An Interview with the Cruel Virgin - Question #4

Hi everybody,

Even though I've failed miserably in my mission to complete the interview within 10-days, as Sonny and Cher so capably sang, "The Beat Goes On" (Which, by the way, should be "Music-On-Hold" for Peep Shows). And so, humbly submitted for your desperate and insatiable thirst for momentary and fleeting enjoyment, I give you ... the fourth question.

***

4. What do you enjoy about blogging? What part drives you crazy?

Well it certainly isn't for the monetary gain. That's for damned sure. And I'm not even entirely confident it's for the approval of you, my motley group of readers. Because even Janet Jackson's horribly misshapen and hairy nipple wouldn't hold your attention for more than a halftime. So I suppose it's only fitting* (* not unlike her funky nipple ornament) that it's HER song, "What Have You Done For Me Lately?", which would serve nicely as YOUR collective Music-On-Hold.


However I was able to come up with a couple of things that I do enjoy about blogging. So here goes:

1) It's the one last refuge for this aspiring author and raconteur. Penthouse refuses to publish any more of my letters to their forum, and ditto for Popular Mechanics re: my endless narratives (with sketches) about building (and populating) my own secret basement torture vault. Even Readers Digest finds my ficticious "Humor in Uniform" and "Life in these United States" submissions "undigestible".

So here we are, on this last remaining island that even Papillon could grow accustomed to. And apparently as long as I manage to scam unwitting passersby into at least 5-hits a day, they'll keep me on their scuzzy drive.


Sure. It could have been radically different for me. Maybe I could have been "that guy". You know, the one who writes all of those instruction manuals in broken English. That's one heck of a gig. I wonder if the only time his boss yells at him, is when he inadvertantly writes instructions that are too coherent. Showing up drunk to work would actually better prepare one for that particular task.


Or perhaps it should be yours truly writing all those fortunes they place in those cookies. I sure as heck know I could do a better job of it. For instance, here is a fortune I just thought up: "People know you masturbate frequently, yet they cannot help but admire your bicep". See what I mean? Who wouldn't love to crack open a delicious treat, and have that nugget of insight waiting for them inside? Here's another: "People are drawn to you, not unlike flies and rodents to our kitchen". And I've got a million of them, so you'd never get the same fortune twice.


Then I would branch out into greeting cards. Instead of the tepid, "Lordy, lordy ... (then you open the card and inside it says) LOOK who's 40! (with a little mirror strip below the "40"), MY creations would be different. For example, here's one I just "noodled": "Happy 50th Birthday, Honey!" (then you open the card and inside it says) "At first is WAS the money. But my love for you is now SO deep, I no longer plot to kill you in your sleep!"

Okay, so my greeting cards need a little work. Maybe I'll need a creative partner (along with an illustrator), just like Lennon needed McCartney (Technically, I think McCartney needed Lennon, but I digress).


In the meantime, blogging represents the realization of a dream that is not all wet. And without our dreams, all we have left is reality.

2) Meeting "interesting" people, well, like YOU for instance. Let's face it, where else - other than in those free weekly metro-area "alternative lifestyle" newspapers - can we find that there are others just like us? Need proof? Go ahead and Google the most bizarre and digusting keywords, and chances are one of our blogs will be near the top of the FIRST results page (Lamby's blog, usually).


This is why I periodically pay homage to The Police's "Message in a Bottle" when seeking an appropriate metaphor to describe how - although still creepy and eccentric time-bombs - we are not ALONE. And so we scoop up those "hundred million" bottles washed upon our shores, place them into out mental shopping carts with the loose and wobbly casters, and trudge back through the sand to our spider-infested Tiki huts.


And it is there, after a brief repast and nap, that we use Piggy's purloined spectacles to read through each and every note contained within those vessels. Even the poorly spelled offerings in crayon (sorry for singling you out, Scary). The next morning, we are back on the beach with our shopping cart, as part of the ever-descending circle of life.

