I’m Still A Virgin…

22 06 2009

First things first.

I would like to announce that I have indeed changed the address of this blog. It’s now, SarcasmAsAWeapon.com, which is what should have done in the first place, but I’m a bit slow. So feel free to update your bookmarks, or bookmark it in the first place.

With that outta the way, I shall now get to the meat of this blog.

You see, I’m not your typical guy.

Don’t get me wrong. I love many of the same things that men do. I love fast cars, actions movies, I love sports, I love eating wings and drinking some beers, I love whiskey, I enjoy a nice cigar here and there, I love Vegas, and gambling, and not showering for a couple days.

With that being said, there are a few things that I also enjoy that don’t necessarily make me gay, but it makes me look gay.
I like to go shopping.
I enjoy The OC, 90210, and The Hills
I spend a lot of money on clothes.
While not completely metrosexual, I do put some time and effort into my appearance.
I have an insane collection of shoes. And I’m not talking about Air Jordans.
Speaking of, I love shoes.
I’ve seen my fair share of musicals, and reference them in conversations.
I hate camping and being dirty. (aside from playing sports.)
I don’t really care for the outdoors whatsoever.
I don’t believe you should wear socks and sandals.
I don’t think you should wear a black shirt with a brown belt.
I spend too much money getting my hair cut.
I really liked Hitch.
I have some “interesting” titles in my iTunes collection.
I spend too much on grooming supplies.

But the kicker…. I don’t like strip clubs.

I’ve never been to a strip club in my life. I don’t understand them. I don’t get them. Wait, let me take that back. I totally understand them. I totally get it. However, for me it’s always been a mystery to me. Why would a perfectly smart dude got spend money on getting cocked teased? Blows my mind.

I mean put it this way… no man would buy Rock Band, open the box, and realize he couldn’t push the buttons!! Or, he wouldn’t take his hard earned cash to a car dealership, give them all his money, for him to smell the interior then 15 minutes later see another dude with his dream car! Yet, when it comes down to naked women, men will do a lot of crazy things.

While other men’s propensities for strip clubs is not the subject, my disdain for them is. I’ve gone 30 years of my life without setting foot in a strip club. Most of it was due to the fact that I’ve been in relationships in most of the years I was supposed to be out getting ripped and seeing naked women dance around. I guess I just thought that I was already getting laid on a consistent basis so what’s the point of seeing some other chick take their clothes off. Oh, and I was getting laid for free. Now, admittedly I paid for sex in different ways, like having to see some pretty messed up chick flicks, but the reward was always pretty worth it.

So I guess I just missed out on a time when I had tons of expendable cash to help support higher education goals of today’s women.

The Streak, as it shall be forever called, was in jeopardy this past weekend as I reunited with my college roommates for one of their bachelor parties. My good friend Gibbs was there and as we had talked in the weeks prior to the event, there was mention of indeed visiting a strip club. Gibbs is happily married, and like me, has grown a bit past the strip club stage. That, and he went about a month ago. But Gibbs, like me, wasn’t very keen on the idea of attending another strip club. Sadly, this was the goal of the groom Big P. He had his mind made up and was determined to go. He was really looking forward to it.

Gibbs and I had a plan.

Back in college we drank a bit. We may have made a Drink-O board that rivaled Bob Barkers Plink-O board. Some may have said we had a problem. We just figured we were accomplished. We haven’t changed much since then, so all of our drinking tendencies are all pretty much the same. I tend to swear a lot and Gibbs is a close talker. Big P, on the other hand, Big P is a different animal all together. Seeing as how Big P is a really big man and a National Champion CheerleaderPower Stunter one would assume that Big P can handle his liquor. And to be honest, if the man would slow down a bit, he could probably out drink the both of us combined.

Big P, however is no marathoner. Big P is a sprinter when it comes to his drinking. As is the case, Gibbs and I devised a plan to see to it that we indeed missed the strip club. I received a text earlier from Gibbs asking me a great tequilla for Big P to drink. I responded by letting him know my buddy swears by Don Julio. And so it was.

I arrived Saturday afternoon to the boys already immersed in a game of beer bong. However this wasn’t your typical game. The cups were filled with water and the boys were drinking from cups they had to the side of the table. Turns out, the cups to the side were filled with their beverage of choice. In this case, Big P’s was filled with roughly 8 shots of Don Julio and some Sprite. When I asked the boys, why they didn’t just play regular beer bong, the informed me that this was indeed “dirty.” This coming from the same guys that after spilling a pour of Don Julio on the plywood table top, proceeded to lick it up.

