How To Handle Bad Roommates

Bearing failure

Someone once told me that “he who laughs last laughs best.” Well, I don’t know if that is true but I am about to find out. My dear roommate thought it would be funny to mess with me by posting questionable pictures of me online.

Sure Jimmy, millions of people are going to get off with those pictures. After all who doesn’t want to see a man reading a newspaper on the toilet. Ok, so it wasn’t the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times but who cares. Really, do you think that anyone is going to think less of me because I like to spend my time in the smallest room of the house reading The National Enquirer.

You never know when it might be useful to learn that the reason Brad Pitt left Jennifer Aniston is because he is really Angelina Jolie’s brother. How many people are cognizant of the fact that the reason why the Middle East is blowing up is because there is a war being fought between the Martians and the Venusians.

Don’t think that I haven’t noticed your passive-aggressive behavior. I may not respond to your little digs but I notice them. I don’t respond because by not doing so I piss you off more. Yes, I know that you hate the lack of reaction. You are like a freaking insecure woman who flips out because I don’t pay enough attention to you.

Has there ever been a man more in need of a blow job than you. I don’t think so.  Nor is it my fault that you got arrested for hiring a tranny to take care of that need. Did you ever hear of Hugh Grant? Dude, only an idiot parks their car in a strip mall at 6 PM. It wasn’t dark out and the dry cleaner was still open. What did you think was going to happen.

I wish I could have been there to here you fumble through an excuse. I can picture the little beads of sweat forming on your head and that nervous laugh. Did you try one of your stupid jokes on the cop. “Gee officer, I am not sure how that ended up in her mouth, I was trying to help her find a contact lens and somehow it sprung out.”

But you are a moron and I am guessing that what prompted your anger towards me is the telephone call you heard between Dave and I. Maybe you forgot but Dave and I are in the process of rebuilding a car. When we were talking about a tranny it wasn’t about your experience but the transmission we need to rebuild that ’67 Camaro in his garage.

Damn, if I wasn’t so strapped for cash I wouldn’t be sharing a place with a dolt like you. I only wish that you could read this because I am typing slowly so that you can keep up. You my dunder headed friend made a serious mistake when you came after me with your Cool Hand Luke quote about a “Failure to communicate.”

So let me communicate this. Your mother reads the Beverly Hills Newspaper Daily and she’ll see the following ad with a picture;

For Sale: One slightly used Penis Pump. Not sure when it was last cleaned, if ever. The soon to be former owner is a skinny blond man who was arrested for indecent exposure in a local strip mall.

Of course I’ll use your cell phone and email address as contact information.

Who is laughing now…big boy.

(Editor’s note: this originally ran here but without the photo. Decided to add one and see if it made a significant difference in its reception.)

Maybe You Shouldn’t Take Your Best Friend Out In Public


Bathroom Adventures: Your old friend Jack has a funky digestive system so he has had occasion to visit the bathroom more frequently than many others. Some of these moments have provided some of the best blog fodder a man could ask for and I have taken great pleasure sharing them with you.

Last night I attended a party at a hotel. Several drinks and some hours later I answered Mother Nature’s call and was surprised to find a man who was suffering from performance anxiety.  When he realized he was talking out loud he went silent and moments later walked out.

It reminded me of the story below.

If you read those then you just never know what is going to happen in a public place, especially a public bathroom. This is the tale of one of my experiences.

Let me set the scene. I enter a public restroom. Against the far wall there is a line of a half dozen or so urinals, only one of which was in use. If you are familiar with urinal selection strategy this is a good thing as it provides much to choose from.

As I had enjoyed plenty o’coffee I had need of one and so I headed down the line a couple places past a gentleman at the front. He was a big guy, had to be at least 6’2, dark hair and wearing a dark suit. Not that I was looking hard, but I had to pass by him on the way to my own urinal.

As I moseyed on up to my special place I realized that he was saying something, but it was a bit muffled. I didn’t know if he was speaking to me, so I paused for a moment to listen.

Man: What are you afraid of? Why are are you waiting? Just do it.

It took a moment to realize that he wasn’t speaking to me and instead was speaking to himself. I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it but what he said made me stop what I was doing.

Warning, this next part is going to be a little graphic, but it is an important part of setting the scene.

As you can imagine I was a little surprised by this. At the exact moment that he was speaking I had reached into my own pants and had my friend in my own hand. There was business to be taken care of and this other guy is babbling about fear, but that wasn’t all.

Man: We have done this a thousand times. You can do it, just relax.

Men, have you ever tried to urinate while the guy down the way is giving his penis a pep talk. I have to tell you, it is more than a little distracting. I must have coughed or done something to indicate that I was aware of him because the next comment was directed to me.

Man: Don’t you speak to your penis?
Jack: Not usually, I am not sure that I ever do.

