When I was a little kid I had to go stay with my father every other weekend and sometimes Tuesdays. The typical schedule of a kid from divorced parents. I hated it, the way you hate a job.  Nothing you can do about it though, you just have to do it, even if the paycheck isn’t that great.  Like any divorce parent my dad was on the hunt for a new wife and met one at a church mixer or something very Christian and careful. He dated her briefly and he got remarried as soon as she would let him. My job just got worse. 

 The new boss smelled weird, spit flew out when she talked and her voce reminded me of the key master from Ghost Busters, she wasn’t very much fun.  Along with my new boss on every other weekend and sometimes Tuesdays came her daughter. She was quite, nice and a few years older than me. Her name was Jackie and I didn’t hate her.

Fall came and went, winter was long and painful and every other weekend and sometimes Tuesdays I would power through my job of being a son and following my step monsters rules, as she lead with an iron fist. My new sister would disappear with her friends to the mall leaving me alone with the powers that be counting down the hours until my job of good sob was over.  I learned at a young age I could never have a boss and corporate life sucked.  Then summer came.

My father had been instructed that a pool would be needed in the back yard in order to have a lifestyle that was acceptable. Our new leader sometimes had decent ideas.  All winter and spring long my father plugged away to make sure the pool would be ready for his boss.  Low and behold when the summer sun started to leave us glistening he finished his work and the pool was done.  My job just got a little more interesting.

When my work weekend came up and I got to my fathers house. I cautiously avoided the step beast, slide out the side door to go look for some buried transformers I had hidden in the wood pile, but then I heard a noise, a squeal of delight, splashing. What could it be? The man that was hidden deep down inside of me new it was something good. It was chicks. I was not sure why I knew that was good it was just instinct like a bear killing a fish because he knows that what he was supposed to do. I knew these squeals and splashing were something good.

I climbed the stairs to the pool and to my joy there they were. Glistening with beads of water, blue little tops, eyes sparkling with the sun, skin brown and smooth.  It was my first time seeing live chicks in bikini’s and I was sold. My transformer hit the ground and the dirt fell off it in the impact. Even Optimous Prime was enjoying this view. 

“Come help me out JYAG!” my dad motioned to me from across the pool. He was tying up one side of a net.  “Oh, hi JYAG” said one of the gilssining pool chicks, even her teeth sparkled.  I waved half stunned, feeling special and excited all at the same time.  I strolled over to help my dad as he stretched the net to the other side of the pool revealing a super exciting volleyball net for the girls to play with.  Dad’s house just got a lot more fun.

I don’t think I left the pool that entire weekend. I could barley talk I could barley walk and I didn’t care. I liked what I was seeing and became a huge fan of pool volleyball. I even offered to ref! Sometimes they let me. It was heaven.  When volleyball was over the girls layed out in their tiny bikinis baking in the sun showing of their goods to the sky. I stared down at them up from the top deck in awe like I was a god and these were my creations.  I was hypnotized, I was hooked.  Chicks in bikinis were my new favorite thing and I wanted more.

Summer continued and I started to put in over time at my dads. I even brought my friends to help.  What better way to spend your summer than hanging out with your friends staring at chicks in swimsuits playing volleyball and laying in the sun?  So what if one of them was my stepsister.  I couldn’t help myself. They bouncing bikinis were like crack and I needed a fix. I even started watching Baywatch in my room alone

Summer ended, the pool was put to rest and the girls went back to the mall on the weekends and my every other work weekend and sometimes Tuesdays went back to sucking ass. But that summer taught me some valuable lessons that I follow to this day. Never work for a corporate America.  Chicks in swimsuits rule so live someplace where there is summer all year and if you see a pool volley ball game on, always offer to be the ref they might just let you.

I live in a world of bars, booze, drugs and swine. (I really love bacon) Having been with out a girlfriend for the past several months I seem to gravitate towards late night debauchery, emotionless hook ups and late night cab rides that provide good stories, but leave an empty heart. Don’t get me wrong I have met some amazing women as well over the past few weeks; unfortunatly they always seem to live across the world and the reality of hanging out with them just is not in the cards right now. I do hope that pipe dream becomes a reality one day. You never know.

