who dat? contest.
(yo stee. i know
and though his answer was not first, Tom Witherspoon (naturally i lost the link to his page) had the best response:
"Jack Valenti, President of the Censorship -- um, I mean, the MPAA. May he burn in the hottest nether regions of hell... Punk-ass bitch."
(this is the third try as i am very very dumb. i once again fucked up past winner tamar's link. her journal is one of my daily reads. go say hi.)
Someone gave me a recent issue of Esquire (gave me - i swear i did not buy it myself) with a very silly cover story.
THE LIFE LIST: 175 THINGS A MAN SHOULD DO BEFORE HE DIES.
So as I could kick at any time, I figured I might as well see how much of a well-rounded M-A-N I really am...
Date an older woman. Check.
Lose your virginity to an older woman. Younger. I suck.
Have your young and tender heart carved into bite-sized pieces by an older woman. Check.
Stand up to a bully. Yes. And sometimes I got my ass kicked. I've learned to pick my fights.
Fly in a lear jet. Esquire, please.
Jump out of a Cessna. No. I thought skydiving would be TOTALLY COOL. And then I turned 14.
Talk to God. Yup.
Vote in anger. Mostly in apathy, I hate to admit.
Run for office. Never. But I used to write the campaign speeches and slogans for this Vietnamese transfer student in High School who ran for class President. Houston Ma, was his name. Fearless little fucker we basically forced to run cuz we hated the rich LaCrosse-team asshole who always won. Our best campaign speech was getting him in front of all 3000 students, and singing (to the tune of "Just A Friend" by Biz Markee), "Oh baby Hoooouuuston. He's got what you neeeeed. And you say he's just a Ma. And you say he's just a Ma. Oh baby Hoooouuuuuuston..." He won too.
Feel the recoil of a warm Kalashnikov. No. But I used to fantasize about feeling the recoil of warm gymnast Svetlana Boguinskaia. (buh-dum-dum)
Save a life. I've saved birds.
Lend a hand, especially as concerns those hard-to-reach areas. My favorite thing to do.
Shave a woman's legs. Yes I have. Many times. It's a scary and wonderful thing.
Take a schvitz. (It's a Turkish or Russian bath.) No.
Go around the world. Dude, I've never been off the continent.
Watch scrambled porn. Absolutely never!!!
Unplug your TV for a month. Well, for the first year I lived in my current apartment, I didn't have cable and got no reception. So that sort of counts.
Climb a mountain. I hate climbing.
Sail alone the ocean blue. I hate sailing. (Not true, I love it. I just got horribly sea sick the last time I was on a boat, and now dread it.)
Write a brief autobiography without the slightest urge to publish it. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't keep this here journal.
Read the last book your wife read, unless it was by Maya Angelou. Discuss. OK, why has Maya Angelou become a target for derision alla sudden. That's kinda fucked up.
Read all the books on your "books to read before I die" list. Don't have one.
Circumnavigate Corsica on a bright-red Ducati. Fuck you.
Learn a useless language: Dutch, say. I took a year of Latin in high-school. That's enough.
Have a hero. Watch him as he goes.
Meet your hero. Sure.
Be a hero. Sure.
Gobble a meat-loaf sandwich at Graceland. These are getting fucking silly. I don't eat red meat. I don't like Elvis. Would never go to Graceland unless I was passing through. I don't gobble.
Ride a burro through the agave fields of Oaxaca. I'd rather have my liver ride through a field of agave tequila at my local bar, while eating a churro.
Take a Greyhound from Portland, Oregon, to Portland, Maine. (I could make the joke here about riding a dog across the country, but it's just Too Easy... and not very funny.) The only reason to take a bus, in my mind, is if you're going to say, Vegas, and want to be able to drink. Buses are stupid. I'd much rather be in control of my own vehicular fate - at least as much as I can. Plus, I always end up sitting right by that bathroom...
Work for food. What do you think I'm doing?
Assemble a rock band. Be the lead singer. Pleasure the groupies. This question makes me embarrassed to be A) a writer B) a man.
Get booed (by the audience, not the groupies). OK. I'm gonna stop bothering with these questions that are simply in here as an attempt by the writer to be clever...
Trash a hotel room. I did this on a jazz band concert once. We were very high and peed in all the closets and broke the lamps and drove the car through the fence. It wasn't glamorous or cool, though. And I only thought of the poor maids who had to clean it up.
Quit a job righteously and with great streams of triumphant profanity. I did this. A company I worked for tried to get us to telemarket. I said no. They said yes. I let them have it. Then I walked and was like, "Who's coming with me!!!". Silence. Everyone looked down. Fucking Jerry Maguire moment. But I left without the fish or the annoying blonde secretary.
Build a valuable business. Sell it. Enjoy. Love to.
Buy one spectacular loser of a stock - and never, ever forget it. Try 3 baby! 3 out of 3. Barnes and Noble.com. Restoration Hardware. And What's On Line.com. 3 for 3. I rule!
Dye your hair. I always wanted to go blue. Know I'd feel incredibly stupid.
Change your haircut. Have. But us men have fewer options. Had really long hair. Cut it. Glad I did.
Shave your head. No.
Grow a long and flowing beard. Don't rub it in that I have loser light-facial-hair-growing Irish genes. Damn you Esquire!
Audition for something. Uh... I wonder what that's like.
Write a poem. Do bad poems count?
Wear a little black dress in public. I've done drag in plays before. I could never be a good drag queen because I wear size 14 shoes. Do you know how hard it is to find black pumps in a woman's 15 1/2?
Pay for sex. Once. And don't bargain shop. Never have. Never have wanted to. I've had friends who have done it. Seems incredibly sad.
Get paid for sex. Fine. Bring cash.
Have sex in public. Check. I'm not going to say where. Never successfully while driving, though. That's really tough.
Sew on a button. I can do that!!! I just learned! Wanna see!
Catch a fish. Have so done it. But I don't have the fisherman's patience. Plus, to be honest, hooking the worm really grosses me out.
Read Moby Dick. I read the Cliff's Notes.
Fast for a week. I fasted for one day once. At camp. Of course it was the one day they actually decided to serve something palatable. I broke the fast with the best Reese's Cup I ever had.
Get yourself into the best shape of your life. Trick question! Everyone has done that. By definition. I'm on to you, Esquire scoundrels.
Get fat as a house, and feel no regrets. And die of heart failure! How liberating! Great fucking idea dumb-ass.
Tend bar in Nashville. Um... no.
Wait tables in Reno. No thanks.
Drive a cab in Boston. You do it.
Spend a night in the Odessa, Texas, jail. Hey, I got one for you: Be a pretentious fucking magazine writer in New York City.
...the last two ER's have been unfuckingbelievable. Tonight's episode was one of the best directed hour dramas I've even seen. Seriously.
Corky is trying to find a woman who will let him shave her legs. Any takers?
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