Every once in a while, we may find an unusual object amongst all of those non-returnables. Perhaps it is a volleyball with a bloody handprint on it (something from /t.) to keep us company in our increasingly unbalanced states of mind. Maybe it is something that initially appears to have little value, such as an ice skate (Pinks' blog), but then proves useful at cracking one's nut. You just never know.


We also quickly realize that warmth is an essential requirement for those cold evenings where the incessant pounding of the surf is the only companion at hand. Lacking fire, we take solace from the only source of heat that is readily available in sufficient quantity: the compost pile fermenting with new posts from other bloggers. Though not aesthetically pleasing, the acrid smell does become an acquired taste. And the steady emission of thermal comfort is a blessing on many a frigid* (* Sorry, I couldn't think of any of my female readers who might fall into this category, which is why I MUST make love to each of you, either single-file or in a casual, group setting) night.


To answer the second part, "What drives me crazy?", that's easy. That I cannot write FULL-TIME is what drives me crazy. Usually, I have to leave a lot of additional ideas out of my posts, take shortcuts, and make other concessions to time. Along with almost every other blogger out there (and boy, some of you are REALLY "out there") I would love to write for a living, if I could make a decent living from it. I would look forward to collaborating on a project to start with, and could use a good illustrator and industry veteran. Who couldn't? Meanwhile, I won't quit my day job.

Well there you have it. Sorry it took so long. Stay harmless, lucid, and maintain that grasp on reality (as best you can)!


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An Interview with the Cruel Virgin - Question #3

Hi everybody,

I'm behind schedule, so here I am early on a Sunday striving to catch up. And so, on to the third question in the series.

***

3. What commercial can you remember that you really thought was kick ass? Why? Has advertising improved with time or gotten worse?

I struggled a bit with this one. I wanted to provide as honest an answer as possible. Honesty may be the best policy, but it's also a tremendous challenge for yours truly.

For the most part, commercials have always been mediocre. There are exceptions, but usually the better ones are foreign (and typically from Europe). Here are several examples (that I actually have stored in my laptop and can email to anyone who is interested ... I'm sure they're also on YouTube).


Commercial #1: A man in his early 30's is in a supermarket with his son (who looks to be about 3 or 4-years old). The boy keeps attempting to put a bag of candy in the cart. The man keeps saying no and putting it back. "But I want it!", the boy shouts, and shakes the cart. Finally the boy throws a massive tantrum, taking items off of various shelves, and violently throwing them to the floor. Finally the brat is on his back on the floor in the middle of the aisle, screaming. Everyone is looking in the poor guy's direction. Finally the simple tag line displays on the screen: "Use condoms".


Commercial #2: In a commercial for Danier Leather, a very attractive woman poured into a one piece knit dress and leather jacket walks into an upscale hotel lounge and sits alone at a table. A man at an adjacent table, who cannot takes his eyes off of her, boldly strides over and places his room key (Room 808) on the table in front of her, and walks out. She nonchalantly glances at the key, does a thoughtful double-take, and then gets up. The lady saunters over to the bar and places the key in front of another man sitting on one of the stools, gives him a sexy over the shoulder glance, and leaves the bar. The last scene shows the two men riding up in the same elevator, with the first man finally looking down at the key in the other dude's hand as the elevator doors close. As the commerical fades to black, the tag line, "What does leather do for you? Danier Leather: Feel the difference." is displayed.


Commercial #3: A little boy, who looks about 5, is shown in a series of scenes, as follows: 1) eating a giant ice cream dish; 2) buying a giant snake; 3) getting a tattoo; 4) bringing a chain saw to show 'n' tell and cutting the teacher's chair in half; 5) pulled over by a motorcycle cop while driving an exotic convertible; and 6) getting in a plane to go skydiving. In each scene the boy emphatically says (subtitled), "My mom said I could!" The last scene shows the boy running down the hallway to his mom's closed bedroom door. "Mom, can I put the cat in the washing machine?" From the other side, the boy hears, "Yes! Yes! Yes!". He pumps his fists in the air, and exclaims, "Yes!", then runs off to find the cat. The commercial ends with the tag line, "Hansaplast Condoms. Pure Pleasure."