Man: I speak to mine and he answers me.
Jack: Really?

Man: He is my best friend.
Jack: Is there a camera in here?

Man: I don’t think so. I am serious, I always talk to my penis.
Jack: Did anyone ever tell you that your best friend is a dick.

Man: It is not a joke. I use special visualization techniques to improve my performance.

I remember thinking, ” what the hell is going on here!” All the while I am looking for a camera because I am convinced that I am being filmed for some crazy television show.

Man: They have conducted studies that prove that you can do better in every aspect of your life. All you need to do is think about it.

Jack: I have heard about some of those studies, but I can’t say that I remember being told to speak to my penis.

Man: You have to try it. It will make a big difference in your life. I know it sounds weird, but it works.

Now I am tolerant of many things and find people to be amusing, but I have to admit that the man with the talking penis was making me less than comfortable. So I did my best to finish what I was doing and get out of there.

As I was washing my hands the juvenile kid that lives inside my head decided to make an appearance. “My penis says goodbye,” I shouted as I dried my hands.

To which I received the following answer:

Man: Ted says goodbye to you too.

And with that I was left to ponder a few things. Who was Ted? Was that the name of the man or what he calls his penis. And when he said goodbye which form of the word “to/too/two” was he using.

Was it singular, or was he saying goodbye to my penis and myself. More importantly, did I really want to know the answer to that question.

I didn’t bother to turn around and ask. I just kept walking. In the end I decided that it was better for him to think that my penis and I are rude because there are some questions that I just don’t need an answer to.

The Cure For A Bad Day

If you are in need of a smile maybe this will help.

ANGER MANAGEMENT When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don’t take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don’t know.

It all started one day when I was sitting at my desk and remembered a phone call I had forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying, “Hello.” I politely said, “This is Chris. May I please speak with Robin Carter?”

Suddenly, the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so rude.

I tracked down Robin’s correct number and called her. I had transposed the last two digits of her phone number. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ‘wrong’ number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled, “You’re an asshole!” and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word ‘asshole’ next to it, and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I’d call him up and yell, “You’re an asshole!” It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic ‘asshole’ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said: “Hi, this is John Smith from the Telephone Company. I’m just calling to see if you’re interested in the Caller ID program?” He yelled “NO!” and slammed the phone down.

I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re an asshole!”

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I had been waiting for the spot. The idiot ignored me. I noticed a “For Sale” sign in his car window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial), I thought I had better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, “Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?”
“Yes, it is.” “Can you tell me where I can see it?”
“Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house, and the car’s parked right out in front.”
“What’s your name?” “My name is Don Burgemeyer,” he said.

“When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”

“I’m home every evening after five.”

“Listen, Don, can I tell you something?”

“Yes?” “Don, you’re an asshole.”

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. But after several months of calling them, it wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be.

So, I came up with an idea. I called Asshole #1.

“You’re an asshole!” (But I didn’t hang up.)

“Are you still there?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Stop calling me,” he screamed.

“Make me,” I screamed back.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Don Burgemeyer.”

“Yeah? Where do you live?”

“I live at 1802 West 34th Street, ASSHOLE!

It’s a yellow house, with my black beemer parked in front.”

He said, “I’m coming over there right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.”

I said, “Yeah, like I’m really scared, asshole.”

Then I called Asshole #2.

“Hello?” he said. “Hello, asshole,” I said…again, without hanging up.

He yelled, “If I ever find out who you are!”

“Yeah, you’ll what?” I said. “I’ll kick your ass,” he exclaimed.

I answered, Well, asshole, here’s your chance. I’m coming over right now.”

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 1802 West 34th Street, and that I was on my way home to kill my gay lover.

Then I called Channel 9 News to let them know about the war going down on West 34th Street.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to 34th street.

There I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six squad cars, a police helicopter, and a news crew.

NOW, I feel better.

Anger management really works!!!

I run this post every so often because it makes people smile and it is what you call evergreen. Most of the time it is under the headline Anger Management.

I am not the official author and have yet to find him/her. If I do I will be glad to provide full attribution.

The Best Cover Letter Ever…Revisited

Dear Mr. Johnson,

Many years ago in a galaxy far, far away there was simple farmer named Luke. I am not talking about the Luke Duke who drove the General Lee, but the man who blew up the Death Star and defeated the emperor.

Those are pretty big accomplishments for a simple farmer. I can be that guy for you. All you have to do is hire me and I can be your Luke. That is a pretty good deal for you because that would make you Obi Wan-Kenobi. Of course I can’t promise you that I’ll save you from Darth Vader or anyone going postal in the office.

In fact if someone freaks out I just might hide in a cubicle. But the good news is that I am a pretty good shot with rubber bands and paper clips. So if you keep me supplied I might be able to shoot someone in the eye. So in reality that is of benefit to you.

