Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Truckin and Phelps Go Hand In Hand

My wife, bring the kind, gentle soul she is, left our marital bed early this morning to let her husband get some uninterrupted sleep by taking her coughing fit into the porch with the plush couch. I offered however that she simply could have given me a quick blowjob and no amount of cold symphony sounds of hacking and sneezing would wake me up.

She declined. Don Juan I am not.

Michael Phelps is a midnight toker eh? And apparently there’s a law man in South Carolina who wanted to get his name in the news by proclaiming the need to exert his god-like ego try to hand the golden boy a ticket for $200. The legalities of how far the law could go was a topic on Mike and Mike this morning and I’m sure every newspaper sports writer across the US will chip in a quick article and opinion on “how this will hurt his public relations” and “he’s not a hero to our children” all for smoking a little pot.
Against the law? Sure.
Harmful to his bank account? Probably.
Going to jail for it? Doubtful.

Maybe some legal geniuses or students could tell me if the ubiquitous “red cup” rule applies here. You’re at a keg party; you hit on the tall, striking brunette that once took a double look at you in World History during the discussion of the beginnings of the Freemasons. By the end of the night she ends up wearing nothing but her little black La Perla get up spread eagle on a de-sheeted bed pissing herself from one too many drinks after brushing you off since that Bartles and James Pina Colada in your hand didn’t exert enough manliness (I suggest the Fruit Punch next time). Anyway, she is photographed prior to the peep show holding a red cup with arms around two other ladies from the school’s volleyball team. No one however got the panty shot so you’ll have to relive that memory in the shower with a little conditioner in your hand.

Pictures of course end up on Facebook and cause outrage in the community! OMG THINK OF THE CHILDREN!! Question here is, if none of the photos contained the keg, bottle of Grey Goose, or any viewable alcoholic tell signs except the big red cups, can the police or coach/school pursue a case without any admissions?

Phelps’ bong is clearly there but the blurry photo doesn’t show any ganja, baggies, January’s copy of High Times, one-hitters, etc… is there even a case?


To segue into this month’s Truckin’, it just hit your Bloglines stands! Check out below as Pauly swings two stories this month that may or may not have been hallucinogens enhanced.

That's cool. You're a chick. And chicks are supposed to like sappy shit like Coldplay. I need something that I can play air guitar to. Not 'insert and remove tampons from my ass' kinda music... More

I lay out the pieces of his tuxedo, he finishes the primping process. Gathering the necessary toiletries strewn across the bathroom floor one by one, as he needs them. The hair dryer goes off. I run my fingers through his dried, loose, locks and secure them in the back in a short ponytail while he tones, moisturizes and brushes. In that order... More

Elvis bragged about his sexual conquests, using language you didn't hear around women. He said he'd been a truck driver six months earlier. Now he could have a new woman in each town. He told a story about being caught having sex in his back seat. An angry husband grabbed his wife by the ankles and pulled her out from under Elvis. I doubted that... More

I tell him I'm from the Future, from the 21st century where people are used to paying for goods and services with this futuristic method of payment called credit cards. I apologise yet again and claim full responsibility for my own lack of research into his quaint and backwards and medieval system. I tell him I have no gold, no jewels, no currency and nothing to barter in exchange for the consumed food except these futuristic and useless credit cards... More

5. Pancakes by Paul McGuireI just have to tell people the pancakes story and it perfectly explained Sabine. I sat through her bizarre routine every day for a year as she slipped into a trance and maniacally prepared her pancakes. She cared more about the pancakes than her own art. More than herself. Heck, more than me... More

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