I walked into my shrink's office the other day and up to the counter to let them know I was there. A reasonably attractive young gal whom I'd guess was in her 20's stood in front of me, clutching a neatly-tied bundle of books. I noticed tattoos down her left upper arm, and dotting the inside of her left wrist, as well as a hand written note inside the bundle, on top of the first book in the pile. I also couldn't help but overhear her tell the receptionist something along the lines of, "I know he's going on vacation...", but didn't think much of it.
That is until Dr. MakeMeFeelGood opened the door to welcome me in, and in the process accept the bundle from the bird. I followed him into his office, then he shut the door behind me and placed the bundle of books on his desk, between his chair and mine. Call me curious, or nosy, fuckever, but I couldn't help but crane my neck to the side so I could get a look at the spines of the books to learn their titles. They were "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells, "The Romantic Manifesto" by Ayn Rand, and a collection of poems by Robert Frost.
Coincidentally enough, during my last visit we were talking about him shagging his patients. (For the record, I brought the topic up, suggesting it was a great position to lay pipe, with them being emotionally fragile/broken and him sitting there sympathetically listening to them, which is what most troubled people need and don't get, and what all women want/need but rarely get from men. Shit, if he had a foreign accent the rest of us men couldn't possibly compete. And he dismissed me, explaining there were laws in place against that sort of stuff, and he wouldn't risk losing his license, besides the fact he was married, etc.) So upon taking all this in, in response to his opening salvo of, "How are you doing," I fired back with, "How come she left out 'Leaves of Grass'?"
"Excuse me," he queried, missing my Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky reference, and leaving me with no choice but to be more blunt. "So, are you fucking her?" "What? I'm going on vacation, you're my last appointment before I leave," he retorted. "She works in a book store and wanted to give me stuff to read while I'm away." Undeterred, I moved onward. "Yeah, but are you fucking her?" "No," he insisted. "Books are her life, and she thought I'd enjoy these while I was away."
"So you're not fucking her?"
"No. If I was going to have sex with one of my patients it wouldn't be her."
"Oh, she's batshit crazy?"
"No, I just don't find her attractive."
"Huh. Right on. But don't fuck any of your patients, even if you're attracted to them. Jerk off in your garbage pail when they leave if you must, but don't fuck them. What am I supposed to do if you lose your license?"
"Well, I couldn't practice medicine, but I could become a life coach, and still see you."
"Yeah, but you couldn't write me scripts for meds."
"No, I couldn't."
"Exactly. So don't fuck any of your patients. I'm serious. Garbage pail."
"I guess eating out can be a real exercise in trust in a few ways..."
One of the few cool things about living in South Florida is the neato wildlife you get to encounter. Like this big fella outside my bedroom window (not sure of the species but he sure was much bigger than the average lizard native to the area):
And Sluggo outside the front door:
"You're gonna need a bigger boat." Or a bigger mouth/belly:
(Yeah, that's an average-sized bird, and a big lizard.)
Hammerhead off the stern of my patio:
"We may be tight asses, but we were once young and hip like you":
Reason number 1,731 best friend Rick kicks ass -- real men still drink PBR:
My tastes run a little differently:
I'm a huge fan of "Deadliest Catch", and this season is far more gripping than any scripted TV show could dream of being, especially with the addition of Captain Phil's son Jake's issues. That scene at the end of this week's episode was mind-blowingly provocative. The excessive shit thrown on the shoulders of his oldest son Josh by his brother during the biggest crisis of his life was fuckin' intense, and really hit home with me, bringing back memories of the crumbling house of cards I experienced myself during last May/June's family catastrophe.
However, I don't know that I'm gonna watch this week's two-hour "Phil's last" episode. I feel compelled to watch it, but I know what's gonna happen, it ain't a happy ending, and I'm not sure I want to witness the emotional devastation of his family and friends. Sure, I'm saddened that Phil has passed, having grown fond of him after watching him for what, five seasons or so. And watching him pass will be even more painful. But for me it's the impact it will have on his loved ones that will be the most profound. I'm still living that myself personally, I don't think it's something I want view as an outsider.
