Claro que sí

So the game was over, Obregon had won, and the dude pulled out his blue plastic bag of shrimp, and started offering them around. There were whole prawns there, heads and all, cooked... Now normally I wouldn't just go around eating shrimp out of a bag, but you know, it's Mexico, so what the fuck. Also, I'd had a few beers. So I figured plastic bag shrimp would really hit the spot. I think shrimp dude liked me, mostly because I'd spent beers 3-6 screaming derisive chants (mostly in spanish) at number 24, the opposing team's center-fielder who happened to be the one in closest ear-shot. When "Daryl... Daryl..." didn't make him cry, I opted for insults about his man-hood, his mother, his preferred method of sexual congress with his close relatives and his canine, his steroid popping ways, and how he keeps fucking up. Pretty sure I was inside his head.

My first impression of Mazatlan: kinda tourist hell. Upon further inspection, especially of old-town Maz, it's actually a sweet beach community that happens to have this overabundance of tourist-trappiness. But the actual Mazatlan (the non-resort, non-Americanized part) is quite beautiful and wonderful. Cab drivers in Mexico act as pimps and drug dealers. I say this with knowledge because as I stumbled out of a club in Mazatlan one night, a cab driver said, "Hey amigo, want coke... coke-ay-ine-ah?" I said, "no thanks". "You want girl, amigo? Hot girl? Sexo?" "No thanks, I'm into ferrets." "¿Qué?"


Mexican TV seems to have a LOT more nudity than US TV. I'm not complaining. Just happened upon a show on "ultimate poker" where a guy interviews models and asks them if they like poker. They all do, miraculously. Then they take their clothes off for some reason. One girl was from Santa Monica. The show is in English, although I don't really see it making it's way to the states quite yet...

I tried to watch more of the A-team movie, but really it was just painful. It's on like every night here. I've seen segments from different parts of the movie, and I'm completely convinced it's about 8 hours long, because it really seems to be 4 fully separate movies. My new hypothesis is that it's a series of really bad A-team episodes that all center around the A-team doing weird shit, not in LA, and working for this guy:


Yes, that is Robert Vaughn, the Man from UNCLE, aka the bad guy from Superman III. It's confusing, because the movie channel (that would be TURNER CLASSIC MOVIES that shows the A-team here) lists it as simply "Brigada A", and the length seems to indicate that it would be a movie, but upon further IMDB inspection, it turns out that these are some of the late A-team episodes from 1986. Somehow, the A-team no longer works for themselves (cause that would be too easy), and instead work for Robert Vaughn. No he's not having them build a "super" computer in Arizona, complete with video-game-stylized-guided-missile-system. Instead he sends them on a series of tasks. The fucked up thing about it is A) the music is all synth as opposed to the normal bad 80's band version (even the theme song) B) there's some random Latino dude named Frankie "Dishpan" Santana who is the extra sidekick to Mad Murdoch, C) it's the only show on in English at like 11pm, D) the episode I attempted to watch centered around the A-team in Hong Kong. Think about that for a second. Because remember that Sgt. Bosco "BA" Baracus's whole thing was that he doesn't fly (no I didn't know his whole name, Seth, I IMDB'd the show, remember). So, how the hell did they get there? Drug him? Mr. T ain't no fool.

In other news, I don't know that I've ever sweat in my sleep in January. Certainly not while the heat is off at least. But it's fucking hot here, like 85 everyday, and the past two nights have been really warm. So yeah... and it's only going to get hotter. It's all fun and games coming from Rochester, but you know, it's not like a perfect paradise...

La Chica

Ok, it's time we talked about La Chica FX. For those of you who don't live in Latin America, allow me to illuminate you, slightly...

La Chica FX is a show on the FX network. It's a competition. A model competition for women from all over Latin America. Every week (or episode or whatever) three models compete to move on or get sent home. Think American Idol meets Miss America. Only it's the swimsuit competition...