To fulfill the my heart on my sleeve needs, I have developed a crush, a yearning if you will for a kindred spirit with a women so amazing, so endearing, so incredibly perfect it’s impossible for me to find a flaw in her. And I get to see her 2 times a day. She never fails to leave me feeling good, feeling satisfied and she always starts every conversation with a smile. When she comes in the room every man stares at her with awe, with zeal, with passion. Who could this perfect woman be you ask? None other than Giada from The food Network or course.

Her cute little hands, amazing cleavage and giant bobble head that jiggles around in unison with her boobs have hypnotized me into comfort, utter admiration and love for the most perfect women I have ever known (or not known as the case maybe.) The way she mixes up her dishes, mashes her potatoes with glee, turns me in to mush and I stare at her with pleasure knowing that there are good women out there. At the very least she is out there and that gives me hope, it gives humanity hope.

Isn’t it amazing the standards you have for a partner, a girlfriend or boyfriend what ever and the standards you have to get laid never seem to be on the same plane? I wish I could say mine are one and the same. But I get drunk and turn in to a horny scumbag and all the standards go out the window. If I held every girl I know up to the Giada standard I would not ever get any, but maybe I would elevate my chances of meeting somebody with in the Giada ballpark. Unfortunately late night scotch tends to win over thoughts of the heart.

Truth be told I am not the only one in love. Everyday a group of guys from all classes and ages meet for lunch at this cool bar on the Warf. We drink wine, eat fattening food and tune in to The Food Network for our mutual crush. Conversations come to an end and everyone zeros in on her little body cruising around the kitchen. We get excited when she changes her hair, disappointed when she isn’t wearing a low cut shirt, we come up with ideas to make the show better such as “oven cam” so when she puts her delicious treats in oven we can get a good shot of her cleavage. Food and boobs… its really all men want.

I’m not sure where all this is going. I know this, at the end of the day I might not have a women close that I care for or see a future with right now, but I do have Giada and that means there are others like her out there and I thank god for that.

For your viewing pleasure here are some of my favorite pictures and video’s of the greatest women on the planet.

I am admittedly a little obsessive

In a bikini… who hoo!

Swimming in yellow water !

Sorry.. i just can’t help myself

Oh yea… She cooks to.. mmmm Bacon

I was discussing the wonderful parts of having a relationship with a buddy of mine today. We talked about how much others suck and how much we rule. What can I say I am perfect and I do everything right. Think I’m wrong? Well, you’re obviously wrong and lost your argument from the get go based on the fact that I am always right. Argument over. Glad we can agree. Unfortunately this stance doesn’t always go over so well and other measures have to be taken in order to let them know whose the boss.

I have come up with a new tactic in dealing with ex-girlfriends, buddy’s your in an argument with, or just someone who upsets you by cutting in front of you in line at the coffee shop. Society doesn’t allow for violence because we live in a pussifed nation and as much fun as it is to smash someone in the nose it’s just not acceptable and usually leads to a felony. Yelling and screaming gets you nowhere, especially if you are dealing with a woman. Conversation and discussion leads nowhere as well because nobody in this world listens, again especially when dealing with a woman.

I have come up with a solution to punctuate your stance and let everybody know who’s in charge and how things are going to be. Not only will you feel better after doing this, but you will also rest easy and be overwhelmed with satisfaction, knowing that at the end of the day you won. What could this be JYAG? What brilliant plan have you come up with oh kick ass logger of the universe? The answer my friends is simple. Pee on their feet.

Yup, pee on their foot. Right there in public, right on there in front of everyone right there in the middle of the problem. There is nothing like a little ‘ol piss on the foot to let people know how you feel about the situation and how you feel about them. No arguments, no discussions, maybe a misdemeanor. At the end of the day you get to look back with pride knowing that you were the guy that pissed on her/his foot. Next time I see my ex-girlfriend I hope she’s wearing her favorite Minola Blancs. It will make it even sweeter to drizzle on her toes, ☺