Our plan was in motion. It was like George Clooney and Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven. (Gibbs, go ahead and pick whichever one you want to be. I’m cool with either, however, I’d kinda rather be Clooney. Pitt kinda seems like a little bitch. Aside from Fight Club.) Big P was diligently killing cup after cup of Don Julio. In most cases, I’d be a bit appalled that someone was treating such a fine liquor like a two dollar PBR, but shit, it was all a part of the plan.

Roughly around 10:30 (which unknowingly to me, is prime strip club time) the rest of the natives were getting a bit restless. In fact I remember a shout, “Big P, it’s 10:30!” “We gotta get going!” It was about at this point that Gibbs was taking out his revenge for The Dark Knight weekend of hockey beatdowns. He was indeed whooping my ass 10-2 in some NHL 2001. We decided that we should put down the PS2 controllers and start rallying the troops. This took longer than expected for some were still eating, some were smoking, some were finishing up a game of beer pong.

Around 11:15, our plan had been determined a great success. We had lost Big P for a good 10 minutes. When we started scouring the house, someone had gone to the side of the house, where a patch of grass was now wilting under the immense pressure that was the dead weight of a 300lb Power Stunter. Big P had passed out in the front lawn. We of course rushed to his side…. to take pictures. He remained there for sometime. I figured it was all over, and the rest of the guys would been crestfallen and resign themselves to continue PlayStation and Beer pong.

And then it happened….

The taxi pulled up and honked. The mighty beast was awaken!

Big P arose from the grass to not only walk like a infant taking his first steps, but to yell out… SHOTGUN! Big P was back. Clooney and Pitt had been foiled. I volunteered to drive some of the others toward their preferred destination of some place that was indeed a euphemism for sex. Something like the “Hot Box” or “WildCats” or “Giggles.” The name isn’t particularly important. We arrived in splendid fashion. I couldn’t find Big P or Gibbs. I scoured the parking lot that was only brightened by the amber glow jetting out from the front door lights. And then I saw them, Big P, doubled over with Gibbs hand on his back. Big P was indeed puking. This had to have been it… it had to be over!

Sadly, one of the guys in our group knew the owner of the Club, and astonishingly they were allowed to proceed inside. It was tough… The Streak was alive. Yet so close to it becoming over. I didn’t want to go in. Yet the golden lights that back lit the naked lady figures on the doors called to me like the Yellow Brick road of OZ. (PS that was a reference to The Wizard of Oz. Not HBO’s prison Drama OZ. Again, please refer to the list above. It doesn’t make me gay, it makes me look gay.)

(Cue internal struggle.)
I should go in.
No I shouldn’t.
I should go… I’m just supporting higher education.
The streak is alive. THE STREAK!
There are naked ladies… I haven’t seen one in a bit, aside from the ones that appear on this 13 inch screen.
They have STD’s in there.
Maybe one will like me.
You don’t make enough to enjoy yourself in there!
THEY’RE NAKED!
THE STREAK!

The Streak. The streak was kept alive. A shit storm of smack talking rained down from some of the boys including calling me gay. And “loving the cock.” However, as it stands… I’m 30 years old. And I’m a strip club virgin.

I’m pretty okay with that.

Until Next Time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

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Reality Round Up 4/14

14 04 2008

I’m not going to lie.

I’ve been genuinely excited to write this particular blog. For you see, it was the final episode of Rock of Love season 2. Down to our very fine finalists, the tawdry twosome, the dirty duo, lady and the tramp…. Daisy and AHHHMBRE.

The episode starts out with Bret taking the fine ladies to the wonderful beaches of Cancun Mexico. Which I’m 100% postitive that wasn’t his idea, it was the shows producers to get a little sun and some sweet mentions on TV about a hotel they now don’t have to pay for. I’m sure Bret would have been just as happy taking those girls down to the local 7-11 and making the final cut over his shoulder, as he pours himself a slurpee! Then again, that would probably be some sort of sweet product placement deal that our man Bret just would have missed the boat on.

So once in Cancun the ladies get to talking and they basically have an epiphany that one of them is going to win. So obviously the claws come out and they begin to tear each other down. Which if you think about it, isn’t really a fair fight. And I actually took some offense to it. There is no way that this was a fair fight. I mean how are you going to lose an argument against someone with Down Syndrome. Honestly, poor little Daisy had no way to defend herself. Which basically just made this entire paragraph, Point. Less. (I just actually chuckled at that. I re-watched it in my head, and it’s still funny two days later.)

