In the Name of the Rumba, the Mambo, & the Cha Cha Cha

---

I love to Salsa.

Not the dip your tortilla chip in salsa, I mean dancing Salsa. You can usually walk into my office and I have the Latin beats cranked up on my stereo as well.

In fact, I love all the Latin Dances:

Rumba

Cha Cha

Tango

Samba

Bolero

Merengue

but my favorite is still Salsa. There are others but these are the most popular and the only ones I can think of without having to look up the spelling. So I decided to try this one place out for group lessons that have beginners and intermediate for $5 once a week. Cool....two classes for $5. So I thought I'd give it a shot and try it out.

My first time I went was this past Tuesday.....they took my $5 and marked my hand with a permanent marker so they know I'd paid.

Dammit

That shit is going to take forever to wash off.

It was a little tiny room they have us in and everyone had to sign this book. I put my name down and go stand in the corner acting all James Bondish and stuff with my hands in my pockets.

More and more people started trickling in some as a married couple, some single.

There were heavy people, skinny people, old people, a few young people, people of all color, ugly people, good looking people....wait, okay - there really weren't that many good looking people, in fact I could probably count the good looking people on one hand...sadly reminding me how many ugly people there really are in the world.

There was me (cause I'm not going to say I'm ugly, I'll automatically put myself in the good looking category whether I am or not) and some dude in all black with his hair slicked back, I'll call him Rico Suave.

There was a cute blonde with blue eyes (hereinafter shall be referred to as Blue Eyes). Blue Eyes was there by herself and there was a good looking Asian couple. Everyone else would have been a good candidate for the show The Swan where they take ugly mother fuckers and try and turn them into a super model, usually failing as they still look like God farted in their faces while He was creating them, but these people would have been great candidates for the show.

The Instructor put on some music and told everyone to grab a partner and warm up. I look for Blue Eyes cause she was the best looking but Slick Rico Suave had already been slowly inching close to her so he could move in quickly.

Dammit.

Rico Suave has been here before and knows all the tricks. Now I'm stuck having to dance with someone I'm not to crazy to dance with and as the saying goes, "Life is to short to dance with someone ugly."

But the only other good looking woman in the place was the Married Asian chick. I'm pretty sure I could kick her husband's ass in a dark alley even if he does know some kung fu, and scanning the room looking at everyone I was really considering it when I turn around and standing in front of me was an older lady asking me to dance.

**Sigh**

"Of course!" I said happily as I flash my Clark Gable Smile.

In places like this, you don't turn down a dance. So we started to dance and she asked if I've been there before, I said no this was my first time, and then she complimented me on my dancing as she knew that I could dance a little. When you dance with someone, you can very easily pick up if they know how to dance or not, even if they are not very good, but at least know the steps. Everything was "Nice" with this older lady.

"Oh you dance very nice. You have a very nice smile. Oh that's nice.....that's nice. This is a very nice group. Oh isn't that nice....that's nice."

The Instructor yelled out....okay switch partners! I said thank you for the dance to the Nice lady and she replied, "Yes, thank you that was very nice."

I tried to quickly make my way over to Blue Eyes to ask her to dance with me, but alas, I was to late. Just as I was within ear shot of Blue Eyes some crotchety old, I have more moles on my bald head than squares on a Chinese Checker Board, man swooped in and asked her before I could. Asshole.

The B.O. Mambo

I turn around with yet another look of disgust on my face only to find another woman in front of me asking me to dance with her.

She was a butterhead.

Everything looked good but her head, and I thought, hey...she will probably be more fun to dance with than the Nice Lady as I'd be able to dance close and rub up against her.

A cheap thrill from a cheap girl.

I move in to dance with her and I yell in my head, "OH MY GOD!"

This chick has B.O. --- Body Odor.

Dammit!!!!

I hate that smell, and I sure as shit don't want that smell on me. So I'm dancing with her trying to keep as far away as possible. Which is hard for me, cause when I dance salsa, I like to dance close and dance it like a dirty street dance....only the dance with Ms. B.O. was dirty, but not the type of dirty that a typical guy would like.

The Instructor turns the music off and advises that we are done with our warmups.

"Thank God" I silently say to myself as I quickly move away from Ms. B.O.

Instructor - "Okay everyone, keep your partner, I'm going to teach you a really cool move."

Ms. B.O. and I make eye contact and she gives me her best smile while batting her eyes. As Fashion Sunshine (The Law Firm Clique) would say, I give her an F.S. .....fake smile. It was more of a grit my teeth and hold my breath type of smile.

Everyone gets into a huge circle. So we learn a new move and try it out and The Instructor yells out for the guys to switch move down one partner.

Yes! I'm about two people down from Blue Eyes.

I wasn't paying any attention to my new partner as I was just trying to perfect the new move so I could look like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing so by the time I got to Blue Eyes she would be so impressed that she would want to do the horizontal hokie pokie with me.

The tiny room is now becoming very hot. The heat was one thing, but there were all these funk ass smells in the room. Smells that I've only read about in Science Fiction books.

The Instructor yells out for the guys to switch partners again.

Now I'm right next to Blue Eyes and I flash her my best Clark Gable smile as I step in close to my new partner when all of a sudden the hairs in my nostrils retract into my sinus' from the foul stinch emanating off of the old lady I'm supposed to get close to. It was a mixture of Body Odor, a smell that you would imagine would be at the site of a decomposing body and a splash of Curry.

To top things off, the blue hair smelly broad was wearing a sleeveless blouse. I get into a dancing position but instead of keeping my right arm high up on her back like I was supposed, I was keeping it low and praying that no sweat would drip on my arm. I kept imagining one droplet of foochi sweat falling on my arm and burning a hole right through my skin and through my bone.

So we start practicing the move and I'm going really slow because I don't want this whore sweating anymore than she already is. The Instructor comes over to us and starts to reach for my arm. I know what is coming next and I'm praying to the almighty merciful God to help me out anyway possible at this very moment, but He failed me as The Instructor grabbed my arm and raised it to the proper location on my partner's back thus shoving my forearm basically into her armpit.