I love watching slasher/horror movies (enjoyed "The Midnight Meat Train" just this morning), but those are movies. The people aren't really dead; the tragedy is fictional. This is real death and real grief and real devastation. That's not why I watch TV.
You gonna watch it?
Elsewhere in the TV world, one of the few other shows I watch regularly is "Whale Wars". And this season it's become a farce. I find their intentions noble, and respect immensely what they're doing. But they're such incompetent boobs. And they'll risk their lives and the lives of others with extremely reckless acts and measures, for what, to throw eggs and stink bombs at the whaling ships? I mean, if you're so passionate about the cause, and willing to put your life on the line for it, why not walk the walk instead of talking the talk. You want to end the whaling season? Buy black market RPGs and sink the fucking factory vessel. Throw hand grenades instead of rotten fruit. Depth charges, torpedoes, kamikaze pilots, something. Anything.
I'm not condoning the killing of innocent(?) people (are the whalers really "innocent" people?), I'm just saying, if something means so much to you that you'll completely disregard your own safety and the safety of others, turning off your pesky self preservation instinct, then nut up and do what it takes to get the job done. Sure, you will likely end up in a Japanese prison or maybe even get your head lopped off with a samurai sword, but these people all boast on TV they're willing to risk their lives for the whales. So do so competently and effectively.
Besides, surely there's a non-extradition country they can flee to and avoid prosecution, right?
The friggin' genius who decided to put peanut butter inside of pretzels. King Kong and M&M's ain't got nothing on him. Seriously, it's like... having a broad play with your cock while she licks your asshole. It's the Rusty Trombone of dining. Somehow the crunch and saltiness of the pretzels combined with the hidden treasure of sweet addicting peanut butter in the middle... it's like eating a $100 bill and finding a $500 bill inside of it.
Or having a gal play with your cock while...
Or having one gal play with your cock while another gal...
Or having one gal play with your cock and another gal play with the first gal while yet another gal...
Just buy these fucking peanut butter-stuffed pretzels, trust me on this one. It's as close to Hugh Hefner or a porno actor as us everyday fellas will get. And just plain fucking awesome.
I can't help but find it curious that a major supermarket chain (rhymes with Sublix) felt the need to close their doors down here on Easter, in honor of a superstition about a bunny rabbit being crucified and coming back to life in the form of a Cadbury Egg, yet was wide open on July 4th, the fucking anniversary of this fucking country's fucking independence. Sure, I'm a relentless prick, and certainly no flag waving American, but I'm not fucking illogical or irrational, or carrying a bible between my tightened ass cheeks, but seriously?
I'm all for bearing torches and standing for what you believe in, but the fucking Tooth Fairy has priority over the country that you started in and do your business in, and the fight for the independence to fucking do so? How am I the only one that has a problem with this?
This isn't over, trust me. Not by a fucking long shot. Look for me on the news being removed from their corporate offices dressed like Paul fucking Revere with a fucking flamethrower. Just piss all over this country and everything it stands for and all the people who died or were maimed fighting for it, then close your doors for a fucking fairy tale.
This is only fucking beginning.
Did anyone else get all misty watching this week's episode of "Deadliest Catch", or was it just me because of the losing a father thing? Shit, the last time I cried while watching TV was during Steve Irwin's memorial.
Can anyone explain to me why they sing "God Bless America" during the seventh-inning stretch of baseball games? September 11th was a long, long time ago, and they do the national anthem before the game, is this really necessary? I know this is JesusChrististan, where the whole country comes to a screeching fucking halt on Easter, but what was wrong with "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"?
How much longer does summer last? Walking outside in South Florida is like when you open the oven door to check on what you're cooking, being smacked in the face with heat. Fuck hibernating during winter, I'd like to pull the shades and go to sleep until fall.
Seriously, what's up with chicks and short and homely fellas? Any ladies care to explain this trend?