***

To answer Enemy's other question, I do think there's hope, as domestic commercials ARE getting wittier. In particular, I am one of the many lemmings who enjoy the Geico "Cavemen" spots. I have to stop what I'm doing - even if it's pleasuring myself - to watch them. I was hooked from the first one, where the announcer takes two of them to dinner, profusing apologizing because he didn't know they were still around.


Of course, anyone who goes to the occasional outdoor rock concert could tell you that they've always been around, but I digress.

Nonetheless, the "Cavemen" are a brilliant ad campaign.

Sometimes though, rather than using an entire new concept, such as the Cavemen, a existing spot could be humorous and effective with just a bit of fine-tuning.


For instance, what if the Life Alert medical products people used Joni Mitchell to help hawk their emegency alert pendent? They could use the existing commercial where the elderly lady takes a tumble down the stairs. Only in MY version, it's depicted in slow motion, with Joni singing, "Help me, I think I'm falling, and I can't get up ...".


See what I mean? Better, right?

Or how about if they used that old tune, "Tighten Up", NOT for Titan Auto Insurance, but for tampons?

Also, I've yet to see a single commercial that acknowledges homosexual men as major consumers of leather goods. So why not license Smokey Robinson's "Cruising", for use with a series of gritty black and white "cinema verite" street and nightclub sequences? "I love it when we go cruising together".

Note the Little Lamb booth in the background of this photo. Coincidence?

Has anyone given serious thought to using Elton John's "Rocket Man" for Trojan Condoms? And how about the spots that don't make any sense? For instance, I'm reasonably certain bears don't use toilet paper, or concern themselves with fabric softener. What WOULD be funny is if the first bear wiped his ass with the second.


I'm going to kick myself for writing this, but what are YOUR thoughts on the matter?

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An Interview with the Cruel Virgin - Question #2

Hi everybody,

Here is the next question in my 5-post interview with the Cruel Virgin (a.k.a. - Enemy of the Republic). (Holy crap! I can't believe I actually managed 2-posts within 2+ days. This series will be the death of me yet.)

***

2. What is the most endearing feature about women? What is the most annoying?

Their most endearing feature is that every woman is a self-contained amusement park. And while, like their human counterparts, every female is unique* in some way (* not entirely unlike snow flakes, and equally capable of forming into ice ... but alas, that is a concept for another post), I do believe they all have this trait in common.



Sure, with some gals, the majority of the rides have been in a state of disrepair for quite some time. Maybe some of them never quite gave the thrill that the designer intended. But there they sit nonetheless, safely contained within those fading yellow safety lines painted onto the blacktop.

But before I get to some of the rides, let's cover a few of the other areas within the park.

We of course start out with the ticket office at the entrance. With most women, the steep price of emission, er, admission is a series of conversations that express and reinforce the concept of a more than passing interest in the female. Often a coupon is provided in the form of a meal over which some witty* (* optional) banter is exchanged. Upon admission, the male's hand is stamped in difficult to remove ink. Sometimes the ink is actually ultraviolent, er, ultraviolet in composition, and the male naively forgets that it is even there. But other amusement parks have the same UV light apparati, so employees of one know that you've been frequenting the competition.

Once inside the park, you will typically spot the administrative offices. Over there to your immediate left is the Nurses' station, which - though often taken for granted - will prove handy for the occasional boo-boo, associated swelling, and foreplay.

Next is the Security Office / Lost and Found. Chances are you will wind up there at some point; if you violate some rule (of which you were probably unaware) while on one of the rides, for instance. Or else you may become disoriented and lost, and may need to be re-educated on the layout.

Finally we have we have the combination Season Pass / Film Hut. Season Passes are available, but bear in mind that they ARE non-refundable and subject to cancellation if the usage policy is not closely adhered to. And while film and disposable cameras are available for purchase, both still and motion pictures can only be taken within the park subject to discretion of the management. This is primarily for marketing reasons, as way too many amateur photographs tend to wind up on the Internet. And the resulting often very unflattering images have been known to discourage visits from new patrons.