I wanted to cry.

I try to avert all my senses by looking away, but it was really pointless as I threw up in my mouth. I notice a new guy that was waiting for a dance partner standing next to the Instructor whom I now see as a complete asshole for shoving my arm into the smelly decomposing old skank's armpit.

The Instructor now tells us to switch partners and to grab any partner we want to practice the move. He reminds the guys to lead correctly while reminding the ladies to follow correctly.

I turn to Blue Eyes as I finally now have an opportunity to dance with her. Unfortunately, the FNG promptly swoops in and asks Blue Eyes to dance with her.

FNG = Fucking New Guy.

That's right, The Fucking New Guy.

FNG gets to dance with Blue Eyes. Clearly a violation for an FNG. For he hasn't put in any time, ANY TIME, in the foul smelling hot tiny room dancing with old decomposing skanks before getting the opportunity to dance with Blue Eyes.

I wanted to cry again.

It's probably better that I didn't dance with Blue Eyes anyways as I had decomposing curry B.O. smell on me.

I never got a chance to dance with Blue Eyes, but I did learn a new move so overall the night was nice...isn't that nice? Oh that's nice.

The Law Firm Click

 

---

Here are the main players I hang out with while at work...which will now be known as, THE LAW FIRM CLICK

TIMMY! - The tall Mexican in flip-flops. I'm also known as Guy Smiley as I'm always smiling and I have this huge Joker smile. My legs basically go to my neck and form a head. I'm all legs. I'm always taking off early from social events with The Click as I have places to go people to do, so I get a lot of shit from The Click for leaving early all the time. I can't help it if I'm popular.

Chad The Token White Guy - He's the only white guy in the group, so he is our Token. He's one of the funniest guys at the firm. He also makes more money than all of us combined. It must be nice to be looked upon favorable because of your skin color; or, maybe its because he has more education. Lets just blame the honky fucker for being white so minorities can continue being pissed off at white people just for the hell of it. Chad The Token White Guy is also the stud of the office. All the girls want him. He's a cross between Ben Afflect & Brad Pitt. He has tainted all the women for myself here at the firm because all the women love him. I hate him.

Julie McCoy - This Nicaraguan has become one of my good friends, and he's funny as hell. We call him Julie McCoy, the cruise director from the Love Boat, because he is the one always organizing and getting The Click together. 3 Beers and he likes everyone....6 Beers and everyone likes him. 10 Beers and he's ready to marry anyone within proposing too. Once he gets drunk, no matter what we are doing it automatically becomes the best time of his life.

Black Magnum - She only dates black guys. Which becomes important as now she can only buy MAGNUM condoms. Her huge boobs go along with the huge condoms she seeks, I think only a black guy could handle sleeping with her as a normal white guy would suffocate from her boobs. We usually end up at her house which is down the street from where we work. Petron tequila can always be found at her house. In meetings, she is always trying to be funnier than myself. I just am funny naturally while she tries very hard to compete with me, but there is no competition. She falls into the Hispanic category.

Fashion Sunshine - Her hair is always done and her make-up is perfect. She has big boobs for her size and for a Pacific Islander, trust me when I say, I'm not complaining....I'm just pointing out that she has big boobs for a tiny Pacific Islander. She is always worrying that someone is mad at her. I'm still trying to figure out how to use that for a sexual proposition. She is always happy and upbeat and has a great personality. She makes the Fab 5 look like they dress a midget circus clown on a bad hair day.


Leaking Tea Bags Continued....

So everyone is freaking out over the Tea. I text Julie McCoy what I did about the tea and not to blow my cover. He's cracking up and Chad The Token White Guy is still feeding into the frenzy by making comments like, "Wow, that's so disgusting......" and "I can't believe you drank that."

Julie McCoy calls me up on the phone and tells me the Office Manager has contacted the coffee machine maker and is telling them what happened. No one can figure out what has happened and they have no idea what is causing the tea to turn to jelly. They honestly believe it has something to do with the hot water maker which is attached to the coffee maker. So the Office Manager sets up a repairman to come out and take a look at the thing. Not like it ever made any good coffee anyways. Can someone say, "Tar Bucks" because the coffee was shit, but alas, I didn't want the firm paying for a repairman to come out and take a gander at the coffee machine when all I did was throw a little slush powder in the tea for a prank.

So I make the trip down there and advise the Office Manager what I did and he laughed. Then I laughed, then Julie McCoy starts laughing who was in ear distance and together, the Office Manager, Julie McCoy and myself all had a great laugh at the expense of the two suckers who I so easily manipulated into believing that something was wrong with their tea.

I finally confess to the two suckers and now I'm laughing at them right to their faces.

"You guys were like, 'Oh my God, what is that?' hahahaha.... and then you were all, 'That's so disgusting Oh. My. God.'...hahahahaha and then like, hahahahaha, you had tester cups...hahahahaha, it was sooooooo funny....hahahaha"

They weren't laughing like I was cause apparently being made out to look like a complete tool isn't all that well.... inspiring, but I continued to laugh at them directly to their faces anyways.

So this morning I roll in around whenever I did, and I plop my ass down in my black chair and about 17 seconds later I felt cold.

I was chilled.

I was soaked.

MY PANTS WERE SOAKED!!!!

Sucker #1 and Sucker #2 decided to turn the tables and get me back. First time someone has actually retaliated. I mean, they always say they're going to but it never happens. They got me good, and unlike most people, I can give and take....which makes me unique for pranksters and for Massachusetts citizens.

Give and take baby. Give and take.

They obviously don't know though who they are messing with...things might be getting interesting around here now, and I have something they don't...

The Law Firm Click

Mechanical Valtrex

 

---

**rooooowoooooo**

**rooooowoooooo**

**click**

**roowoo**

**click**

**click**

**click**

"DAMMIT!!!!" I yell as I hit the steering wheel of my mom's car.