The show starts with the three chicas being introduced, and each comes out wearing some sort of lingerie outfit, and performs a seductive dance with a male partner. The judges then interview them about something (here the language barrier is in full effect, it's not just because my eyes glaze over and I start to drool uncontrollably, although that does happen). There's laughing and it seems like a good time. Now, you know how on most American "reality" competition shows (model shows in particular), the contestants get all bitchy and catty and have to live in a house with no electricity, and they can't use hair gel for a week, just so the producers can see which girl actually drinks blood? Well that doesn't happen here. Here, everyone appears to be getting along, and then they have a swimsuit fashion shoot on the beach (and they all have to do the Baywatch run with the little life-thingy... you know the run...).

I don't know about you, but when I watch models, well, model, I always wish they'd show their boobs or something... Yeah, they hook that up too. There's this "elevator cam" thing they do with a night-vision filter for some reason that I'm sure makes perfect sense, where the chicas each one at a time get into an elevator, and then they change outfits. And this for some reason involves them taking off their bras. Then they arrive downstairs, in a new outfit.

The show culminates each week with some sort of strip-tease dance that each girl gives before the judges render their final decision. From what I can tell, the one woman judge and two male judges base their decisions on who is the smokin' hottiest hottie that ever did hot.

And no, this is not pay-per-view. I think the competition awards the winner a million-dollar modeling contract. And I'm pretty sure that it's the most popular show in Latin America. And I think I know why. And yes, it's on FX, and yes that means ol' Rupert has his dirty little hands in it. And yes, I think it's the most genius thing I've ever encountered, and YES I wish that American censors weren't so fearful of us actually seeing a tit or hearing the word "donkey-raping-shit-eater" every now and then, for fear of corrupting our puritan ideals or whatever.

I actually find that aspect of the culture here very refreshing. There's an air of "who gives a fuck" to the lifestyle here that you just don't find in the US. Drinking in the afternoon? Fuck yeah. The A-Team movie is on every fucking nite (starring the bad-guy from Superman III)? Hell Fuckin' Yeah. There's a boob on TV? So what? It's a boob. I've never really understood the whole "network censorship" thing, and I certainly never understood why cable networks also had censors (since you pay to access the content, rather than receive it free, like broadcast TV), but I digress. People here do what FEELS good. Yes, there's a TON of Catholic guilt, don't get me wrong. But they also take a 2 hour lunch break, and go home and take a siesta. They take half-hour breaks during orchestra rehearsals. They play softball in the middle of the afternoon on a workday, because they want to and somehow they make it happen.

And a final word on the A-Team movie: Try to absorb the magnitude of what I'm about to say, because you see, I've watched a LOT of shitty movies in my life. Breaking from the formula that made the show so awesome, the A-Team movie ditches: the guys weld crap to the outside of the A-Team van, and let BA drive it somewhere + help some poor family being harassed by random warlord X, for a more self-centered: A-Team has to make nice with a dirty General to save themselves from a death sentence, and ends up having to save him from some other dude who wants some sort of Russian jet for some reason, and there's no A-Team van for some reason, and the music is all synth instead of acoustics. The details are a little fuzzy, as I've only seen parts of the movie. But I mean, it's TERRIBLE. LIKE REALLY FREAKING STINKIN' AWFUL. Like, it is potentially one of the 3 worst movies I've ever seen. So if you're in Mexico, and you happen upon this gem, you have been warned.

Poo Dodger!

Poo Dodger! It's exactly what it sounds like...

The adventure begins...

My arm hurts. Well more specifically my shoulder. You see, I've got this one shoulder that I fucked up when I was like 12 (pretty sure I tore the rotator cuff but never "fixed" it), and from time to time I'll do something that tweaks it, and then it hurts forever.

Well, yesterday I joined a Mexican softball team. I'm the first baseman, apparently. And because I didn't have cleats, during my first at-bat, I totally biffed it coming out of the batters' box and ganked the hell out of said shoulder. It hurts to type this... but I know that you crave that which only I can give you, so I press on... I don't really "speak" spanish, but I can almost get by... Rafael, our token fat pitcher was pretty kind in trying to speak english, and understand my broken spanish. Everyone clowned me and Matt when we fell (cleats will definitely be in order). I guess they're buying us jerseys...