Have a good day

UPDATED:  My friends Scooter boy and Fnar Fnar, his girlfriend, have a couple of dogs that are always getting in to trouble.  They tell a favorite story of hanging out at the beach and letting the dogs run around, playing as dogs do.  Somehow an annoying little girl rubbed the animals the wrong way as little children can.  I’m a little fuzzy to the details of what the little monster did to piss off the docile lovely creature. Details details.  What ever it was, the girl pissed off the dog enough that he had to get her back.  The doggie waited patiently until nobody was looking and the little girl was all by herself building a nice sandcastle in a picturesque way at the edge of the ocean.  The good ‘ol dog snuck right up behind her, lifted his leg and let loose with the goods.  He pissed all down her back even shook it a little bit for good measure.  This is proof that mammals use peeing on another to extract revenge and show whose the boss. Take that motherfucker.  Unfortunately for the dog, Fnar Fnar took him to the vet the next day and had his balls cut off.  Shows what I know.

Those wacky Japs never seem to quit making odd videos. I guess weird crap like this is normal for them, which proves my point that Japan is my true homeland.  They have little brown haired subservient girls, cool gadgets, awesome food, killer fights and strange videos like this.  A move for JYAG is in order. 

There are so many things of this video to love.

~The odd chubby bad guy and his awesome disguise around his nose is fantastic. You know he’s getting mad Jap ass!

~The exercises that go along with learning enough English to comply with chubby nerdy robbers.  Stay in shape, be safe and learn important English words.  

~The odd zoom in to one of the exercising chicks shoulder.  (Are shoulders sexy in Japan?)

~The creepy old dude at the end of the video is the man behind the curtain and my guess is he is slapping the ass and kissing the shoulders of all these chicks

EDIT:

After watching this again i think there is something more to this. The sayings get stuck in your head and rive you insane.  I cannot stop saying ” I was robbed by two men. I was robbed by two men.”  Fuck, this will not leave my head.  Is this a ploy at taking control over us Americans through youtube?  Ahhh, these chicks are the Devil – - – you have been warned

If you’re a fan of “Rock of Love” You’ll love this crazy crap. Remember the drunky drunkered psycho chick Lacey from the show. She didn’t win. Bret has better taste than that. (He chose that hotty with the pink hair.) Well Lacey decided to capitalize on her “fame” and made this awesome kick ass music video!

My favorite part is when she walks out to the limo in a yellow dress walking like she was a huge pole up her ass and she is trying to keep it in at all costs. It must be seen to be believed. Evidently, her stepfather is the director and her mother or aunt or possibly both did the wardrobe. I wonder if this is all they keep in the family!

If you do not watch this show, then here is a music video of a dumb drunk chick who sucks balls and is an idiot.

Wow, the fact that people actually read this blog is awesome. The fact that you people are sick and send me some fucked shit, well, that rules even more.

Thank you Slint for sending this god-awful footage of lesbian comic extraordinaire, Margaret Cho shaking her junk in some sort of performance comic piece. I give credit where credit is due and for a 40-year-old lesbian Asian chick, she can really shake her boobies. Very impressive tit control. I am going to try and find out what the heck this is and why I enjoy it. Ill gets back to you soon.

In the mean time, enjoy naked dancing Margaret Cho.

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If you really want to feel good about yourself I suggest getting really wasted on scotch then drink a bottle of champagne and go to party where everybody is 10 years younger than you. After you hit on every girl in the room and fail miserably, go home and pass out naked with your window open you so your neighbors can blind themselves by looking at your lightening white ass.

After you wake up and suck down as much coffee as you can handle, you think, “Hmm life isn’t that bad, You’re not to bad of a person. Everything is Okay.” You pick your phone up to call a friend up for a good old-fashioned hangover breakfast. Then you notice all of the drunken text messages you sent out between 4-5 am. Oh shit.

Here is a list of my messages

To Girl 1 “come to my house and play”

Translation: “Come bang my sloppy drunk ass”

Response: none

To Girl 2: “Wanna hang out”

Translation “Come over and give me a blow job.”

Response none

To Girl 3 “ Come over now and get naked”

Translation “ come over and get naked and you can be the lucky chick who gets to bang my drunk smelly ass.”

Response: “Stop texting me.”