"What the hell did she do to her car?" I think to myself.

It must be the battery.

Not like I would really know. I know nothing about cars. It comes from my Mexican Danny DeVito father who one time, actually put soap into a '57 Chevy. The car ended up bubbling over and he was never allowed to touch another car even though he thought he was putting in water.

Whats that old saying? You thought you farted but you actually pooped. Or something like that. Maybe that's not an old saying at all and that is something I was just brought up on believing it to be a foundational principle of life.

So being that I was brought up with super Nascar knowledge from my dad I pop the hood and get out of the car. I prop the hood open with the little thingy and stare at the wires, metals, springs and fans in what the majority of people refer to as an engine.

I'm standing there staring at the hunk of metal when I start thinking how cool it was that Pisser was having lewd thoughts of me naked while eating nachos in the bathtub. I chuckle to myself. She probably wasn't really eating nachos in the tub. I mean who does that? Eating Nachos in a tub....then I start thinking about the people that would really do that and Pisser would be someone who would do that. Yeah, Pisser would do that and you know that Scott Baio sulks in a tub eating nachos thinking about whether or not he should take the job offer in a Valtrex commercial. Sad to say that it would actually help his career.

I spend the next 4 minutes while I'm staring at the thing-a-ma-jig under the hood wondering if the Valtrex actors/actresses have groupies. I mean really, they're on TV doing a commercial for medicine that treats genital herpes. You have a good looking chick doing something totally kick ass and independent like rock climbing, makes you feel like you're living through a civil rights movement again when all of a sudden the music comes on....

"LIVVVVVVVVIN THE LIFE YOU WAAAANT."

Then a really deep voice comes through over the music. "Are you embarrassed of having contracting a venereal disease by sleeping with the biggest scumbag piece of shit and thus yourself becoming the biggest skank in your neighborhood? Then you may need Valtrex."

Then the camera cuts away from the chick climbing the mountain to the bottle while the guy describes what it does.

"Valtrex is the only once-a-day antiviral product, which has proven effective in suppressing future genital herpes outbreaks in adults with normal immune systems. You now can continue to be skank slut."

Then the camera cuts back to the hot chick who is just getting to the top of the mountain with the sun setting in the background. She looks at the camera like she is talking to you directly, "Valtrex has been wonderful, when I have an outbreak it only last two days now. I use to be afraid to do things, but now I'm living the life I want."

Then she turns to stare at the sunset like she's accomplished something in life by contracting a disease that there is no cure for. The music comes back on strong....

"LIVVVVVVVVIN THE LIFE YOU WAAAANT."

The the professional fast talker comes on....

NotSuitableForAllAdults.SideEffectsMayIncludeDeath.ForMoreInformationContactYourDoctor.

Oh yeah...I so want to see Scott Baio in a commercial like that. That would be so rad.

Back to the heap of pieces and parts people call an engine. I try to jump the damn car and nothing happened....

I then decide to hook up a battery charger to get it going. Oh yeah, I so got this under control. I hook up positive first, then negative. 3 hours later this puppy will start right up and I'll look like a macho guy that knows everything about cars.

I go inside to grab a coke...err, a beer since now I'm a macho guy and wait out the 3 hours.

3 Hours Later

I release the negative first, then the positive. Oh yeah. Easy stuff.

Nobody Rocks Like Me.

I hope in the car and


**rooooowoooooo**

**click**

**rooooowoooooo**

**click**

**rooooowoooooo**

**click**



HORSE SHIT!!!!!

So now I got to get on the phone with this mutual friend who races dirt bikes and on the side, has a mobile unit and does repairs. So I get on the horn with him and he starts asking me all this technical stuff. I mean, crap like

Make & Model

Engine Size

VIN Number

Then I'm like....whoa buddy, I ain't no mechanic. I don't know what you're talking about. The guy takes a deep breath and starts talking to me slower, like using the same fucking words only saying them slower is going to help me understand what the fuck an emissions size grid lock is. Or whatever.

I pop the hood and then he asks which way the engine is facing.

"The engine is facing the hood...." What a dipshit.

"No, if you're in front of the grill, is the engine facing your groin or to the wheels."

"Do you know what Valtrex is?"

"What?"

"You know, I don't know which way the engine is facing. The specs on the girder is facing the spark plugs in a 45 degree angle....I'm retarded. I don't know."

"Okay, it helps if I know, but not necessary."

"Okay good, cause I don't know."


I give him all the information he needs and from what I told him, he believes it has something to do electrical. And then starts saying words that I have know idea what they mean. Mechanical macho beer drinking lingo.

Again, I don't know. I just give the "I DO" answers I learned so masterfully when I was married, "Oh okay....Oh I see what you're saying......I agree."

I hate mechanics, I hate cars. I don't know...okay, I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!




Leaking Tea Bags


After reading Never Threaten To Eat Your Co-Workers by Uncle Bob, where he talked about this Slush Powder that caused all kinds of havoc in his office, I had to buy some. Which by the way, that Uncle Bob post is really funny. Go read if you haven't already.

So I've had this Slush Powder in my desk for awhile when yesterday I decide to take a walk through my office and use my Slush Powder. If you sprinkle some of this stuff in a liquid it automatically turns the water into like this jelly instantly. It's awesome!!! If you like pranks, you got to get some of this stuff.


So the same secretary that wanted my Nagel piece of shit art was out to grab a lunch along with the secretary that sits next to her.

I couldn't have set the stage up more perfectly as both secretaries had tea bags in their water. The tea was waiting patiently for them to return or waiting for a Tall Mexican in Flip-Flops to leave a little something something in it.

I sprinkle the magic powder, that looks like anthrax into the cups. I hide the evidence and then walk over to Chad the Token White Guy from the Law Firm Click (I'll explain later). I was like, "Dude, watch the fireworks when the girls get back. I left a present for them in their tea."

Just then the girls get back as they were just picking up lunch and returning to work through lunch...those silly overachievers.