Lemme break Mexico down thus far: Best tacos of my entire existence right around the corner from Matt's place. Just truly incredible. We also hit up a mariscos (fish) joint near him. I ate raw pulo (octopus), raw and cooked camarones (shrimp), and raw ostras (oysters) all in an amazing lime sauce with veggies, served in a hollowed out coconut. Fuck yeah. That shit was so bomb. Why am I talking about food so much? Because it's super cheap here, and I love to eat, ok? Back off... Had dinner for 3 the other night for 10 dollars. That was killer.

We had our first quintet rehearsal Friday, after my bloody-fingered bitch ass traveled 14 hours on Thursday. Matt and I play really well together, and the group will actually sound pretty good once we get it going. Orchestra goes on tour to Mazatlan this week, and apparently stays at a 4-star hotel on the beach. That sounds like a pretty great idea. Apparently we're going to take a ferry out to some island where you just sit under a canopy on the beach and drink piña coladas till you are sufficiently colada-ed. So that sounds pretty gooooooooooood...

All the people I've met from the orchestra so far have been super nice. Everyone is VERY laid back here. I mean, it IS Mexico, after all... But no REALLY sketchy stories to relate... yet... although I've only been here 2 days... gimme a chance, folks... OK, well there IS this tidbit:

As soon as I dropped my stuff off (my bags didn't make the trip until the next day, presumably so someone in Mexico City could look through them and try to find electronics or something), Matt and some of the boys wanted to take me out drinking to begin the festivities. Brian was driving, and as we just cruised down a normal street, we were stopped by Tranistos— tranist cops. Down here there are 4 types of cops. Transitos are the low men on the totem pole. Poorly paid. Next up is the city cops, then the State Police, then the Federales. Apparently only the Federales are incorruptible, as they are paid very well, and are sort of above all of the bribery at the local level. Transitos pull people over regularly just looking for a way to make some extra cash. City cops and State Police may or may not be owned by the big drug-lords in Mexico. I mean, yeah.

So the Transito flags us down. Now this was more of a checkpoint, with three or four transit cop cruisers. The guy walks up to the car, and smells Brian for alcohol. He smells booze, because the other three of us have been drinking. So the dance begins, with the cop telling Brian he has to leave the car to get impounded, and that Brian can show up tomorrow and retrieve it. Brian asks if there's any way he can pay the transito the fine directly. The guy does a whole song and dance, as though the thought never occurred to him. He pulls a completely blank sheet of paper from his notepad (not a ticket or summons or anything, just an 8.5x11) and begins to SLOWLY write down Brian's information. After five minutes of this, his buddy starts walking over to the car. He says, "My commander is coming... quick, quick... gimme the cash". Brian forks over about 20 bucks, and we're off. "Welcome to Mexico"...

In other news, did you hear about THIS?



Now, I have a SERIOUS problem with people being weasel-y. And it seems like Bush&Co. manage to screw us over about once a day... here, he's actually trying to force a provision through congress that will give him and his administration retro-active immunity for all the torturing he has sanctioned. And the republicans in the House and Senate don't see a problem there. Now maybe I'm just cynical (I am), but I thought that the President was supposed to be the moral beacon for the country. After all, they all run on being a "man of faith" (even Hillary—AWWWW SNAP!). And yet, Bush clearly sees that he's going to get fucked for breaking the Geneva Convention, and is looking to protect his ass. Fight the power folks... don't sit idly by and watch more criminals/cronies get away with everything (I'm looking at you, Enron...). Remember when Haliburton misappropriated 9 billion dollars of your hard earned funds? Shouldn't that have lead to an investigation or something? Maybe us at least canceling their no-bid contracts in Iraq? Nah...

More to come...

End of days

I walked through security and my hand started bleeding. No it wasn't
stigmata, it was just another "fuck you" from the ROC gods. Top sign
you might be RAF: duct taping your rental truck's gas tank to the
truck bed so that you can drive said busted truck back to the dealer
in the heart of the ghetto. Hmm maybe all these years its bern ME
causing all the RAF... No that's impossible.

One of the beat moments of the day (aside from when I totally fucked
the gas tank up) was going to "Upstate Furniture" to rent my rental
truck. I showed up to this massive furniture wharehouse with jelly,
and the lady at the truck rental place starts freaking the fuck out at
me...
"where were you??? I thought you were coming this morning??? I don't
know how to work the computer and the guy who does it isn't here!!!"

That's right, she worked there and yet somehow magically didnt know
what the fuck she was doing. GBA man! An HOUR later we are ready to
take the truck out. After she called the corporate hq.

Not gonna lie, don't really like the name 'macbook air', but I do
think that apple's new ultra-thin laptop is pretty fucking sweet
looking.

So, um... I'm going south for the winter... I guess that means I'm an
old Jewish grandmother. But I'm not hitting up central Florida or
anything. We're talking Mexico, bitches. I'll bring you back a taco,
selly.

K, later. Next blog may be en español.

Love,
all of us at the Gurftastic blog center for divine intervention and
extra-terrestrial deportation.

It's about freakin' time

Like every other reasonably-educated heterosexual male I know, the completely incomprehensible desire to see Rachel Ray simultaneously naked and/or beaten to a bloody pulp is ever-present in life. The more mainstream she becomes, the more I just wish someone would beat the smug right off of her smelly face. But at the same time (well not at the same time she's getting BEATEN, but like at the same time as wishing she would be beaten), I kinda want to bone that smug. And today on the Food Network, there was some random show with Rachel, where she goes around talking about something with that annoying fucking voice that makes me want to gouge my ears out with my own genitals. However, the producers saw fit to put RR in a skimpy dress... Her boobs were hanging out of this thing (reminiscent of Olivia d'Abo's dress from Conan: The Destroyer, by the way) and looking fantastic. I dunno, maybe it's because I only see her cooking all the time, so I just want her to get the kitchen and knit me a sandwich—the key to a man's heart being through his gastrointestinal tract and all... maybe it's because she's a "female"... ok wait there's a different episode on right now, and she's all covered up... now I just want to smack her again. I wish she'd shut the fuck up. Seriously.


Hot Frenchy Bartender: Where are you from???

Gurftastic: I'm visiting from America.

Hot (now surly) Frenchy Bartender: You're still in America.

Gurftastic: Yeah... uhhh... I meant South America... Like the US... uhhh...

Hot (now bored) Frenchy Bartender: So you're buying me a shot?


T-minus 4 days and counting...
Local Weather Forecast for Rochester, NY for Thursday January 17th: partly shitty with periods of sketchiness. No I kid. 34º with chance of snow.

Local Weather Forecast for MEX: 83º and sunny. That's the 10-day forecast by the way. Awesome. Soy de los Estados Unidos. Dame mas tamales por favor. Mierda. Chupa mis nalgas. Tu mama se mira como una nalga de mono.

What's the rectangle root of 4? What percentage of college librarians are virgins? What is the probability that YOU have already forgotten what Britney Spear's vagina looks like? If 6 is to one as 8 is to 5, why are you still reading this?

I see you

You can't fucking hide from me, Srimp dude. That's right, he's BA-ACK!!! That same bad haircut, and goofy goatee. That same annoying voice. Only this time, the "srimp" dude is schilling for KFC (formerly known as Kentucky Fried non-genetically engineered beak-less Chicken). It seems that KFC has a new "spicy bucket" of their "meat" that you can put in your body. Yeah, bucket of meat. Think about that for a second. Anyways, there he is, right smack dab in the middle of it. I haven't seen the whole commercial yet, so I dunno if he says something as inane as "That's the Kung Pao sauce for my srimp!" but I'll update you when I know... Boo on you KFC, poor casting choice.

Let's see... here's some random article about how porn is good for society. The author's conclusion (although it seems like a logical fallacy to me— A=B and C=D, so B=D because A might somehow be related to C, but probably not) is that RAPE is down nationally because of our increased access to porn. This obviously refutes the government studies that show just how evil porno is. I dunno. I find it hard to believe that people masturbate more so they rape less. Rape is less about sex and sexuality as it is about power and control. A man who rapes a woman (here I'm talking about a stranger, rather than a date-rape, which is partly something else) seeks less the sexual act of cumming (by the way, it's not spelled "coming" despite how corporate America wants to clean up the word), than he does seek to control/dominate/de-humianize/humiliate his victim. It's sick and twisted, but it's NOT just about getting off— although there is that. I think most people know that, but clearly this dude doesn't. Also he says, "Times have changed so much that some high school teachers of sex education are beginning to show triple-X porn movies to their students in order to depict techniques of satisfactory intercourse." REALLY???????

Remember the "Pick up the Phone" girls? Damn they were hot. There's this new commercial on now for Quest Personals. This smoking hottie gets on the screen and says (in her Candian accent), "Do you really think you're going to meet your soul-mate at a crowded club? Me neither, that's why I called 'Quest'." (Suspend disbelief here for just a second more, it's totally worth it) "You just call, and meet someone new and interesting every time. Flirt, have fun, no strings attached. Call Quest today!" Now forget the fact that no smoking hot hottie EVER calls a personals phone-line. Forget the fact that this ad is obviously geared towards lonely ass dudes who are about to spank it and go to bed in their parents' basement. Is Quest actually implying that you can meet your fucking SOUL fucking MATE by calling a fucking company and giving them money? REALLY? Like, REALLY??

Look at this for a second. Don't worry... I'll wait.

Sweet, huh? Check this one too... this kid is like 14 or something.

Now I'm going to tell you about the sketchiest night I've had in a LONG time. A certain teacher/mentor of mine lost his cellphone a few days back. Let's call him "T". He figured that it was somewhere in the house just chilling. Well last night, Bill called his phone, and someone picked up. I believe her name was "Fruittie". Bill told T to call his phone. He did. Fruittie told T, "I didn't know it was your phone, I bought it off some dude who found it at Wegmans". Yeah. So T offered to pay her $50 to get his phone back. This is where I said something like, "Why don't you just go to the Verizon store, which is OPEN right now, and get a new cellphone for 50 bucks, rather than give this chick money for STEALING you phone?" But "LOGIC" did not prevail. So at 7:30 at night, we hop in the car and the three of us head to what can commonly be referred to as the Rochester Ghetto— Where SKETCH and SKEEEEETTTTTCCCHHHHH come together. We wait. She's late. Bill calls the phone again, and notices that she's put some sort of wait and listen to this booty-shakin' song while I try that number (I think Verizon calls it "ring-back"). Eventually she changes the "meet" to a different place. Bill, incidentally wanted to bring a gun, and was convinced we were all about to get jacked. We roll up to some house, two super-sketchy dudes are chilling on the steps, one sketchy dude is chilling inside the house, and our girl comes on out. What's the opposite of ghetto-fabulous? Right, Crack-WHORE sheek. Yeah, really bad. She walks over to the car, still talking on T's phone, which I found to be an awesomely ballsy move. Anyways, I had reminded T to check the phone before he payed her to make sure his contacts were still on the phone— if they weren't, the thing was worthless and he might as well just go buy a new phone— which he did. They were not there. Not only that, but a leather case that was one the phone was no more. She said, "I bought it like that". Yeah. So T gave her $30 for his own fucking cellphone back. But we didn't die, which was sweet. We just rolled away.

Then the fun began. She started getting phone calls and text messages from people whom she'd told this was her new phone number. The first text said, "Luv u sweety but I gota have other hoes (yes he wrote "hoes" instead of "hos" but I'm pretty sure he meant "hos" as in bitches, not "hoes" as in yardwork) I dont want guana anyways". So Bill writes back, "Eat a dick bitch". So the dude writes back in what quite possibly is the best text message breakup line I've ever read EVER, "Thats smelly ass dirty pussy you got and you will never fuck me again by hoe keep your crabs in" AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That's like the best thing I've ever read EVER! So that made the whole sketchy proposition worth it. It's too bad their young love won't live on forever, but it was bound to happen. Yeah. Awesome. So now T has his phone back, but with no phone numbers on it, and the potential for SKETCHY ass people calling his cellphone for the next few days. "That shit is BOOOO!"

