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Showing posts with label guess who finally figured out how to use his camera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guess who finally figured out how to use his camera. Show all posts

Big Bronze Bison Ballsack

October 7, 2009

I took my kids to the North Carolina Zoo last Friday. This is a picture I snapped of them posing next to the giant bison sculpture that the zoo had placed near the "prairie" section of the zoo. There, they have elk and bison (buffalo) on display. Being that I love huge, shaggy, smelly beasts (incidentally, so does my wife...), this is one of my favorite parts of the zoo.

Is there any more poignant setting in the world to watch people than at a zoo? Probably, but I still made a few observations while I was there.

For instance...if your FUPA sticks out further than your boobs, a midriff shirt is not what you should be wearing. If I look over and it appears that a tub of cottage cheese is spilling over the top of your shorts, we have a problem.

If your back is so hairy that someone mistakes you for a display and tries to communicate with you using sign language (Koko want a kitty?), maybe a t-shirt would work better than that wife-beater.

And, really, while I will gladly stare at your ass as two big slices of nicely-rounded-rump are hanging out of the bottom of your shorts, this is an outfit more apt for a stage with a brass pole and mulleted guys named Randy ready and waiting to shove dollar bills into your garter belt. The zoo? Not so much.

Now, I appreciate the effort that teachers put forward. I also understand that keeping tabs on fifty rowdy children unleashed upon the hapless, captive wildlife of the zoo, but still. Could you maybe offer up a little bit of "wait yer damned turn" when the fat slob is trying to take a picture of his kids sitting in the helicopter in the African veldt display? Thanks.

Finally, one little note to the troupe of skanky teenagers watching the baboons. Um...that one that you're talking about...he's not pulling the other one's tail for play. Well, maybe for play. But not the kind of play you're talking about. He is, in fact, most decidedly not trying to wrestle with that other baboon. See...he's mounting her. For sexual pleasure. The tail pull might be a kind of baboon foreplay...it could also be a type of baboon bitch slap. I realize you might not have taken biology yet, but still. The one on the bottom wasn't screaming for the sheer joy of playing leap frog.

Yeah...we didn't stay at the baboon pen for long.

I will now direct your attention back up to the picture of my lovely children in front of the bison statue. My kids wanted their pictures taken with pretty much all of the bronze statues in the zoo. This is one of the best ones. I'm kind of proud of myself for a) remembering to bring the camera and b) not fucking the picture up too badly.

However, the story of the bronze bison doesn't stop there.

Right after we were done with the picture, my son, Tank, turned and said "Daddy! This statue has poop on it!" I didn't think much of it, but then I looked up and found him under the statue, manhandling the bison's very pronounced scrotum. "Look, Daddy! They put poop on this statue! Gross!" At this point, my daughter became interested and, she, too, was climbing under the statue to check out that big round ball of poop hanging between the bison's legs.

Clearly, this was going to be a defining moment of my parental career.

"Um, let's go look at the real bison. Maybe we can see some elk, too! Stop playing with that, and let's go!"

Yep, I took the cowardly way out. Rather than explain to him that the bison statue was a boy--and what a boy!--I did the old bait-and-switch and distract them with the promise of more animals.

Fortunately, the zoo set up some fake geysers, which completely made the kids forget about the bison statue, and the bison statue and its poo were quickly forgotten.

Stuff

May 7, 2009

I have a bit of a dirty secret that I'm now going to share with you. For the past couple of weeks, I've been cheating on you. I know, I know. Where's the trust, eh, blogosphere? It's just that, every so often, I come across your chest a blog that is spectacular enough, I become--for the lack of a better term--infatuated. I read. And then I get bored because the author only updates once a day, yet the author drips with such a profound exceptionality that I want, nay, need more. The only way to get said fix is to dig through the archives.

This has happened recently.

People, I want you to meet Kristine. She's over there, waiting in the van. Now, originally, I caught a glimpse of her in someone's comments and thought "Holy shit! That looks like my attractive friend, Kristine! I better check this shizz out." Well, it turns out that she isn't my attractive friend Kristine. However, she's now my new attractive friend Kristine! She's smart, she's funny, she puts stuff on her kids' heads and takes pictures, she hates her asshole cats, and, like me, she is a MASTER--or will be someday soon. Unlike me, she will be a MASTER in a field where she can get a job in ten years, whereas I'll be living under a bridge, reciting the periodic table and cursing the far east.

While she's as sarcastic and foul-mouthed as they come *dreamy sigh*, apparently her former blog is even more foul-mouthed, even more sarcastic, and even funnier. Alas, it remains hidden, and since I at least pay lip service to people's desires to remain as anonymous as the internet allows, I have gone looking for it. However, I'm sure it was fantastic, like the Lord of the Rings acted out by ninjas and stuff.

Because awesome oozes from every pore on her body, she's recognized the content and character of this blog with a fabulous award. Behold, the James Frey Award!
She's right, you know. 95% of the stuff here is bullshit. The other 5% is dick jokes and Leelee Sobieski pictures.

So, join Kristine in her van. She drives it around, wanted by the government, and serving as a soldier of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find her, maybe you can hire Kristine to put shit on your kids' heads and take pictures.

Now, Gwentabulous over at Everything I Like Causes Cancer, posted a picture of her naughties yesterday. I'd say "unmentionables", but since I provided a link to the story, that pretty much supersedes "unmentioning", doesn't it?

Anyway, her challenge for today was to not tell a story revolving around shit, semen, sex or something else gross that starts with 's' (hooray alliteration!). Jesus, Gwen, you just knocked out 95% of my arsenal. Good thing I was planning on publically felating Kristine. Wait...

Gwen's challenge was to have us post pictures of our favorite sleeping shirts. I received mine rather recently. So recent, in fact, that it still carries the sweet, sweet smell of victory. Behold, the TRIVIA SHIRT!

Oh, oh, that's not the TRIVIA SHIRT you were expecting, is it? No, my friends. See, I won this shirt the other night when I went to Trivia Night at a local bar with the Comely and Buxom and Ailurophobic Boudicca and her friends from work. See, they had a three-round trivia contest (we placed third), but in between the contests were special mini contests. Do you want to know the question I answered correctly and quickly?

"What disease takes it's name from the Latin for 'bad air;?"


The answer, of course, is "malaria". I emboldened a couple of parts. Since you're here every Friday morning learning conjugations and shit, you know I'm all about the Latin. However, you probably didn't know that I'm all about the tropical diseases. It's true. I work on a "neglected disease" program at my company. I don't want to brag too much--especially since none of my compounds have done shit to the parasite--but we've pretty much taken Sleeping Sickness by the balls, swung it around the room a couple of times, kicked it in the grundle, and then, for good measure, while it's lying there on the floor, we've whipped it out and pissed right in its battered and beaten face. AWESOME!!!

Also, the person who introduced me to Yuengling, that sweet, nectarous lager from Eastern Pennsylvania, reads this blog and I wanted to taunt him with my victory. I'm expecting an email shortly that will read something like "Bastard."

Happy Halloween, Everyone!

October 31, 2008



And now, for the scary picture: