“Am I Gay?” Self Examination for Men

Work was incredibly quiet today, so I was sent home early. As I’m sitting here, I realise I have two choices. First, I could spend this unexpected afternoon crafting up an incredibly original and interesting post for your enjoyment. Or, secondly, I could go and drink beer in the sun.

So without further ado, enjoy this hystierical list that I did not create, but rather stole straight from a chain email.

1. If you are over forty, and you have a washboard stomach, you are gay. It means you haven’t sucked back enough beer with the boys and have spent the rest of your free time doing sit-ups, aerobics, and doing the Oprah diet.

2. If you have a cat, you are a Flaaaaming homo. A cat is like a dog, but gay — it grooms itself constantly but never scratches itself, has a delicate touch except when it uses its nails, and whines to be fed. And just think about how you call a dog… “Killer, come here! I said get your ass over here, Killer!” Now think about how you call a cat…”Bun-bun, come to daddy, snookums!” Jeeezus, you’re fit to be framed, you’re so gay.

3. If you suck on lollipops, Ring-Pops, baby pacifiers, or any such nonsense, rest assured, you are a Gaylord. A straight man only sucks on BBQ ribs, crab claws, raw oysters, crawfish guts, pickled pigs feet, or tits. Anything else and you are in training and undeniably a fag.

4. If you refuse to take a dump in a public bathroom or piss in a parking lot, you crave a deep homosexual relationship. A man’s world is his bathroom; he defecates and urinates wherever he pleases.

5. If you drink anything other than regular coffee. A straight man will never be heard ordering a “Decaf Soy Latte”. If you’ve put a Decaf Soy Latte to your lips, you’ve had a man there, too. (Ok, couldn’t resist one little addition - apparently, it could be the soy that is actually making the people gay!. How weird.)

6. If you know more than six names of non standard colors or four different types of dessert other than ice cream and pie, you might as well be handing out free ass passes. A real man doesn’t have memory space in his brain to remember all of that crap. If you can pick out chartreuse or you know what a “fressier” is you’re gay. And if you can name ANY type of textile other than cotton or denim, you are faggadocious.

7. If you drive with both hands on the wheel, forget it, you’re dying to tune a meat whistle. A man only puts both hands on the wheel to honk at a slow-ass driver or to cut the jerk off. The rest of the time he needs that hand to change the radio station, eat a hamburger, or hold his beer.

8. If you do not send this off to all the males on your email list because you are afraid of hurting their feelings then you are definitely on the
verge of being a fudgepacker. (Told you it was from my email box.)

November 19, 2007 | Filed Under Humour | 5 Comments 

I only had three beers, honest!

Can I smell paint?

Nah, must be imagining it.

*Time passes*

Wow I’ve got a headache. And I’m still smelling that paint….

*More time passes*

Hrmm. I probably just need a drink of water.

I lift my feet from their resting place on the coffee table and- ah shit. I’ve knocked Jordan’s model glue over.

It’s all come out in a nice pool on the table. Oh, and on some keys. And around some bottles.

*Prod*

Yup, it’s glue all right.

Oops, fast drying super strong model glue.

*Washes hands*

Better move those keys, clean them up with something. And move the bottles. And the other crap before it gets permanently attached to the table.

Damn, more glue on my hands.

*Washes hands* Hrmm, fingers… sticking… getting tougher… shit, why is the water cold?

*Turns water up, adds way more soap*

I have dried glue all over my hands. But, luckily, they’re not glued together.

Hrmm. How should I clean up the pool?

Paper towels of course! Nope, none of those. Maybe some toilet paper. Holy crap we’re out (I’ll spare you from the rant about how annoying this is).

So. I can wipe it up with a burger box, a paper bag, or a tea towel.

None seem like a brilliant idea.

I might just let it dry.

The house smells :(

October 5, 2007 | Filed Under Alcoholic, Humour | 4 Comments 

Pianist plays through Eruption

So Ruapehu erupted again, scaring a few tourists and skiiers, hurting one guy caught in a Laha. The media’s alight with the story, demanding to know there was no warning - after all, scientists are supposed to be monitoring the mountain, given the amount of use it gets and the nearby settlements.

It was similar to eruptions in 1969 and 1975, but smaller than those in 1995 and 1996.

Most ski lodges on the mountain, full of people because of the school holidays, were evacuated.

Many ended up at the Chateau hotel, where the main lounge filled with people wearing skisuits and carrying tired children - while a pianist played Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight.

Hold on, what? The author feels the need to comment on the music? I bet the evacuees loved that aspect of the story.

“Oh look, he mentioned what song was playing.”
“Huh. Didn’t notice it at the time, what with all the evacuating I was doing and all. Didn’t seem all that important.”
“Yeah, well it is. It’s in the paper, see?”

Still, good to see that the Pianist kept their wits about them.

Not only did they show extraordinary taste in music, but also a fine sense of Irony - how ‘wonderful’ do you really think the evacuees looked? Not hot, that’s for sure.

I just hope he followed it with something like “Another One Bites the Dust” or “Burning Ring of Fire”

September 26, 2007 | Filed Under Humour | 3 Comments 

Rowan Atkinson: Greatest Drummer of All Time

Definitive proof that Rowan Atkinson is the greatest drummer of all time.

Phil Collins, Ginger Baker, Ringo Starr - all amateurs. They needed to be able to see the drumkit!


Rowan Atkinson is the man.

September 21, 2007 | Filed Under Humour | 3 Comments 

There’s a time and a place…

I stop at the pedestrian crossing, waiting for the cars to let me across.

Finally, a car slows to a stop.

I look up at the driver, preparing myself to cross, ensuring that he has, indeed, stopped.

Lovely.

He’s picking his nose.

Common occurance I suppose. Nosepicking’s not exactly that rare. I myself can be partial to a good pick, sometimes it needs to be done. But, you know, I try to do it in privacy. In the bathroom for example.

In the car? Come on. I know it feels safe and secure. You’re sealed off from the world.

But let’s not forget that you’re surrounded by windows! A good many of them! You can see a lot around you. Which means a lot of people can see you. Picking your nose.

I cross the road, looking up again as I reach the middle.

Oh my.

No, he didn’t.

Did he?

The finger that was previously deeply wedged within the left nostril had been withdrawn. And put in his mouth.

Horrid, absolutely horrid. I mean, what on earth possesses someone to do that?

“Hey, look at this massive clump of dried snot I managed to dislodge from my upper nostril! Cool! What should I do with it? Hrmmm… I am rather peckish….”

Or,

“I bet that tastes good!”

You know it won’t. Seriously. It’ll taste disgusting. And I doubt it’ll have nutritional benefits, let alone satisfy any hunger pangs.

The only reason I can think of is sheer curiosity. Monkeys do the same thing, investigating their bodies and so forth.

Monkeys also sling their poo at intruders.

Don’t take lessons from monkeys. Don’t pick your nose and eat it in public. Don’t fling your poo.

September 11, 2007 | Filed Under Humour | 3 Comments 

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