As we make our way into the park, we start to encounter various booths hawking cheesy souveniers. But as we are intoxicated with the promise of new experiences further inside, every "tchotchkie" has the potential for fleeting amusement. But remember: "caveat emptor". Today's cute "tchotchkie" is tomorrow's tasteless impulse purchase. So think twice before you buy that "invisible dog on a leash", or a hat that makes you look like a bigger* dork (* if even possible).

A few steps away are the cotton candy and junk food booths. These kiosks of decadence are the "perfume" that brings the sense of taste (or lack thereof) into the experience. Overindulge, and you will deal with the consequences the next morning.

We are almost at the rides, but have to walk past some of the booths that are also vying for your attention. Look to your right, and you'll see the one with all of the Pam-sprayed plates that you can vainly try landing quarters on for a prize. But in a twist on this perennial favorite, if you fail, you have to wash each plate and put it back in the cupboard. So you may want to avoid this attraction.

The next booth features a new spin on the classic "guess your weight" dealie. In this game, you have to guess the woman's weight. In order to win, you have to accurately predict - within 3-pounds - NOT WHAT YOU THINK SHE ACTUALLY WEIGHS - but rather, what the woman "envisions" as her ideal number. Easy, you say? All you have to do is guess extremely low? Not so fast, Amazing Carnac. Guess too low (more than 3-pounds negative), and she will KNOW you are a lying sack of shit. And that you think she's fat. This will certainly result in a visit to the Security Office that was mentioned earlier in the tour, and a possible suspension of your Season Pass.

Another ubiquitous park feature is the "You Know What You Did" booth. You only get three guesses, and there are no prizes even if you get it right on the first try (which, since the game is rigged, is impossible). So move on to the rides as soon as the booth employee becomes distracted.

Finally, we have arrived at the rides. All of the usual park staples are here: the vomit-inducing Jilt-O-Whirl, the Relationship Roller Coaster, and - a personal favorite - the Bumpin' Ugly Cars. And if you're into that sort of thing, there's a ride or two that involves swinging.

I recommend steering clear of rides that go in slow, tedious circles, such as the "Marry-Go-Round". Also avoid the Haunted House of Female Psychosis and the Hall of Ex-Boyfriends* (because it has mirrors that distort "Mr. Happy", making him look even smaller and shrivelled than he actually is).

Finally, the Tunnel of Love is intriguing, and on occasion you may be fortunate enough to get the V.I.P. pass that bypasses the velvet rope and affords access through the non-public access portal in the rear. But, alas, it is usually in the "Tomorrowland" section of the park. And THAT, my dear Enemy, is the most annoying feature.

Well that's it for Question #2. I hope you enjoyed your visit, and kept your attention inside the post at all times.



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An Interview with the Cruel Virgin - Question #1

Hi everybody,

At last, the "good news" is I'm FINALLY getting to the interview questions that Enemy of the Republic (a.k.a. - Cruel Virgin) specially prepared for Yours Truly. The "bad news" is that I'm having SO MUCH fun with them, I've decided to turn it into a series of posts.

What's that? Heckling and derision? You say you've had it up to here with multi-post concepts that I never seem to finish? Well, even though I don't know where you got that idea (and plan to explain why, in - you guessed it - a series of future posts), I shall prove you wrong with the following challenge: I plan to post each new question (along with my response) every 2-days until all 5-questions have been answered.

That's an astounding 5-posts within the next 10-days, people! If that doesn't put the wind back in your shorts, nothing will.

So here goes, with Question #1


***

1. Given your fascination with our past presidents, which one would you like to see come back to life in order to save America? Why?

"More than four score and seven years ago, I opened my first can of whoop-ass. I have a new can to open."

Much as I tried to think of a "sexier" choice, there were none. So I'll go with my first impulse and only viable candidate: Abe Lincoln. I picture him in his "chic retro" black suit that was usually one size too small, wearing his trademark stove pipe hat* (* which he would place in his lap during plays, and fill with popcorn in his "folksy" spin on the classic "penis through the hole in the bottom of the popcorn bucket gag").