Here are some of my favorite highlights from the two fights that Daisy and AHHHMBRE have…

#1. From AHHMBRE to Daisy. “Surgery can make me hotter, Surgery can’t make Daisy smarter.”

#2. Did anyone else notice in the fight that AHHMBRE was about to say, “I’ve always tried to be amicable with you.” But mid-way through the word amicable she realized Daisy wouldn’t have the foggiest fuckin idea what the word Amicable means? I thought it was awesome… came off something like this..
“Daisy I’ve always tried to be ami…. I’ve always tried to be cool with you.” Classic. I loved every second of that.

#3. Now this part I’m a little lost on, because of my lack of knowledge, I am just curious as to why strippers always get upset when people call the strippers??? Heather did it last season, but I think she was more upset at the fact the everyone kept focusing on it. (Probably cause it shocked them that someone that old was still stripping. I mean, I thought once strippers had thier college education paid for they quit.) But Daisy gets all defensive in her battles with AHHMBRE when not only does Daisy point it out…. “you called me a stripper,” AHHMBRE reinforcese this factual statement… “it’s your occupation.” HOW DARE SHE!!! Call my little coke whore a stripper? She my friends is an exotic dancer. You know how I know, She dances to You Shook Me All Night Long, by AC/DC and they’re Australian.

Anyway, Bret and AHHMBRE have a fantastic date. Of course the date, made it a point to showcase all that the hotel has to offer, and being the consumer whore that I am, I must admit it looked pretty tempting to book a vacation and stay at that hotel (great success VH1. Great Success). Although I was waiting for Bret to take Daisy swimming with the dolphins and low and behold we find out she can actually speak to dolphins. Wouldn’t that mess with peoples heads?

So Bret and AHMBRE have a private dinner after AHMBRE finishes fighting with a slow kid in their hotel room. Which brings me to one of, if not THE, funniest moment of the entire season. In which AHHMBRE reveals to our hero Bret that she is indeed wearing no underwear. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen on TV. It was as if AHMBRE had snuck in some Kryptonite and BAM! Superman is powerless. I even think I saw Bret’s hand shake while holding a glass. As if he KNEW he had been bested. Her powers of Kryptonite were no match to his great resolve. Superman, my friends, had been killed.
(Ps how awesome was it that they chose America The Beautiful to play as the background music upon the revelation of AHMBRE going commando!)

So day two brings us to Diasy’s date with a much less powerful Superman. He had been exposed to a great deal of Kryptonite and I was unsure if Bret was going to be able to continue. Sure enough, he proved his mettle sacked up and continued his luxurious all expenses trip to Cancun mexico, wait, I mean the final date with Daisy. He decided to take our girl on a huge yacht and go deep sea fishing.

All my life, all I’ve ever really wanted was a huge Marlin with a huge sailfin, arched across my wall in all it’s stunning dead glory. This folks is not a joke. So needless to say I was a bit jealous with the thought of Daisy going deep sea fishing with Bret Michaels. It didn’t really matter because our heroine got sea sick and they had to pull into port. (sexual innuendo intended.) What I found amazing about the date was the “conversation” between Bret and Daisy on the boat. I can’t even remember what they were talking about, but I do remember it made Ms. South Carolina look like a Rhodes Scholar. Literally.

Bret has a very meaningful dinner with Daisy in which she baiscally shoves AHMBRE under the bus, and we get more awesome interview with Daisy herself. Which brings me to this point. Does Daisy know sign language? Is she a professional mime? Am I missing something with the hands waving all the time? Is she secretly giving sings to the runner on second? I don’t get it. Half the time I don’t know what the fuck is going on, cuase I’m so intrigued by Daisy’s flamboyant gestures. Maybe it’s something she learned from her stripping mentor. You know just a regular old school stripper, who back in the day totally believed that Jazz Hands raked in the money, and enabled patrons of the strip club believe you were a classically trained dancer…. that has to be it… Jazz Hands compliment every speaking engagement.

So, it’s down to elimination time. I could not be more proud of the producers at VH1. If anyone one of you have seen Team America, then you know exactly where I’m going……

WE’RE GONNA NEED A MONTAGE!!!!

no montage is complete without a DVD/CD offering/walk on the beach at sunset. By the way, make sure to pick up Bret’s new solo album.

