Saving The Environment, One Night At A Time

Thanks to King Wally, I realized that I'm not doing my part to save the planet & save petroleum. In short, I'm letting the terrorists win (but I'm playing hard enough they think it's all them). So, here a few ways I've resolved to help save our precious natural resources:

- No more will I spurn the advances of vegans or fruitarians.
- To save petroleum wasted on latex, I'm back to the classic mix of pulling out or "Alka-Seltzer"
- To save water & energy on washing, I'll be encouraging my dates to wear as little (or, even better, no) underwear.
- I'll be cab-sharing every night after I leave a bar or club
- Next time in Amsterdam, only shows featuring local, organic or Fair Trade cucumbers and bananas.
- To avoid throwing away plastic, I'll stop telling women they didn't need enlargement surgery.
- My man waxes will only use organic wax
- To save electricity, I'll forego the softly lit pillow talk after sex for sleep
- 2 women + me = 2 showers fewer water

You Must Be Fucking Kidding

So, I'm chatting with a friend, and I make that a joke about Target's new ad campaign: "It features Michael Jackson and Paris Hilton". But it came out as: "It features ************** and Paris Hilton". However, the program followed the Priscilla Presley rule, since "Michael fucking Jackson" was uncensored. Only with Michael Jackson could adding the word "fucking" be considered less offensive.

And The Winner Is.. Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys!!!

First, in summer 2007 I had my heart broken... when my dreams of being a "leader" were dashed upon the lies of a [censored] [censored] [you better believe this is censored] bitch. But I stayed at work in spite of the two-faced, soulless she-devil (sorry, this isn't bitterjt.blogspot.com, let me take a deep breath & get back to the story... Okay). Then, this morning, my dream of a Summer of George (or Steve) were crushed today by the fucking French. I swear to fucking Christ, since the Sun King these goddamn Frogs have done nothing but fuck up. Forget Waterloo, forget Dien Bien Phu, forget Paris in pretty much every goddamn decade from 1787 to 1945, today was their biggest disappointment. All they had to do was (and this was completely in their wheelhouse) lose to the Germans -- the fucking Germans.

If you are French, you remember them from such ass kickings as: WWI, WWII, every Olympics before doping, every Tour de France before doping but after 1987, Wimbledon, etc. If there's one thing the French know, it's getting beaten like a rented mule by the Germans. Buuuuttttt NOOOOOOOO, Credit goddamn Mutuel had to drive a dumptruck full of money up to the front door of Citi's New York offices while Deutsche Bank could only be troubled to offer some cash, some stock, and a two-for-one coupon to CEOs-R-Us. Jesus, Deutsche Bank, why not just try to buy it on fucking layaway?

So, as of December 1 I work for Credit Mutuel and have a "promise" of 18 months with no reductions in force -- and a resurrection of The Conversion Project That Wouldn't Quite Die. No Summer of JT, a return to the nightmare project, Christ almighty, it's a goddamn rerun of 2007 minus the personal bullshit. Ugh. Reply, comment, who fucking cares? I have to work Monday.

For Once, I DIDN'T Have This Coming to Me

So, I'm in Cesky Budejovice on a Saturday night, minding my own business & watching the Euro 2008 game on TV. Toward the end of the game, some of the young guys (18ish? guessing the age of young GUYS isn't my specialty) at the table next to me join my table for a better view of the last-minute excitement of the game. One of them, Pavel, starts talking to me (he clearly wanted to practice his English). He's out drinking to celebrate the end of the soccer season with his team. I buy him a beer and then he invites me to join them for the evening. It's all good -- for now.


At the next bar (they talked of going to a club, but weaseled), their HOT (they were Czech) chicas joined and flirted with most of the team.


I was on my good behavior, so not only did I not chat them up, I even refrained from gawking or taking photos (my bad). I chatted with Pavel and his buds, shared rounds, and had a good time.


This is where it gets a bit odd. Normally, I'd get hammered, make an ass of myself and expect/hope for CW or Big Dave to bail me out. Not this time. I'd just about finished my (next-to-) last round when nature called. Afterward, being tipsy enough to use the air dryers (and not sober OR drunk enough to just wipe my hands on my shorts), I am drying my hands when someone walks behind me & pushes my face into the wall. Hard enough to hurt, but not to draw blood. Being a nice guy, I assume this is someone bumping into me. I turn around and see...


Apparently this nutsack wasn't as jolly as his teammates -- the tall douchebag was behind me and says, "let's go outside. I'm going to kick your ass." Thinking quickly, I reply, "OK!"

I know that if his chums are also into this, I'm fucked. So we leave the bathroom & he heads for the back beer garden where the team is & I turn left for the front door. As I exit, I decide it's time for an interval workout & start sprinting (in my sandals). After a few seconds I hear steps & shouts. NOw this could be a) he & his buddies letting me in on the joke OR b) he & his buddies letting me in on the ass beating. I decide discretion is the better part of valor & head for home. They give up & I arrive to this:

If you look closely at the jackass in the mirror, you can see the red mark on his chin from the wall. On the other hand, the beer in Cesky Budejovice is quite tasty. When I got back & saw the mark (and felt it), I realized that a) I was lucky to have all my teeth and b) I can piss people off when I'm on GOOD behavior. Damn straight.

In Case You Were Confused

This is to point out to those of you who've forgotten the differences between a "relationship" and "friends with benefits". I think this will be my standard response when people ask me if I'm dating anyone.

Taken from http://i30.tinypic.com/34j3rzm.jpg


Click on the image for a larger version...

A Little Teaser

It's funny. My single friends, who might very well maim to get to Prague, didn't ask me for photo proof of the veritable bonanza of bohemian beauties. My married friends? They're on me like the Dutch guy I met on a prostitute. So, here's a teaser for you.


These lovelies were trying to get people to sign up for something during the Euro 2008 final. I thought it would be rude not to sign up. And, fear not, I cock blocked some asshole while I did. WE'RE NUMBER NINE! WE'RE NUMBER NINE! WE'RE NUMBER NINE!