But MY present-day version of Honest Abe would pay homage to Sheriff Buford Pusser from the 70's classic, "Walking Tall". And just like Joe Don Baker's character, Abe would carry a Louisville Slugger that he would use to beat the crap out of bad guys. He would drive a black 1973 Lincoln* (* of course) Continental, and place a penny over each swollen eyelid of his whoop-ass recipients as his calling card.



A few vignettes in particular would set the tone for Abe's reemergence as a modern-day superhero.

In the first one, a cell of Al Qaeda numbnuts manage to slip through airport security* (* since the current Administration is responsible for hiring and training those folks) once again. Confident their plan is on target, they stroll toward their gate.

But whoa! Who is that angry looking mo-fo with the bat long-striding toward them from the opposite direction? Why, its none other than Honest Abe! And it looks like he wants to play back-to-back double-headers. All signs indicate the terrorists are the ones who have been thrown the curve.



In a sardonic reenactment of The Babe's "Called Shot", Abe points to each location where each head will land. Look out! Even folks in the cheap seats of Concourse-A are destined to catch a bloody souvenier.



Abe takes care of business, but doesn't get on the plane. For he knows his job isn't finished, and has been advised that the flight will have visual entertainment he would have to sit through (and he won't fall for that ploy again; not after that Ford's Theatre headache).

"Thus ever to tyrants who bastardize the classic popcorn bucket in the lap gag!"

In another scenario, Abe decides that stock market manipulators have to be taught a valuable, if not life-threatening, lesson. So he decides to pay Wall Street a little "visit".



As he descends on the trading floor, he strikes lethal blows on anyone "selling short", and at one point actually shoves the bat up the "margin" of the first Rolex-wearing S.O.B. that he sees. He then extricates that bat from it's "weighted donut" and wipes off the blood and excrement on the human popsickle's Brooks Brothers suit.

Normally a hornet's nest of activity, the room becomes eerily quiet. Abe speaks up, with piercing eyes reinforcing his point. "If I catch ANY of you f*ckers attempting to move any share of stock that hasn't been held by the owner for at least two years, I'll be back to liquidate YOUR assets, assh*les."

Abe then heads for his Stealth bomber. He has to take a certain insolent little DICKtator (who needs a second "L" added to his last name) in North Korea to the woodshed.



I hope you found this as "emancipating" as I have. I am set free from Question #1. It now belongs to the ages. Four more and ten days to go.

"Daddy, tell me again how you opened up a can of whoop-ass. Oh, and can you take me to go see "Cats"?"

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The Bad Samaritan

Hi everybody,

With apologies to the Cruel Virgin (a.k.a. "Enemy of the Republic"), I still don't have the time to do a PROPER job of addressing her interview questions.

So instead I was hoping to "weasel by" a bit longer with a very short story. I heard this one on "The Bob and Tom Show" this morning on the radio. They have THE best radio comedy show that I personally have ever listened to, and they're syndicated (out of Indy, I believe; perhaps Pud may have heard of them), so they might be on in your area. And if they are, check 'em out.

Here goes. Hope you like.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The Bad Samaritan (my title, BTW)

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

It's 2AM when the couple awakens to a persistant knock on their front door.

The husband slowly gets up, meanders to the door, and answers the knock.

It's a man standing out there in a fierce downpour.

"Mister, could you give me a push?"

The husband is not in a generous mood.

"No, I can't. Sorry."

And he returns to his wife and bed.

"Honey, who was at the door?"

"It was a man needing a push."

"Now sweetie, don't you remember last month when OUR car broke down, and that kindly man helped US out? Now's the time to pay it forward. Go and give that man a push."

"Dang it. You're right."

So the husband gets dressed, puts on his galoshes and raincoat, and heads out the front door.

"Sir, are you still here? Do you still need a push?"

The husband hears the man reply, "Yes. I do.", but he can't see him through the blinding rain.

So the husband says, "Where are you?"

The man replies, "Over here. On the swing."