I quickly change the subject with Chad the Token White Guy to baseball when we hear...

"Oh My God! What the hell happened to my tea?" Sucker #1 said.

She walks over to show the other secretary (Sucker #2) who has yet to notice her tea and was like, "That is so disgusting!"

Sucker #1 then comes over to myself and Chad the Token White Guy and shows us.

I was like, "Ewwwwww...what did you do???"

Sucker #1 said that she left and came back and it was like this!

Chad the Token White Guy took a glance and said that is so disgusting! He then proceeds to help the situation by saying that he saw on "Dateline" the other night that these teabags were leaking and causing all kinds of weird reactions to the water.

Sucker #2 pipes in at this time and was like, "My tea did it too!!!!, and I drank 1/2 of it before we left."

Chad the Token White Guy said, "Just think thats in your stomach right now."

Sucker #1 now is really freaking out.

The two suckers take their cups to show management. I was like, this is so awesome.

Now I'm sitting at my desk when the two suckers come back with two managers. I hear them talking and they are totally confused and mystified. They're not sure if it was the hot water or the tea bags, so they decide to make a science project out of the whole ordeal and make Testers.

They pour 1 cup full of hot water. 1 cup full of regular water. 1 cup full of hot water with a tea bag. And they place signs all over the machine and next to the "Tester" cups.

DO NOT REMOVE - TESTING

For the rest of the day, every time I pass the Tester cups I laughed.

It was great...

Now if I can only see Scott Baio in a Valtrex commercial I can die a fulfilled man.

Dear Timmy...

 

---

Brenda you are not old...cut the shit would ya? And I'm glad you love it here. heh

Pisser I'll pork your yok anytime. By the way, I saw a commercial for the Daytime Emmy awards and I thought of you. Sweet huh? I know, I'm sweet like that.

Jerky thank you so much for the info on Kalua!!! That's it!!! And I only have a large female audience because I've hypnotized most of them into thinking I'm a really sweet caring wonderfully unselfish man.

Diana - sorry about the link pictures. Weird, they work for everyone else, but I know it still must be my fault since I'm a guy. I was married, I know how it works.

Kat - Poi, Soy...it doesn't matter as I won't be trying it that's for sure.

Special K - Poi is made from pulverized taro, FYI that sounds well, gross. I think I'll pass on the Poi thank you very much.

Tiff & Brooke - yes, Curly Top loves to groove...she knew how to dance before she could walk. And I'll look up some links so you guys can maybe go to a Hawaiian Festival near you.

Houston thanks for the wet dreams you gave me when you described the coconut-less hula girls of the early 1800's. Hmm, was that to much info? lol

---

{Q}

DEAR TIMMY,

My co-worker's 20-year-old son recently committed suicide. His mother was a single parent and the young man had long-standing emotional problems.

We are a department of about 20, and all her co-workers felt heartsick for her. All of us contributed toward the funeral spray.

When the funeral arrangements were finalized, the information was e-mailed to only about half of us. The rest -- including me -- were not invited.

While it is true that a grieving mother is justified in doing whatever makes her comfortable, I feel my feelings were not considered at all. I am deeply hurt that my gesture of sympathy was unappreciated.

Signed,
SLIGHTED IN CLEVELAND


[ Whether you're searching for Mr. Toilet Seat Down or Ms. Swallow, or if you just need sound advice, relationship and general bullshit expert Timmy is here. ]


{A}

DEAR CUNT,

You have every right to be upset and feeling left out after a grieving mother who lost her only son in a horrific way did not invite you. You probably also signed the office card of sympathy, I mean really, who does she think she is? How could she not invite you? How could she only invite those that she felt closet to when she buried her child?

You should feel unappreciated, because at the funeral that you helped pay for, there will probably be dancing and all the dorritos you can eat and you will be missing out on that.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

It's blood sucking selfish vampires like yourself that help deteriorate our society as a whole by being a cancer to it.

I hope you choke on a chicken and die you worthless cunt.

~ TIMMY

Boobalicious Hula Girls

 

---

First let me point out that my drawing was inspired by none other than the fabulously talented Special K. If you haven’t gone to her site, you need to get your asses over there pronto!


Last weekend I went to a Hawaiian Festival. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love the ocean, beaches, islands and I'm always in flip-flops. I had Curly Top with me for the day, so I thought that Curly would really enjoy the dancing so off we went to the Hawaiian Festival!

We arrived and the atmosphere was amazing! A fun and up beat feeling was in the air as Island Music played. Everyone seemed happy and not many white people were around. That was sorta different, now they were the minorities....MUAHAHAHAHAHA

Island girls wearing short skirts and small tops where everywhere. It was like I stepped into Island Heaven. The guys there were typically "fluffy". That's the politically correct term. And in case you were wondering, there are 5 levels of fatness:

Big Bone
Heavy
Husky
Fluffy
and
DAAAAAAMN

DAAAAAAMN level is when you go to a restaurant and you can't fit in the booth and the little kid across the way says, "DAAAAAAMN". You definitely don't want to be in the level of "DAAAAAAMN", and if you are, then you are on the brink of death and should do something.

Speaking of fluffy people, I went and bought some Hawaiian Pork...I forget the actual name of it and I'm to lazy to look it up, but I'm sure someone out there knows and we'll enlighten us with their knowledge. The pork was soooooooooo good it melted in my mouth like a sweet flower. My mouth is watering from just thinking about it.

After our little meal I took Curly Top to go get our seats for the dance show. It was a great day, about 85 degrees (29c) and a group was playing on stage singing various Hawaiian songs.

After about 20 mintues of listening to the Hawaiian songs, I started getting sleepy from sitting in the sun but all of a sudden, the beats changed and the rhythm picked up! The dancers finally came out and first lets talk about the guy dancers. They were basically naked, and all the chicks were whistling. I tried to cover Curly Top's eyes but being almost two she wouldn't have any of that and promptly removed my hand so she can see the half naked dancers move faster than a monkey on crack.