My game has gone out the window like Michael Jackson’s baby. Dangeling and waitin for someone to save it. My game also wonders why it’s not black, another thing in commen with MJ’s kid.

I don’t know what it is that enters my head when I stumble home that makes me think every chick I know is sitting at home waiting for my drunken text to come over and bang me. It seems to make sense when I’m doing it. I lot of things make sense with enough scotch

I think they need to have a service for the cell phones that you have to breath in to a phone breathalyzer before you are allowed to use it. If you hit a certain number you are declared to drunk to text. Much like ring tones you could the assign this service to those who you do not want to drunken text.

I guess ill have to leave my phone at home from now on.

My girlfriend gave me the boot a few months ago. She packed up her stuff and moved back to Connecticut. I was discussing this with my buddy last night over a couple beers and he imparted some advice to me “Never date girls from Connecticut.”

I didn’t know this. Is this common knowledge to everybody else but me? Christ, I’ve dated three chicks from that up collared, alligator emblemed state. I must be a bigger fool than I anticipated. You see, I’m from Minnesota and Connecticut is just a place where 80’s movies I was supposed to like all seemed to take place in. My buddy informed me that once the preppiness gets in their blood, there is nothing they can do but run back to it once they begin to want to settle down and own an Audi. It’s like a pastel colored collared shirt, white hat wearing, tennis playing on the weekend’s bomb goes off in their heads at around 25 and turns them in to corporate Stepford Wives. Scary shit!

So now, I don’t have a girlfriend from Connecticut it. It’s not to bad though. I do miss the warmness of a nice home, instead of the sweat filled sheets and dirty dishes that has taken over. On the other hand, it’s also nice to act like a complete chump, getting wasted on cheap booze, eating cheaper food and taking home even cheaper women every weekend and some Monday nights. (At least I try to take home cheap women every weekend and Monday nights.) I think I might buy a Playstation 3, just because I can. Take that Connecticut. Take that!

It’s too bad those preppy Connecticut looking chicks are so darn cute. I have a thing for those girls. I can’t seem to help it; they hypnotize me with there perfect hair. I love the expensive shoes on their little feet. They way they load cocaine up their nose with the gracefulness of an egret mystifies me. It’s like I want to live in those bad 80’s movies, but be the Rob Lowe guy. The problem is, I’m just not that cool. I try. In my head I am the 80’s badass guy with a cool earring and all the preppy girls flock to me to fix me. Alas, it’s all a pipe dream. They run the other way.

I am turning over a new leaf. From now on I am only dating girls from North Carolina. That seems like a fine state. Mountains, tobacco, ocean, barbeque, and moon shine. I dig all of those things. They don’t have alligators on their shirts there either. They probably eat them as a snack on a stick at street fairs. I think I could love me some southern women, get treated like a real man. Plus they wear those flowery dresses and from what I hear make a mean sweet tea. The only thing that worries me is that their daddies have lots of guns. I’m not good with armed daddies. Never have been

I’m sure somebody will tell me never date girls from North Carolina some day to. At least it will keep my mind of Connecticut for a while. If that fails there is always Eastern Europe. I do love me an angel in black with a short skirt and a long jacket.

Women seem to come in waves lately. When I get one, I get four and when one leaves, they all do. Then I usually end up making drunken phone calls trying to convince one of them to come over and bang me. It never really works. At this point I am the desperate dude looking for quick ass and they can smell it on me like a two-day-old fish sandwich.

I wonder if there is some secret women group out there where they link up with each other and let it be known that now is the time to leave. I think they conspire, all of them together. They probably have conversations like, “Lets drop that two pump chump all at once. It’ll be great. Then we can take bets on who he will drunk dial first.“
Stupid whores.

The funny thing is I couldn’t stand any of them when they were banging me. Now that they’re not, I want to bang them. Fuck nature is a bitch.