A flurry of activity

Why do they call it a "Sausage McMuffin with Egg™"? I mean, are we supposed to believe that the general populace is so stupid as to think that an Egg McMuffin has egg, but a Sausage McMuffin does not? What about a Sausage and Egg McMuffin? Or a Egg McMuffin with Sausage? Don't you feel stupid ordering a Sausage McMuffin "with egg"? How bout they just have "Egg McMuffin" and they try to upsell you, "Do you want Sausage with that?" Wouldn't that be a hell of a lot easier? Like Burger King's "make it bacon" where you could get bacon on your soda for 30 cents more, just by saying those magic words...

Who buys the President's underpants? I was at first inclined to think, well obviously he does. But then I remembered reading an interview with Bill Clinton just after leaving office, where they were asking him how he was adjusting to civilian life. He mentioned that he hadn't handled money in 8 years, so that was a big adjustment... carrying a wallet again. So then I thought maybe Laura hooks up the tighties. But that's not a very dignified thing for a first lady to shop for. So who buys the President's underpants?

Also, how do they decide which secret service agent has to go into the bathroom with the President while he's dropping dueces? I mean, I know at the White House they don't need to, but let's say the P is staying somewhere outside of home, or like at a function at a hotel, and has to go drop anchor. How do they decide who has to stand inside the bathroom door and listen to Bush dump his brains out? Does that guy every think that he "didn't sign up for this"?

What is more grammatically correct: "Why do I stay up late thinking of such inanity", or "Because you're a moron, that's why", and why? Answer in the form of a complete sentence (which is incidentally not a complete sentence).

Looking at this will make you stupider.

What the Fuck, Norm???

My return trip back to Rochester was particularly uneventful. The weather was clear, the air was crisp, and I didn't get a speeding ticket. But about a half hour from town, I happened upon something curious on the AM radio dial. It was the voice of Norm Macdonald. He was interviewing a woman. Her voice sounded oddly familiar. Turns out, he was interviewing Ann Coulter (better known as EVIL).

Now maybe I'm just behind on the times, but Norm (whom I love from Weekend Update days) was joking with Ann about how neither of them can watch the "new" Bill Maher show on HBO. Ann contested that Bill hates his own audience, because they are "stupid", and Norm said it "lost something" from when it was on ABC. Then Norm said, "I don't know why the Democrats keep talking about how dumb Bush is. I mean, he may be dumber than like, other Presidents, yeah... he's certainly a lot smarter than, ya know... like most people." That wasn't a joke by the way. Ann chimed in, "Yeah, he can't be that dumb if he keeps kicking their asses!" Then Norm profusely thanked her for being on the show, and took some calls, most of which were cock suckers who espoused their love of Norm. On guy from (where else) South Carolina said, "Dude, you shoulda asked Ann out. She totally wanted you!" Wow. I was perplexed. I mean, Norm's Canadian... so I thought he might have the sense to like, not be a whore for the man. Turns out he was subbing for Dennis Miller on his daily radio show. I didn't even know fucking Dennis Miller had turned all talking head, but it turns out, he even has a weekly segment on the O'Reilly Factor. So my head's reeling, and I'm not drunk, so I know this is bad. Then it was time for a news break...

The station I was listening to was WYSL 1040 am. They are affiliated with Westwood One and I think also ABC. Anyways, the first local Rochester story was about the new school Superintendent for Rochester public schools. The story was about how he spent the day going to classes and mingling with students at some school to try to get a better idea of what the state of the schools are. The story capped off saying that the new guy was optimistic for the future, despite the fact that Rochester City Schools graduate LESS THAN HALF of all students enrolled. LESS THAN HALF. All of a sudden, RAF is starting to make a lot more sense. Knowing that a radio station willing to put Ann Coulter on the air could possibly be "dubious" in it's reporting, I fact checked them. Here is the actual Rochester City School District Accountability Report, which very clearly states that 2007 had a graduation rate of 49%. Holy FUCK!