These guys were amazing, yes, they were jumping around like a midget clown at a circus and I got a cramp in my leg from watching them, but they were on rhythm with the music.....truly amazing stuff.

Some other women dancers came on and it was fun watching them tell stories with the arms as they hula. I didn't know what they were saying, but it sure was cool. Curly Top got up on the steps and started moving her arms like a big wind mill and shaking her hips, mimicking the dancers. She has amazing Cuban motion and that my gentle readers, makes me proud. For she can look exactly like her mom, but she has daddy's Cuban motion!!!

Then a new set of beats came on very fast rhythm...

la ba boom boom la ba boom boom la ba boom boom

The Tahitian Dancers came out in grass skirts and coconut boobalicious tops. Crowds typically enjoy Tahitian dancing more as it seems impossible to see someone that can actually shake their hips and asses so fast. Not to mention that the Tahitian costumes are much more flamboyant, and let me tell you when I say, grass skirts and coconut boobalicious tops were all I needed to be happy.

la ba boom boom la ba boom boom la ba boom boom

I was drooling like Christopher Reeves watching these amazing women shake their hips faster than Michael J. Fox. I couldn't find a single ugly chick in the group either.

I bet auditions went something like this:

"You dance amazing, but you're uglier than the only drunk skank at a bar when the lights come on for closing...sorry, NEXT!"

Or something similar.

It was truly amazing. These women moved so fast....and it was just their hips and asses. Their hands were doing something, but basically they were just getting in my way of viewing the amazing hip action and the fantastic boobalicious coconuts.

Curly Top & I had a great time!!!

I came to the realization that I need to find a Tahitian Dancer and get her really drunk so I can offer to driver her home.

Iraqi In My Khaki

 

---

A conversation I had today as one of my alter egos, Trailer Trash Trisha. Nothing has been edited except the names. The conversation went exactly as below.

Chief: hey whats up
Trailer Trisha: hopefully not you
Chief: wow whats with that
Trailer Trisha: whats with what?
Chief: nm
Trailer Trisha: thats what I thought
Chief: yup ur cool
Trailer Trisha: so are you...how you spell "your" is very unique
Trailer Trisha: hey want to get naked and have a big dog pile?
Trailer Trisha: thats the "in" thing right now
Chief: sure
Trailer Trisha: cool
Trailer Trisha: okay you start
Chief: started
Trailer Trisha: well?
Trailer Trisha: what did you take off?
Chief: pants u gotta pic
Trailer Trisha: **slowly un-buttons her blouse hiding the gravey stain**
Trailer Trisha: can I put a leash on you?
Trailer Trisha: that is also a cool thing right now
Chief: sure
Trailer Trisha: **puts a leash on chief**
Chief: cool
Trailer Trisha: **hands her girlfriend a kodak disposable camera**
Trailer Trisha: here take our picture
Trailer Trisha: wait...
Trailer Trisha: let me put a hood on you
Chief: ok
Trailer Trisha: **puts a hood on chief**
Trailer Trisha: **pinches his butt**
Trailer Trisha: hehe
Chief: lol
Chief: whats next
Trailer Trisha: now I'll parade you around in your leash & hood
Chief: nice
Chief: what u look like
Trailer Trisha: picture on my profile
Trailer Trisha: can I call you Mr. Iraqi?
Trailer Trisha: thas so sexy to me
Chief: what
Trailer Trisha: i like saying iraqi in my khaki
Chief: i guess
Trailer Trisha: **pretends she's shooting at Mr. Iraqi's genitals**
Trailer Trisha: **shouts** IRAQI IN MY KHAKI
Chief: lol
Trailer Trisha: i got morning dew
Chief: mmm
Chief: can i try some
Trailer Trisha: okay
Chief: how do u wanna do this
Trailer Trisha: you lead, I'll follow my little crazy leash wearin lover
Chief: do u have dirty underwear
Trailer Trisha: like stains? yes
Chief: will u send me a nasty pic
Chief: i cant look on prof
Chief: what color stains
Trailer Trisha: use your imagination
Chief: ok u live in a trailer
Trailer Trisha: yes....easier to move
Chief: good
Chief: so u are leadin me around the house on a leash
Trailer Trisha: yes and you're wearing a hood with no pants
Chief: well i kisss your feet and u grab my hair >>>
Chief: ...
Trailer Trisha: how do i grab your hair if you have the hood on?
Chief: my ears
Trailer Trisha: okay
Chief: what do u do
Trailer Trisha: I yank on your leash and tell you to shout my name
Chief: TRISHA
Chief: TRISHA
Trailer Trisha: Mmmmmm
Chief: whats next im bout to burst
Chief: already
Trailer Trisha: lets have a naked dog pile
Chief: mmm
Trailer Trisha: wait, i'm hungry
Trailer Trisha: are we at your place or mine?
Chief: urs
Trailer Trisha: oh okay, let me get some mac N cheese
Trailer Trisha: want some?
Chief: sure
Chief: you gotta mic
Trailer Trisha: no
Trailer Trisha: **while stirring the mac N cheese she spills it**
Trailer Trisha: dammit
Trailer Trisha: that was my last package too
Trailer Trisha: how about some peanut butter & jelly?
Trailer Trisha: **yanks on leash**
Trailer Trisha: i said...how about some peanut butter & jelly?
Trailer Trisha: whats wrong? did your mom walk in on you?
Trailer Trisha: ???

This is when I believe Einstein put me on ignore.

The Art of Procrastination

 

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Some have it.

Some don't.

No one is born with it.

It's a crafted art that takes time to perfect.

It;s a flower that needs gardening.

A baby that needs to be fed.

An ass that needs to be wiped.

Yes, the ancient Art of Procrastination.