Let’s take a moment to review some of the other reasons why it would be stupid not to hire me.

The class of 1986 voted me Most Likely to Drive an Ice Cream Truck. That is the kind of honor that not everyone receives. It is proof that they believed that I would be great at running my own franchise and that I am conscientious worker. Not everyone can keep the ice cream from melting or do simple math. Give me a $1.50 for a Bomb Pop and I’ll give you proper change, unless of course you charge $1.65 in which case I’ll ask you for more money.

As a boy scout I always won the campfire contest. That is the one where you are tested to see who can start a fire the fastest. Not every carries a Bic Lighter and some hair spray around, but I do because you never know when you might need a fire.

I am really good at microwaving popcorn. Not everyone knows how to do it, but I do. I won’t make the office stink. Unless you take me out for Mexican food or feed me dairy. But heck, lactose intolerance is a certifiable medical condition. And since you are a professional you must know that we all deal with occasional bouts of flatulence. That is why I like to play the radio at my desk, so that no one has to listen to uncomfortable noises.

Unlike other employees I won’t lie about why I am missing work. Sometimes I just don’t feel like coming in, we all need personal time. I am sure that you agree that this is the sort of honesty your company needs.

Which I suppose is why you really don’t need to interview anyone else for the job. Really, you should just call me and tell me when I can come in to sign papers. Probably better to do it sooner so that my medical benefits kick in. That way I can be sure to bring you a real doctor’s note when I am out sick.

Do you see how I just proved my honesty again. I won’t fake a doctor’s note, I’ll get you a real one that you can show everyone so that when I am out on disability no one feels badly. Anyway, it sounds like we have worked most of this out. Call me and I’ll tell you what bank I use so that we can set up a direct deposit account.

Thank you for being so cool. I look forward to coming in. May the Force be with you.


Jack, the guy who can’t wait to be your Luke.

(This is what you call evergreen material. It originally ran here.)

The Etiquette of Unfriending

Smarter men than I go to bed well before midnight instead of well after which might explain why they don’t ponder silly subjects such as whether there should be an etiquette to unfriending.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with the kind of silly thoughts that flit through my head round midnight and later.

Facebook Friends

I’d blame the gallon of coffee I drank around 7 PM for being up at this hour but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate as you rarely find me in bed before 1, especially if I know I can grab a solid six hours of shut eye.

Anyhoo, I was tooling around Facebook checking in with the fine folks I had friended and reading about the amazing vacations they have taken, Black Friday conquests and salivating over pictures of meals they pretended to cook for the holiday when I noticed that I had been unfriended.

Yep, some people have removed me from their Facebook friends and now I can’t show them pictures of the fabulous meals I didn’t cook and the amazing vacations I didn’t go on.

And for those who are wondering the answer is yes, sometimes I make up these tales and leave them in my status bar for no reason other than because.

It is kind of fun to find a listing for an exotic cruise and to write about how much fun we had as jockeys in the Great Galapagos Tortoise race of 2012 or talk about how I won a contest and got to spend a night cooking with Bobby Flay.

But the people who have unfriended me don’t get to benefit from these tales and I am left with a million questions.


Unfriended and Unwanted?

Why did they do this? Were they tired of these tales or upset that I didn’t lavish praise upon the pictures of ugly dogs, kids and horrific kitchen remodels.

Were they upset when I made fun of them for voting for Obama/Romney and accused them of plotting to destroy the US of A through some nefarious plot.

Now I can tell there is one man out in cyberspace who is angry with me because I know his wife in the biblical sense of the word but that is not a recent experience. It happened somewhere around 1989 and I can tell him there were a dozen guys after me.

Or maybe I did share that tidbit with him and that is why he is angry.

What Is The Etiquette for Unfriending on Facebook?

I am tempted to write Mr. Zuckerberg and ask him why there isn’t an etiquette for unfriending handbook. Are we supposed to remain silent and just let these people point and click us into oblivion.

It just doesn’t seem right and not because they can’t benefit from my famous recipe for Turducken.

There ought to be a letter that goes out with the unfriending. For that matter there ought to be several choices ranging from the polite “I am sorry” to “your kids are stupid, your wife is ugly and you make me want to get a root canal without the benefit of anesthesia.”

Really, that would go a long way to improving communication and I can assure you better communication is something we can all benefit from. I learned that while watching Mel the chef on Alice or maybe it was Archie Bunker.

It has been so long now who can remember, but it doesn’t really matter.

But Seriously Folks

Ok, I haven’t been real serious here. You could call this a great example of the sort of narishkeit and mishegoss that causes more issues than it solves.

The reality is that there are probably about five people who I would want an explanation from if they unfriended me and that is mainly curiosity. Now aren’t you glad you got to read this and not a serious post about how the holidays are a time to Reflect, respect and recollect.

Sleep calls and I must answer. See you later.