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Birds: A Give AND Take Proposition

Hi everybody,

Okay, so I've been slackin' much more than even by my own pathetic standards. But I know I haven't been (and won't be) getting any sympathy from you people. I get the message. In fact, I have a fittingly pathetic anecdote that reinforces it. Here goes.



A few years back, I was looking to sell a couple of exotic birds that proved unamusing within 2-days of original acquisition. Turns out exotic birds are like fruitcakes (which probably explains why it's ONLY fruitcakes who can enjoy their company for longer than the aformentioned 2-days). There's the original purchase, and then the inevitable never-ending quest for the next owner/victim, usually in the form of a "gift".



Anyhow, I posted an ad in the paper, with an "attractive" price for quick sale. Attractive being - of course - a misnomer, since anyone with common sense wouldn't be interested even if the price was FREE, and the bottom of the cage was littered with five dollar bills.



It was during this period of irrational belief in the value of exotic birds, and irrational optimism in the sanity of "bird buffs", that I foolishly and anxiously waited for my phone to ring with excited offers.



Okay. Let me cut to the chase. After all, this is only supposed to be an anecdote. I received a total of two calls. One was from a guy apparently just coming down from a Rubbing Alcohol binge (probably "sans-pants" and wondering if I'd throw in a roll of duct tape); and the next and final ringy-dingy was from a lady who - at first - sounded reasonably normal.



But then she made me realize that perhaps the "Birdman of Alcatraz" had a daughter who somehow up to this point managed to "fly the coop" and elude authorities. Again, since this is only an anecdote, I'll spare you the sordid details of our "convo", other then it wrapped up with the following exchange.



Lady Bird: "Why are you getting rid of them?"

World Weary Pug: "Because I don't have the time for them."

Lady Bird: "You have to MAKE the time."

World Weary Pug: "Huh?"



And so, the same irritating message that made me want to give that nutjob a "bird of a different feather", somehow reaches across the years to the present. And though no less irritating, it does unfortunately ring true in the case of my posting. Indeed, I have to MAKE the time. Because after all, who knows? Lady Bird may be one of you people.



Stay tuned next time for my "Interview with the (Cruel) Virgin", as part of my "Salute to Virgins and the Fleeting Nature of Their Existence" series!

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A Special Post for Virginity

U.K. schoolgirl loses ‘virginity ring’ court battle
Lydia Playfoot says ring should be exempt from school ban on jewelry

LONDON - A teenager whose teachers had stopped her from wearing a “purity ring” at school to symbolize her commitment to virginity has lost a High Court fight against the ban. Lydia Playfoot, 16, says her silver ring is an expression of her faith and had argued in court that it should be exempt from school regulations banning the wearing of jewelry.

“I am very disappointed by the decision this morning by the High Court not to allow me to wear my purity ring to school as an expression of my Christian faith not to have sex outside marriage,” Playfoot said in a statement Monday. “I believe that the judge’s decision will mean that slowly, over time, people such as school governors, employers, political organizations and others will be allowed to stop Christians from publicly expressing and practicing their faith.”

Playfoot’s legal challenge was the latest in a series of disputes in British schools in recent years over the right of pupils to wear religious symbols or clothing, such as crucifixes and veils. Last year, the Law Lords rejected Shabina Begum’s appeal for permission to wear a Muslim gown at her school in Luton. That case echoed a debate in France over the banning of Muslim headscarves in state schools.

Playfoot’s parents are key members of the British arm of the American chastity campaign group the Silver Ring Thing, a religious group which urges abstinence among young people.

Those who sign up wear a ring on the third finger of the left hand. It is inscribed with “Thess. 4:3-4,” a reference to a Biblical passage from Thessalonians which reads: “God wants you to be holy, so you should keep clear of all sexual sin.” During the case, Playfoot’s lawyers argued that the ban by her school in Horsham, West Sussex, breached her human rights to “freedom of thought, conscience and religion” which are protected by the European Convention on Human Rights.