The next story was about a man who last summer went to Mark's Texas Hots (24-hour diner, home of the "Sloppy Plate") and drew a shotgun, intending to shoot the bouncer (for those of you wondering why a diner that doesn't serve alcohol needs a bouncer, you've never been to Rochester, and you never should go) he accidentally hit and killed some other dude. The story was about how his lawyers are challenging the legality of the police search that turned up the murder weapon. What got me, other than the fact that I used to be at least a weekly fixture at Mark's with my boys, was the way the story was presented. "For those of you who don't remember (guy's name I can't remember)" the announcer began, "he's the thug who's accused of using a shotgun at Mark's Texas Hots with the intent to kill a bouncer, but accidentally shot (name of victim who I can't remember), fatally wounding him." He's a "thug". So much for innocent until proven guilty in a court of LAW. But here's the thing, I already knew that I was listening to a biased radio station, so I like almost didn't even notice it until it had already gone by. But then I was like, wait, that's fucked up! I mean, should not he have been referred to as "the man police accuse of blah blah blah"? Yeah. I think so. And if I was his lawyers, I'd be all up in arms about tainting the jury pool. Of course, we all know the Gurftastic blog is always up in arms about taints. But I digress...

So I turned off the radio, thinking I'd heard enough RAF for a moment, when I happened upon a guy with a 9/11 conspiracy poster standing alone on a street corner. His sign read, "9-11 was a inside job". I opened my window and yelled, "an" but I don't think he understood.

So I ask you America, what the FUCK? I mean I know that most of upstate New York is for some reason super conservative, even though the conservatives in this state and the country for that matter keep screwing over impoverished upstate, so it's no surprise to me that the only am radio up here is Jesus and Rush, but really Norm too? I need a vacation. Or a vocation. Either way. Some sort of cation is in order. And not the positively charged ion kind either.

Addendum

As happens from time to time, I feel inclined to clarify some of my earlier statements. It's come to my attention that a line from my most recent blog "Why Guys Like Porn (short version)" was incompletely explained. That line was, "Women are hardwired to seek out the best mate for the propagation of the species". Now, my blog was not meant to say that women don't like sex, don't enjoy the sexual act, and don't look at and enjoy pornography. Many (apparently many, many) women have begun watching and producing porn for their own viewing. My blog was aimed at the women who don't like porn, who find it vile and disgusting and offensive, and view any guy who enjoys porn as a sick fuck. It was to those women that I attempted to explain a bit about male sexuality. I was NOT trying to take a misogynistic view of the world, simplifying men as "fuckers", and women as "nesters" or something as base as that. I meant that in nature, for the propagation of the species (which is what sexual congress in nature is for) females search for a good genetic match (and are therefore more selective in their mates), while males will pretty much bone anyone (studies have actually proven that what we find attractive in a potential mate is actually what sets up a potentially good genetic match— and oftentimes it is variety that we seek out, which explains why Jewish dudes love Asian chicks so much— so that in some way both sexes have this innate search, but women are more discerning, so we'll just go with that for a while).

Now while the Flying Spaghetti Monster has endowed humans with the wonderous physical sensation of the orgasm, to help entice us to propagate fruitfully (although not the 30-minute orgasm of our bacony delicious piggy friends), making our sexual congresses so much sexier than the House of Representatives and the Senate, even though the house is shaped like a tit, the fact remains that on a purely reproductive level, women are inclined to be more selective about whom they let enter into that "special" kind of hug. I'm not saying that women don't like sex every bit as much as men, if not more. I'm not saying that women don't get pleasure from masturbating or fantasizing or looking at porn. I'm not saying that women only look for potential life mates while men look for fuck buddies. I'm not saying that women don't walk down the street and see a dude and think "Check out the package on THAT dude!!!!" or wonder what it might be like to have sex with two midgets and a donkey that whistles "Dixie". But my blog was about MEN, and all that I'm saying is that men DO fantasize about fucking different chicks. I'm not saying that it should be socially acceptable for us to check out a chick while we're standing next to our lover, because that's rude and cruel. To make your significant other feel unattractive and unwanted, or at least LESS wanted is humiliating and unnecessary. But to those ladies out there who think that a guy looking at porn is the same thing as cheating, all I'm saying is that actually fantasy is natural, healthy, and generally leads to healthier, stronger relationships rather than hurting them. I mean, wouldn't you rather have your man beat his dick and come home at night to make love to you, rather than go out looking for other chicks to bone?