If you have newspapers dating to the last millennium, magazines from the Seventies stacked on your nightstand, and countless envelopes filled with family photos stuffed in a drawer, you may be carrying procrastination to an extreme.
--Marilyn Sokol, "Overcome procrastination - don't delay," The Record

The obvious danger is that in some situations [denial] can lead to procrastination in seeking help or to avoidance of action that might prevent harm.
--Shlomo Breznitz, "Hope and the Denial of Stress in the Nuclear Age," in The Medical Implications of Nuclear War

Procrastination is the thief of time.
--Edward Young, The Complaint: Night Thoughts


Procrastinators will rule the earth. We will take over the world and life will be good. Procrastinators are so efficient in their work that they don't need a full day of work that an overachieving work work work employee needs to accomplish the task.

Used to be, a worker had to work 12 hours a day. Then it was 8. Experts predict that soon, workers will only need to work 2 hours a day.

Why Timmy?

Because more and more people are getting better at the craft of procrastination. I am one of many procrastinators roaming the hell hallways of all that is evil that normal people call, "Work".

Work sucks. Yes, it is the Vampire that sucks the life, the enjoyment, the fulfilment one needs to be happy out of you.

Anyone who says differently is a either a liar, or they're.......Wait. No. They're just a liar. Plain and simple. Unless you are wealthy, you can't quit, you have to work.

According to statistics that I just made up for the purpose of proving my point on how much we hate working, 97% percent of the work force admit to calling in sick to work so they could have a day off, even when they are not in fact, sick.

Then there is your boss. The brainless twat who has the same level of intelligence you would expect from a small package of individually wrapped non-fat generic taco sauce. The dolt makes more money than you but doesn't know how to use the fucking fax machine properly.

You have the printer that.....now brace yourself .... that doesn't fucking print when you hit the print button. It gets jammed up more than a hooker with a wooden leg.

You can never find the stapler remover and thus, you need to pick at the stapler with your fingers eventually just ripping the papers off of the stapler tearing the papers all up.

You're the only one that realizes that the coffee from work tastes exactly like someone dropped trou and took a big steamy poop into the coffee pot.

You're co-workers are complete idiots always asking the same stupid questions. If your co-workers smoke, you get the pleasure of watching the emphysema pricks take an additional 5 hours worth of breaks during any given week.

Under these extremely & stressful circumstances, what can you do?

You carry files/papers while you aimlessly wonder around the office acting like you're headed somewhere. Sorta like Brittney Spears, it looks like she has a career and is going places, but she isn't going anywhere.

You sit at your computer and stare at the monitor.

You pick your finger nails with paperclips.

Surf the internet.

You blog.

You wait until the very last minute, you wait for 4:37 p.m. (or 16:37) on Friday to even look at what needs to be done. You cram a week's worth of work into 23 minutes because you are a procrastinator with superb talents. Yes, only a procrastinator can actually accomplish finishing the week's work in 23 minutes.

The Art of Procrastination is a delicate craft that takes time to nurture. You need to stroke it, take care of it be its lover.

Work hard and maybe, just maybe you too can have the luxury of waiting till tomorrow.


The Creed

I believe that if anything is worth doing, it would have been done already.

I shall never move quickly, except to avoid more work or find excuses.

I will never rush into a job without a lifetime of consideration.

I shall meet all of my deadlines directly in proportion to the amount of bodily injury I could expect to receive from missing them.

I firmly believe that tomorrow holds the possibility for new technologies, astounding discoveries, and a reprieve from my obligations.

I truly believe that all deadlines are unreasonable regardless of the amount of time given.

I shall never forget that the probability of a miracle, though infinitesimally small, is not exactly zero.

If at first I don't succeed, there is always next year.

I shall always decide not to decide, unless of course I decide to change my mind.

I shall always begin, start, initiate, take the first step, and/or write the first word, when I get around to it.

I obey the law of inverse excuses which demands that the greater the task to be done, the more insignificant the work that must be done prior to beginning the greater task.

I know that the work cycle is not plan/start/finish, but is wait/plan/plan.

I will never put off until tomorrow, what I can forget about forever.

I will become a member of the ancient Order of Two-Headed Turtles (the Procrastinator's Society) if they ever get it organized.

Those That Live In Lard Houses Shouldn't Throw Doughnuts

 

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I hope everyone had a fantastic Mother's Day yesterday. I took my mom to see the movie "Envy" with Jack Black & Ben Stiller. Okay movie but luckily I had free tickets and didn't have to pay for it. If you're dying to see it, wait for it to come out on DVD.

You can get more laughs from watching re-runs of "The Facts Of Life".


I check my email and in my inbox today was notification that my blog has been reviewed by professionals. Well, I'll call them professionals since they appear to be professionals and they don't have grammitical errors like I do.

They come from the great place of The Weblog Review.

Go visit them and submit your site.


My Life is Better than Yours - got a rating of 4.2500 by 2 reviewers from the review staff.

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I clicked on the link to the diary. I was greeted by black and white. Stark. But it served to showcase the bold statement - My Life Is Better Than Yours, a statement that is ripe for a challenge. Oh yeah, I think. Prove it! Already I am intrigued.

I started off with his bio entitled Super Timmy D Boy which gave me some basic information about him plus a spoofy photo of some outrageous body builder’s body with Timmy’s face pasted on top. Cute. In the bio is a FAQ list that includes statements like this: I don’t think your life is better than mine. A. It’s okay to be wrong. That pretty much sums up the super self-confidence that you are about to experience at Timmy’s place.

I began my tour of the entries with the Timmy’s Best link, which is a nice feature in a diary by the way. It’s very handy for the new visitor to your site. Oh my! In no time at all, I am laughing out loud. This guy is hilarious. Raunchy, irreverent, politically incorrect, macho….and hilarious! Here’s a quote from an entry about attending a birthing class with his wife: ….my only goal in taking the class was just to learn how to duck when the wife starts swinging during labor. Pray for me.

I read several entries from the archives that were written in a one line dialog style that were very funny. In the older archives there seemed to be no comment function, but in the latest months there is. He has a fairly large number of commenting readers, which is a good recommendation for his diary in itself.