So here we have it, in the end, Bret picks AHMBRE complete with pretentious spelling of her name and all. Which in the end, I’m not going to lie, made me happy. It was a great way for the show to go out, plus had he picked Daisy, she wouldn’t have cried, hugged him and left HUGE mascara stains all over his Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto suit. (headband not included.) Although it did leave her, and I quote, “heartbroken as fuck.”
(p.s., by quoting other peoples usage of the word fuck, it does not count towards my general usage of the word, therefore allowing me to use it previously/later in the blog with out penalty.)

So there you have it folks, the end is here. We’ve all finsihed our tour on the Rock of Love 2. Hopefully we will all have our lives return to some normalcy when the reunion show airs this Sunday night on VH1. You can bet I’ll be there with my popcorn in hand watching Heather beat the living daylights out of a coke sniffing stripper with down syndrome.

Hey, I wonder if this is how Heather solved all of her money disputes with other strippers…..

I will however, leave you with this one thought, that, for someone who appreciates fashions has had me in a bit of a twist for a couple of days….. is turquoise making a comeback, and no one told me???

Since this was such a huge blog, I’m going to keep the Hills recap pretty short. Nothing really gigantic happened in this episode, aside from Spencer being a douchebag and started hitting on girls at a bar that Heidi was at? What the fuck (dammit, my bad) is that all about. I mean if you’re going to go out and name drop yourself at least do it at a bar where she wont see you. This guy knows NOTHING about how to cheat on women behind their back, even when you’re on a break. He should take some lessons from Ross Gellar, he knew what to do.

Speaking of being on a break, what is this relationship vacation that Hiedi and Spencer speak of. How does one obtain a “relationship vacation?” I mean, is it in relation to how many days you put into the relationship? Like you put in a year get 10 working days off? Can I carry over some sick time if I have used all my Relationship Vacation time? If I don’t use my relationship vacation time in one year, does that vacation time parlay into another year? I just want to know my options for the next time I’m in a relationship. That way, I’ll be up to date on how much vacation time I get, which basically in turn lets me know how many girls I can sleep with until my vacation is over…. which, ultimately, is exactly what Spencer is thinking. (not that I didn’t either. I’m just saying. Relationship Vacation sound like a surprisingly attractive deal. Which I’m trying to wrap my head around, because based on the conversation it was Heidi’s idea.) Great, now my head hurts from trying to wrap my head around Heidi having a “good” idea.

Fuck.

My love affair with Rock of Love, is over. My tour ends here.





Shenanigans, The Gym, And How I Met Your Mother…..

17 03 2008

So as it turns out, it was a pretty eventful weekend. Of course as a lot of you know it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend. With that being said, Stuff White People Like posted that white people love St. Patrick’s Day. And I totally have to agree. I love it. I mean it’s one big meld of drinking, celebrating, being drunk, and meeting chicks.

Plus I think white people dancing is not only encouraged but actually judged a competition by some.

The day started off by meeting up with JDub and heading a mutual friend that owns a really nice loft downtown. Upon arriving I took a very deep breath braced myself and went in.

You see the majority of JDub’s friends are her sorority sisters and friends she went to college with. Neither of which I participated in. So, I’m not going to lie, but sometimes it’s hard to be included in some conversations. I met them all last year during SPD so that feeling has changed a bit, but after holding secret meetings and sharing boyfriends, the inside jokes are pretty regular.

We ventured inside and said hello to everyone. I like JDub’s friends and they in turn like me. So the conversation was flowing as was my Pepsi bottle filled with Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Whiskey. (I spent 70 dollars on a bottle of Single Barrel JD in Las Vegas and didn’t finish it. So with the help of Southwest Airlines, I poured it into a pepsi bottle and checked it in my luggage! Boo Yah. Take that 70 bucks!)

After a couple hours, and 3/4 of the Jack gone, we decided to walk 10 blocks to our “Saint Patrick’s Day Headquarters.” This is pretty much where the night gets a tad fuzzy. I think the Jack kicked in. Some quick stories to be told… I’ve discovered a new Syndrome. We’re calling it the Brett Micahels Syndrome. It’s basically where, you meet a girl and she may not be the attractive, but compared to her surroundings she’s the “hottest” girl around. So the Brett Michaels Syndrome (BMS) took effect around 930 or so. I was already good and drunk when I was approached by a girl who question my Red Sox loyalty. Which automatically puts me on the defensive and has me saying things like…. “Hell Yeah I’m real Red Sox fan, Whore!”

not one of my classier moments.

