I live to fight Monday

Judges ruled. Illuminati wins the Death Match 4-2.

Fight resumes Monday. Be here. But there to vote. So here, but there.

Who is lost? (Hand raised)


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When the boss brings his dog to work

I am writing a new blog. Maui just read my last one.

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The ideas just come to me....

I think the girls from Real Chance at Love should get a show with the fellas from G's to Gents.

There is no premise. No point. No missions. No host or eliminations. No housekeeper.

Just daily drop offs of booze and hashish.

Live for two months with cameras. Just like the Real World without the tokens.

A social experiment.

If the public needs a "winner" in order to watch, the last girl to come out NOT pregnant or STD-infected gets a surprise $10K. (They must have also entered the house that way.)

"A real chance at a G (for Gonorrhea)"

Get me Vh1 on the blower.

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Happy Pancake Day

Now this is a holiday I can make love to (with my mouth of course). I love me some hot, delicious, buttery, flip-floppy pancakes. So scrumptious. So good for you. Perhaps the world's most perfect food. The second best thing you can do with butter and syrup. The first is, of course, bathe in it.

Happy Pancake Day.

Now try not to crave them the rest of the day.

You.

Are.

Welcome.

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I am living in purgatory

So the death match ended in a tie. Not sure what is going to happen. Waiting to hear back.

In the meantime, check out my Oscars recap over on the main pBurbs blogs page. Good for a chuckle early in the AM.


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My version of those annoying Christmas cards/Let's brag letters

Can't write because I'm on a sugar crash. Donuts and baked goods. So I am going to just randomly babble....

- I've been meaning to explain this for some time but haven't had the time/energy. The wife is out of the fitness competition. Her training partner threw in the towel because she is planning a wedding, in a wedding, starting a new job and celebrated a Steelers Super Bowl. She didn't have the time. The wife didn't want to do it alone. I don't blame her. Our cupboards are once again full.

- The deathmatch runs until Sunday. As of this posting I was ahead by 1%. If you voted for me, thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you didn't have a chance there is still time. Go here. Win or lose it's been a great experience. It proved to me that I am not as bad at fiction as I thought, I just need time and a million rewrites.

- Gadjunk.com is coming along nicely. I hope I can stick with it. I am also taking toy donations. A friend is sending me a box of old Pez Dispensers.

- Work is going well but I've been given the task of revitalizing some pretty dismal blogs. I am still doing shopping & gift but I also have the Shore guide (which I think won't be bad once in season) and the awful Custom Rides and Investing and Insurance guides. There are several things in life that I know nothing about. I know even less about cars and investing. This could end up being a train wreck. Should be a hoot.

- Then we have this blog. I just don't know what to do. It's just there. I don't have the time to post as much as I'd like and I feel like just calling it quits. Then I think about all the cool people I've met doing it and the funny stories I've been able to share and I don't know where they would all fit in my daily writing. I just don't know.

Well, always leave on a high note.

High.


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Where have you had sex?

There is a camera in your face. The person says "I've never had sex at work."

You must reply.

Two options...

Now you can say..."I've never had sex at work."

You could be telling the truth. Or you could be lying because you have had sex at work. Three times this week alone.

You could be honest and say..."Yes, I've had sex at work."

Hear that noise? Elephant in the room.

Watch and observe...


Check out more on the Sundance channel.

So. Have you ever?

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Vote for me in the Death Match

Don't waste your time here.

GO VOTE FOR ME IN THE DEATH MATCH!!!!

Click here to read and vote.

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!!!!!!

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Great Moments in Chris-Tory: Dr. Doo-little

Taking the cat to the vet causes more anxiety than going to the doctor.

Getting him in the cage. Listening to him wail for the twenty minute car ride. Watching as he hyperventilates and claws at the door with a 'why the hell are you doing this to me?' face.

It kills me because he doesn't understand. I can't explain. It isn't for lack of trying. I talk to him. I tell him it's almost over. We are almost there. I'll give you some treats when we get home.

The wife told me if I sing to him in a high pitched voice he calms down. Bull. Shit.

The vet visit is the same routine.

Oh, what a cutie.
Stephen? What an interesting name.
I love the pink carrier.

To which I reply:

Yes he is.
Wife named him.
She bought it.

A quick exam, a thermometer up the crack, couple of shots and the cat and I (pink case and all) are back in the car and headed home. Just another twenty minute crying session and the morning goes off without much of a hitch.

I smell a hitch. Actually I smell something. Probably not a hitch.

I looked down to make sure I didn't step in anything on the walk to the car. Clean.

He is panting. He is hyperventilating. He is rolling around in his own shit.

This means that the trauma of the vet is the least terrible experience of the morning. Probably much worse than the car ride, thermometer up the ass, two shots, or embarrassment of a pink carrier case. Now it's bath time.

This is the kind of experience that changes a normally mild mannered animal into an incredibly irritable beast.

I am talking about me.

Click here to read other 'great moments.'

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