Lawyers for the school denied discrimination and said the purity ring breached its rules on wearing jewelry. They said allowances were made for Muslim and Sikh pupils only for items integral to their religious beliefs and that, for the same reason, crucifixes were also allowed. But it argued that the purity ring was not an integral part of the Christian faith.

Playfoot said in her statement she would consult her legal team to consider whether to appeal.

***



The Pug Responds

I would like to start off by thanking Puerileuwaite, my "brother from another mother", for allowing me the use of his blog in order to express my outrage. This time, my target is the aforementioned Reuters story from today's MSN. Now open your hymenals to page 69.

To begin, what kind of name is "Lydia Playfoot"? You're putting me on, right? Or, since you're from England, rather should I say, "What's all this, then?". Thanks but no thanks to that name. Not when "Linda Lovelace" is already a firmly entrenched part of the Pug's daily lexicon. And what is the origin of "Playfoot", anyway? I can't avoid the image of that erotic Jennifer-Beals'-footsie-teasing-the-man's-groin-under-the-table-scene from "Flashdance" as I read your surname, Lydia.

And let me be among the first (of many to follow; of that I am quite sure) to conversely impart my disappointment in your desire to wear a ring as a symbol of your aversion to sex. This is an affront to the multitudes who haved EARNED that right through the sanctimonious binds of marriage.

Hold on un momento: did you actually disparage the fine human beings who serve as school governors, employers and in political organizations? Just because lions were once turned on the Christians for savage amusement, it doesn't mean these folks' lion-sized appetites for illicit sex will result in a renewed open season on Christians. In fact, many of these same upstanding and perfectly erect citizens may be church members, elders, priests and pastors that you embrace. You never know.

Now I don't want you to think that the Pug is a hardass. Even though I don't hold your beliefs, I will defend to the death your right to argue them with me over a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in a secluded conversation spot. Of course I debate much better when my body's vital pathways are not constricted by items of clothing most likely produced by non-Christian heathens in hedonist countries. There. That's better.

Anyway, as I was saying, I would allow any kook to wear or do any damned thing they want. Take Shabina, for example. I'd go as far to say that I'd personally enjoy nuzzlin' that Muslim. And why? I like her name. Shabina. Why, she could be the object of desire in a vintage 50's doo-wop song. "Sha-bina! That scarf makes you too mean-a. Come and be my Queen-a. Let me introduce you to my w ... ". Anyhoo, you get the point.

Oh, and the following line from the article is priceless: "PlayFOOT’s parents are key MEMBERs of the British ARM of the American chasTITy campaign group the Silver Ring THING". Did you spot ALL of the various embedded body parts? (Tip for undiagnosed dyslexics: LIVER is not one of them. Go get help.)

Anyway, I think I made my point. Allow me to leave you with this (potentially legs) parting final thought: if - heaven forbid - you die while still a virgin, AND Al Qaeda turns out to be right, you will be aiding and a-bedding a terrorist, ringo.

***

(Disclaimer: this blog and it's owner do not necessarily agree with, or endorse, the Pug's rebuttal. But we will fight to the death his right to sway the occasional virgin. However, if any readers do agree with the Pug and want to show your support, purchase, wear and frequently use one of those novelty ring whistles on the middle finger of either hand.)

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Eight Weird Things

Hi everybody,

Though I've managed to avoid my share, this time I've been "tag-teamed" by no less than 3-bloggers (Gautami, Little Lamb, and Cathy) to do the same damned meme. And since it IS the easiest of my current post ideas to implement, here goes. I hope this brings the happiness at my expense that you so richly deserve.

***

Eight Weird Things About The Pug



1) I have an unhealthy obsession with the eSurance Gal.

Sure, I KNOW she's a friggin' cartoon, for Chrissakes. But she's a redhead, and not only a redhead, but a PINKish redhead (wink). And those green eyes are the clincher, because for me it's like a sexual Christmas with one big present under the tree. Actually in this warped holiday, her present IS my "tree". Have any of you paid serious attention to the way she darts her eyes as a form of exclamation, as she delivers each witty insurance-themed innuendo-strewn punchline? I can only imagine the joy in generating similar eye movement through pervertedly dissimilar activities.