Conversation with the girl continued. She left for a moment when JDub was there to question my vision/judgement/sanity. I told her,
“listen, she may not be the hottest girl I’ve ever met, but I DARE you to find a hotter girl within 35 feet.” to which JDub replied with a judging look and an eye roll. I then responded with “35 FEET!” Turned and walked away. And thus the BMS was created. Feel free to steal it, just make sure you use proper annotation when doing so.

SPD ended in relatively tame fashion with a stop at our local Taco Bell. Which was awesome becuase I could have really used some soft tacos….and guess what? I got em! *fist pump* While in the drive thru however, I noticed that the car in front of us was indeed a Buick Regal. To which, in my current state, my mind told me it HAD to be my grandma. So with the intelligence of a grasshopper I decided to yell at my grandma.
“Hey! Grandma! What’d you get?”
“Grandma, Grandma. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Grandma, I’m getting the Soft taco meal, wanna come over?”
“Hey, Grandma, why do you have such nice rims on your Buick?”
It was with this last question that things began to sink in. Why did grandma have rims on her buick? Where was I at? Was that indeed my grandma?
The answer to these questions are, No, that wasn’t my grandma. And No I shouldn’t have been yelling at the nice man in the Buick. And Yes, I wasn’t in the nicest part of town. Go me.

I awoke Sunday morning free of a hang over, becuase I believe Jack Daniels and my body have an unspoken pact with the devil. As long as I keep not having hangovers I’ll keep buying it. And as long as I keep buying it, I’ll keep drinking it, allowing me to do stupid things, therefore sending me straight to hell.

So that was that.

I decided that with my time off I’m going to start going to the gym. I mean why not. There is no reason I shouldn’t have chiseled rock hard abs whilst unemployed right?

So I thought to myself, what would be the appropriate time to go? 8 am? Too early. 12 pm? All the business tools will be there. No thanks. 5,6,7 pm? That’s dinner time… no way. So i settled on 10:30 am. Which actually turned into 11 am because I had to make a stop at iTunes, and load up on my Power Workout songs.

11 am also seemed to be the perfect time, because I figured really hot soccer moms, college girls who don’t have class yet, and strippers would be working out. That’s right strippers! Girls gotta work out at some point.

I arrived at my gym all geared up in my Nike gear ready to get a little run in. iPod in hand I settled on a treadmill between an older lady and some Asian guy running.

Speaking of the older lady, my theory about the hot moms, college girls, and strippers was WAYYYY off. Not one hot girl in the entire building (minus the trainers but they don’t count) I’m hoping when I go back on Wednesday there will be at least one stripper. Aren’t Wednesday like an off day for strip clubs?

So there I am, Older Lady is walking at a brisk pace and Asian guy as a decent amount of momentum in his run. I start up the treadmill and off I go. Music blaring in my ears, and Flavor of Love is on one of the televisions. This is great!

All my life I’ve had flat arches. It’s a curse. Back in the day I wouldn’t have been selected in the Army. Now they don’t care. That’s besides the point. The point is, now, when I throw on a pair of running shoes, 99% of the time they have really great arch support.

About 3/4 of mile into my run, i can feel shooting pains in the arch of my right foot. Which at first I play off. I keep telling myself, run through the pain, you’re doing great. And then I have the worst realization ever. Because I got on the treadmill after Old Lady and Asian guy, I can’t get off BEFORE them. Holy hell what am I going to do. So I press on. And the pain grows with every stride I make. I start to get angry thoughts in my head about the two people running next to me.

“Old Lady, you’re fucking walking! go fucking walk somewhere else! Like a park, or a garage sale, or a nursing home! AHHHH shooting pain.”
“Asian dude, why are you running?? You weigh like 95 pounds, and I’m pretty sure you’re deceptively quick. For the love of god, please stop running!! AHHH more pain.”

About 5 minutes later, (actually it was 3 min and 42 seconds later. Thank you elapsed time on my treadmill) Old Lady felt my negative vibes (or piercing hate stares) and decided she was done. THANK GOD! Now all I needed was Asian Guy. To which he bowed out of the race 6 minutes and 23 seconds (again thank you elapsed time) after Old Lady!

SUCCESS! Not only had I outlasted both my worthy adversaries, but I actually didn’t noticed that the shooting pain in my arches had gone. I guess that’s what happens when you get a runners high a mile and a half into your 2 mile run, or a hot girl with a decent ass starts doing the eliptical right in front of you. Either way.

So self high five, I’m trying to work out.

I other news, TV seems to be returning to normal. How I Met Your Mother Returns, The Bachelor (which I hate, I just write about the whores) The Big Bang Theory are all returning. Some semblance of my former life is returning.