So last night, after a couple of unreturned drunk dials I drank a few beers to entertain myself and the next thing I know its 2:30 in the morning and I’m bouncing between Raging Bull and House of Wax on their respective HBO channels. (On side note: House of Wax didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. In fact I think Paris Hilton has a wonderful career being in B horror movies. She is really good at getting banged and killed. I thought it was nice they had her partnered up with a black dude. It shows her diversity.) A ll of this while trying to find something good on Youporn.com
And then I struck gold

The gold I found, or I should say, re-found was Heather Brooke. She is the owner and star of ideepthroat.com Wow can this chick take a dick in the mouth. I heart her. She gives me faith that there are good women out there. You can see the absolute joy on her face as she takes her husband large cock all the way down her throat. I mean all the way. Thus the name of her site I deep throat. She is the grand ninja of blowjobs. She makes all other blow jobs look like CNN. Interesting, but not quite as good as it should be. She is the BBC of blowjobs. Thought provoking, entertaining and kicking the shit out of all other news channels. That being said, I hate the fucking British. As a bonus, she even has a couple of nice anal scenes as well. Those are nice and all but I really love her bj’s

After I tossed my load I noticed that my dog was looking at me weird and I felt really dirty. Then I realized that I was wanking while Raging Bull was playing and I could understand where my dog was coming from.

Its low tide now, but I feel the waves coming in soon.

This is an article i was asked to do for a local magazine. Please feel free to insert fuck and kick ass every few sentences. Then it should sound more like me.

Tattoos are now available on Main Street. This makes me very happy. I love watching people get them. I’ve been sitting out side of the new tattoo shop, sucking down beers and watching it all go down. I enjoy seeing the pain and agony with never a wavering doubt that people getting tattoos have. They want this on their body for the rest of their life and they want it right now. I admire their conviction and commitment to their ideas and the fact they can live with a drawing on their body forever. I can barley commit to a cell phone company, much less something that would be on me for the rest of my life.

If I did get a tattoo It would be the little guy from Fantasy Island, Tattoo. You know that little midget guy in a suit that screamed when a plane was coming in. I’d put him right on my chest and walk around with my shirt off everyday. Everyone would look at me and say, ” Wow, check out that awesome Tattoo tattoo. That guy kicks ass.” I would officially have the coolest tattoo ever. I could make plane jokes all night long, wiggle my chest to make it look like he was dancing, I would pick up dumb sorority girls impressed with my Tattoo tattoo dancing skills. I would eventually be invited on talk shows that are aired in the afternoon on the WB or CW (or what ever they call it now) to show off my awesomness. I would rule. I guess that’s why I don’t get tattoos, every time I think of getting one, these are the thoughts in my head.

I remember for a while there it was super sheik to get Chinese or Japanese or Outer Mongolia symbols on your body. It was all so someone could ask “So, what does that mean?” The douche bag with the Asian character proudly displayed where everyone could see it would say, “ It means Strength of Soul.” Or something else retarded like, “Oh that’s the Tibetan symbol of peace.” This brilliance coming from a guy with a two-sided beer hat on his head, roided out screaming at a Cleveland Browns game every Sunday. Strength of Soul my ass.

I always wanted to get a Chinese tattoo that said Chicken Fried Rice, so when a hot young bleach blonde collegey looking girl came up and checked out my pipes and saw my super cool symbol tattoo and said, “What does that mean?” I could look her in the eye and whisper “Chicken Fried Rice” That would be hot. She would want my symboled cover arms, because I was deeper than deep, I was special #46. She would love me long time.

Isn’t it great that tattoos are easy ways to identify people. Dolphin tattoo equals lesbian. Tattoos on lower back of a chick equals tramp. Barbed wire on upper arm of dude equals douche bag . Maybe we should all get tattoos. That way the guessing game would be out the window and we would know exactly what we were getting right off the bat. No messing around.

Tattoos are wonderful and I cannot wait to see more of them now that we have two cool tattoos shops on Main Street. They are people’s artwork, symbols of their life, little windows in to their soul. Or just fun drawings to make college looking blonde chicks dig you. I bet if I got Tattoo tattoo on my chest with his own tattoo of Chinese symbols, that I would really kick ass. Everyone would know what a nut job I really am. I could scream at Cleveland Browns games with pride, shaking my chest while screaming “Da Plane Da Plane!” All the hot collegy looking chicks would think my Dancing Tattoo was deep and symbolic, but all he would really be, is chicken fried rice