction owing to the account that these beings have awareness of the concept of putting something in another body and expecting to get it back. This puts the idea of alien vagina on the table as an institution. As to what that institution may look like is another story. It could be directly affected by the birthing process or the design of the alien penis. In the back of my mind I hold fast that an blueish amphibian looking hottie from the far side of the galaxy might find the idea of a relatively straight penis enthralling. Personally I'm a fan of unique domestic vaginas so I don't see getting worked up if the thing turns out to look like an exotic sea creature.
In closing I just want to say that this is not just for me this is for everyone. If the situation presents itself I will represent my world in this arena.