I cannot find fault with this diary unless you are a person who likes a lot of visual stimulation from your blog browsing. At Timmy’s it’s all Black and White. And in my opinion, it works with his writing style.

I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, and after reading the rollicking, good natured, if testosterone saturated entries, I am left with the embarrassing possibility that his life actually MAY be better than mine!


This site was reviewed on 2004-05-09 by yetzirah.
They felt this site belonged in the Humor category.

yetzirah felt that My Life is Better than Yours deserved a rating of 4.5.

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I am currently in two minds what score to give this blog- either a 3.5 or 4. So I will write my review and see what comes out of it. My experience with reading “My Life is Better Than Yours” (aka “Fountain of Pee”) has been one of great first impressions followed by discovering some very funny and enjoyable stories, with enthusiasm then waning quite considerably as the novelty wore off rather sooner than I was expecting it too. Bit of an anti climax really, after an hour of ploughing through the archives. Let me explain.

When I first entered the site I saw a personalised, simple template with a few pictures and a menu bar. It was clearly a blog which had been around a while – it just had that feel about it somehow, and looking at the menu bar confirmed that the archives went back a couple of years, though postings were somewhat sporadic over this time. I found the “About Me” page and was pleasantly surprised to find that the author had a sense of humour and also a penchant for being offensive, though he was keen to point out that he is not offensive to be nasty, just to be funny. So whilst the blog is offensive in places- swearing, a smidgeon of homophobia here, a modicum of sexism there, it is more a long the lines of Viz or Eminem, rather than Hitler or Mussolini. Not to be taken too seriously. Having said that, if you do find Eminem offensive, maybe this blog isn’t for you.

The first few posts were funny. Most noticeably, he slagged of the TV series “Friends”, which I enjoyed enormously. One thing I quickly picked up about the posts were that they all contain links, but 99 percent of these simply bring up pop- up pictures/ photos/ cartoons which are fairly unrelated but often extremely funny at best, or at worst just plain silly. It does mean you can read all the posts without having to worry about the links at all really, though if you want an extra laugh, they are there all the same.

Now the author is primarily a funny story teller. Most are stories about his life, both past and present, with a few observations about TV shows or politics thrown in. There are usually plenty of comments too, which adds an extra dimension to the content. The author shares his life with us, including his daughter “curly top”, and things he gets up to at work - the subtitle “Fountain of Pee” comes from a pee/ daughter related story which is, in itself, rather amusing. The point though, is once you get past the funny stories and witty pop up pictures, you are not really left with much else. Now some readers may like to visit this blog simply to have a laugh and take their minds off things for a while- super, smashing, great. But by the time I had got through the first few months, I was left wanting MORE. Like the guy in the pub who can tell wonderful stories and get everyone laughing, but leaves you wanting to go and discuss philosophy with someone else, just to balance things out a bit. Maybe all I am trying to say in my rather long-winded way, is that the blog became superficial after a while and I ended up bored.

So it I have settled on a four then. The author can, after all, tell a good story and he has put a lot of work in to his funny pictures. But like I say, I was left wanting more. More substance and less swagger.


This site was reviewed on 2004-05-09 by ODAAT.
They felt this site belonged in the Personal category.
ODAAT felt that My Life is Better than Yours deserved a rating of 4.

To The One Who Birthed Me

 

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Aaaaah, I remember like it was yesterday. I was warm and snugly. When all of a sudden, I was pushed through this dark cramp tunnel and as I emerged into a cold bright place, a dude dressed in all white slapped my ass. The memories haunt me actually...

Thank you mom for everything you've done for me.

Thank you for dropping me on my head as an infant. It has helped build character and make me who I am today.

Thank you for believing in me when I was at the slow table in kindergarten. Thank you for pulling me out of school so I didn't get my ass sat on by fat kids anymore.

Yes, I was homeschooled and brought up in a church. Yes, I was sheltered. However....

Homeschool taught me how to express myself.

Church has taught me to look inward and know thy self. It has also taught me good morals that I try to apply to my every day living.

I wasn't a perfect child, that I know, and I know that I've done things that you didn't appreciate.

But thank you for allowing me to be me.

When you told me to go to my room and "prepare" for my spanking, I would put on 17 pairs of underwear. Thank you for teaching me readiness.

I've always tried to be honest with you. And even when I would lie, you could see right through me like a Janet Jackson nipple ring.

You taught me how to be tough and deal with family members and people that I might not always agree with. In the end, you taught me about life, and a great part of the man I am today is owed to you. So thank you.

I hope someday...some day in the future, as in not right now cause I'm living on "Me Me Street" and I like it, I hope that I can repay a fraction of what you have given to me.

Happy Mother's Day!

P.S.
To those of you who have given birth, a very Happy Mother's Day to you!

Friends Drink From The Red Sports Bottle

 

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"I like your site, but it sure is black...."

"Timmy, its so black....."

"Wow Timmy, your site is well...black..."

Thank you all for your keen observation.

Sherlock Holmes look out, we have up & coming detectives.

I ain't going to lie, I'm hung like a Chinese man with straight pubic hair.

I need to compensate somewhere.

As Wesley Snipes says, "Always bet on black."




Friendsday!

Friendsday is tomorrow....

Please someone shoot me.

I'm sick & tired of hearing about these dolts. I have one channel, NBC, and over and over and over and over Friends are popping up everywhere like an outbreak of genital crabs.

I'm sick of it.

And whoever said that Ross & Rachel are the perfect TV show couple? I mean come on!!!

Rachel is a bigger slut than a hooker on nickel night and Ross is...well, he's MAGOOISH

Please get off my TV screen.

I would rather stare at a genital wart with a pubic hair sticking out of it for 2 hours than watch the season finale. The show is ending, cause everyone is getting married and/or moving away.

Boo Hoo.

They're almost 40....it's about fucking time.




The All Purpose Red Sports Bottle


So I wasn't going to talk about this, but I sorta need to, cause well...I need to.