I could see it now. She would say in her sexy voice, "That was SO good, Pug, SO dangerous, and perhaps even illegal in a couple of states. You are way better than Michael Hutchence of INXS at this, dead OR alive. Maybe eSurance should have a policy to cover ME when I'm with you".

Not only that, she seems like a constant go-getter. So I know I could enjoy an extended "post-claim-submittal" nap, secure in the knowledge that she would efficiently and athletically deal with any non-eSurance threats as they may arise.

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2) I have the almost uncontrollable urge to punch out any "guy" wearing suspenders and a bow tie.

This is why I am forced to avoid childrens' Pizzaria establishments. That, and the unrelated restraining order.

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3) In lumberyards, hardware and auto parts stores, I'm the one who always seems to get to the ONLY roving employee just seconds before you do.

Then I proceed to keep you waiting and ignored for the next 30-minutes or so, as I ask him to go into exhaustive detail about the fictional item that I am seeking. For instance, I don't just want to know in what bin I can find an outdoor faucet assembly. That would be too brisk and polite. No, I've done my homework, and have imagined a faucet that has yet to exist. I want to know the evolution of the faucet, debate the merits of existing product offerings, and riff about fixtures from other worlds.

Being the Bobby Kennedy of Hardware, I see employee and fellow shopper time-wasters as they never were, and ask "Why not?".

And while I'm at it, I want to enlist his immediate participation in the plumbing design for my dream home. Next, I will ask him where's he's from, in the hope that I am from the same area, and can tack on another 10-minutes discussing shared local experiences. Perhaps this is not so weird after all, and perhaps you have encountered a similar slightly-eccentric consumer in one of your own neighborhood mercantiles.

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4) Jeez, I'm only up to four? Okay, here's another one. I get bored easily.

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5) Surprisingly enough, I actually believe there is WAY too much sexuality and crude language on television.

This is weird coming from me, I know. But it's true, with one glaring exception: I think Women's Figure Skating should be performed nude, except for the skimpy dress bottom. I know this may seem hypocritical, but I've always been fascinated by female body parts in cold environments. Wait, that reads back to me as "creepy". Of course, I mean "still alive" body parts still attached, and performing due to free-will, and not as a result of coertion on the Pug's part.

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6) I find myself frequently wondering how penguins wound up in Antarctica in the first place.

My theory is that they are the souls of people who screwed up royally in their previous lives. In fact, one of my proposed religions is based on this premise. I just need a few Hollywood celebrities to provide backing. I even have a documentary in the works that matches specific penguins to their past personas. One is gay, introspective and resembles Jeffrey Dahmer; another is sadistically charming a la Ted Bundy. He even walks more exaggerated, as if he has a bum leg. I have footage of him pushing other penguins into the water and holding them under. And fess up: "Ed Gein the Penguin" has a nice ring to it.

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7) I also am intrigued with the lady who plays "Mrs. Bob" in those Viagra commercials, and need to know if a perpetual "pocket rocket" available 24/7 would make her - or any woman - that happy in real life.

Let's face it, SO WHAT if she does look a lot like the mom from "That 70's Show"? Let us here and now admit what many employers already know: enthusiasm is usually the most desirable trait in a "temp".

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8) For the life of me, I cannot figure out why Poker is on ESPN.

Sure, I like playing cards, smoking cigars, telling jokes and getting shit-faced. In that precise ascending order. But Poker is no more a sport than masturbation, and is often less gratifying, as - so I've been told - my "Poker face" pales in comparison to the other face when I have a good hand.

Hell, I'll even tolerate NASCAR as a "sport", due to the skills and extreme endurance required in maintaining it's circular motion. Even televised bowling arguably has it's merits. But Poker? And not even Strip Poker with the eSurance Gal, but a table of losers with no other means of "contributing to society"? It needs a Royal Flush from the airwaves.

***

Well that's it for this installment of "Eight Weird Things". I can only hope it was offensive and disappointing enough to discourage any future tags in this direction. Ciao for now, mon amis!

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