Last week I went to our Portland office and flew in my boss' plane. It's a two engine propeller type of plane that can sit up to 6. I don't know the name of it or the actual type of plane, so don't leave comments asking me all these bullshit questions about the plane, cause honestly, I don't know.

I do know that Ritchie Valens died in a plane that looked similar to this plane.

I know this cause I've seen the movie "La Bamba" like 31 times.

Movies don't lie.

I put these headphones on and up into the air we go. I would go into more detail about our liftoff but my ass was clinched hard enough that Richard Simmons wouldn't even be able to get a tongue in. What does that mean? I don't know really, it sounded funny in my head but I don't know what it means.

It was actually very cool. In fact, it was rad.

Totally rad!

I was enjoying the scenery and all that good stuff, when my boss whips out this red container that looks like one of those drinking bottles that attaches to a bike. Only, it wasn't for drinking - trust me on that.

Allow me to explain.

When you are up 10K feet you are basically stuck in your chair. Eating a watermelon the night before and drinking a pot of coffee in the morning, a liquid starts developing inside your body.

My fun world of being up in a tiny plane suddenly crashed like Scott Baio's career.

My boss put a towel over himself and advised me that he had to take a leak...he told me not to drink from the red bottles and don't wipe your face with the towel. This piece of information was more obvious than my website being black, but my boss felt obligated that I should know these vital facts of information nonetheless.

We were up in the air for a total of 3 hours. My boss took a piss 4 fucking times.

Apparently when you get old your bladder shrinks.

He filled that red gallon bottle to the top and told me that he might have to use my red bottle.

Jesus Christ.

You can have my bottle, cause I couldn't do it anyways.

You see, I can't perform like that under pressure. I can't relax. I can't piss in a red sport looking bottle with a towel draped over me 10 thousand feet in the air in a plane that looks exactly like the one that Ritchie Valens died in.

I couldn't do it.

I wouldn't do it.

So I sat there and held my piss in for 3 hours while my boss happily took leak after leak like a bearded pregnant chick at a circus.

He took one leak on the way home....I'm contacting the World Book of Records.

The Make-Over

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A couple of things on this fine day.

First, notice the nice changes? I hope you notice and I hope you like.

A bunch of archives are now ready that I wrote before I officially had a blog. Since they don't have comments on those old archives, you can place a comment (once I get them back up) here if you would like.

Also are some of my all time favorites under Timmy's Best. They're my favorites for various reasons so I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Check out the Blogs/Links, if you're not posted there let me know by email. I tried to catch everyone that has my link, but I'm sure I've missed some by accident.

Let me know how things work, and what doesn't work. I'm still working out some minor kinks, so let me know if you run into any.

Hopefully I'll get a Fountain Of Pee picture up if I ever can get my sister's lazy Mexican ass up to make me my picture I asked her to draw for me.

So please excuse the errors if you encounter any =)

The Golden Platter From God – 1987

 

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Timmy and his best friend Terry ran the church behind the scenes.

Together, they ran a club called the “Wee Wee Club” and all the other kids wanted in.

Timmy’s dad was the Choir Director, and Terry’s dad was the head Deacon.

The two troublemakers were always at church.

The old ladies of the church loved Timmy & Terry.

They called all the old ladies “Grandma”, and the Grandmas always provided Timmy & Terry with plenty of candy.

It was the 1st Sunday of the month and as always, Timmy & Terry were at church early.

It was a glorious day, the sun was out and the birds were chirping. You could hear the choir warming up for a wonderful Sunday Sermon singing, “This Is The Day That The Lord Has Made”.

Because it was so early, Timmy & Terry couldn’t scam any of their grandma’s for some free candy as none of the congregation had arrived yet. So they decided that they would head into the kitchen to try and find some food.

The lights were on in the kitchen. There was a gold platter sitting on the kitchen counter, and the two best pals decide to take a peak inside.

To Timmy & Terry’s surprise, God had provided them with a wonderful snack already pre-made for them.

Together, Timmy & Terry shout, “Eureka!”

Inside the golden platter were all the crackers that Timmy & Terry could eat.

It was a Golden Platter From God.

Timmy & Terry could faintly hear the choir between the crunches of the crackers…

Choir: ”This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in Him…”

The salt of the crackers started making Timmy & Terry thirsty so they began drinking the grape juice that was inside the little cups in the golden platter.

The Golden Platter From God.

With no crackers left to eat, and all the juice gone, the two stomach filled little heartthrobs of the church ran off to play before church started.


Jesus wept. ~ John 11:35


Before all the kids were allowed to leave the main service to go to their respected Sunday Schools, they got to sing the songs with their parents.

The Pastor got up to the pulpit.

Pastor – “Good Morning! Why don’t we turn around and tell someone, ‘Jesus Loves You & Me’”

Timmy & Terry sat quietly in the 2nd pew in the middle of the church playing a game where if your hand moved from your thigh, the other got to punch the thigh as hard as he could.

Pastor – “Today is the 1st Sunday of the month and as always, lets give thanks to the Lord while we take communion.”

The Pastor prays over the communion while the ushers make their way up to take a piece of the Golden Platter From God.

Timmy & Terry immediately look at each other with a look of fear.

Their breathing becomes shallow.

Their heart rates pick up.

The Pastor finishes his prayer and the ushers begin removing the lids from the Golden Platters.

A panic look swept over the Pastor as he realizes that there are only crumbs in the communion plates. Empty tiny plastic cups were there once was grape juice.

Timmy & Terry look at each other as if to say, “It was nice knowing you.”

The Pastor advises the congregation that communion will be served once we have the platters re-filled and apologizes for the inconvenience.

Timmy makes eye contact with his mom who was on stage in the choir.

Timmy’s mom gave him THE LOOK.

Timmy slunched down as he translated THE LOOK from his mom into words = “I’m Going To Kill You.”

The Pastor excused the children to go to their Sunday Schools.

Timmy walked out of the sanctuary with his best pal Terry, knowing that he most likely was going to be meeting God later that afternoon.