Maybe he’s (or she’s) just not that into you.
I hope that you people found my tips and advice to be informative and stimulating and that because of me you’ve had lots and lots of sexual monkey love stuff going on this week and you were singing my praises while you were orgasming, because that would be cool.
Being that this is my second Love God post and because love is as serious as a bottle of Herbal Essences lodged in your rectum after getting carried away in the shower because the commercial made you feel that if you didn’t do crazy sex shit in the shower you were some kind of loser freak with no friends and ugly, greasy hair, so now you have a potentially dangerous and definitely humiliating situation to deal with… I’ll get right to the point.
One of the most painful decisions that a couple must face is deciding whether to slowly crawl forward through the feces laced muck of a long term, committed relationship one torturous foot at a time or to break off the choking chains of fidelity, take an Herbal Essences improved shower and step out into the liberating world of bright, airy sunshine followed by lots and lots of sex with random strangers that will make vital internal pieces of your soul curl up and die but still be kind of fun and totally worth it.
Sometimes your ego will get in the way and stop you from making the right decision and moving on. Well I’m here to tell your ego that it’s stupid and ugly and wrong. Chances are if you are unhappy then it’s not your fault, it’s the fault of the lazy, blind idiot that you call a partner. These are all signs that he’s (or she’s) just not that into you and it’s time to move on.
– Too little sex. You need to understand that sexual dry patches are very normal in healthy relationships. These can usually be overcome with patience, store bought lubrication, a pharmacy bought erection and watching softcore porn together. But if it’s been months since your last tango and your advances are met with, “Sorry babe, I just masturbated” then you may be in trouble. If your advances are met with, “Sorry babe, I’m about to masturbate” then the fat lady has already sung. Or is about to sing. Especially if your girlfriend is obese and vocally gifted during self induced orgasms.
-Too much sex. If he’s constantly nagging you to let his friends ‘have a go.’
-When you bought the crack and still didn’t receive the promised fellatio.
-Passive Aggression. This is one of the most common ways that an introverted-intuitive-feeling-perceiving, type b personality will express their unspoken but highly sought after desire for you to get the fuck out of their house. Sometimes it’s minor passive aggression like ‘accidentally’ selling your brand new set of Taylor Made golf clubs at the garage sale. Sometimes it’s more obvious like that one time when you were doing all the yard work that she had been nagging you to do for the last 3 weeks while she cooked Sunday dinner only when you sat down to eat you noticed that while she had in fact, cooked an elaborate 5 course meal, she only made, like, two tablespoons of each dish and when you calmly inquired, “What the fucking fuck?” she coolly replied, “Oh, I didn’t know you were hungry dickhead.”
-When they sleep with your bosses and coworkers under the guise of procuring you a raise and you still didn’t get one.
-If after three years of an office romance you still haven’t had a kiss or shared a meal alone together. The chances are that your partner doesn’t even know that they’ve been in a committed relationship for the last three years which also means that they have probably cheated on you numerous times with multiple people. Do you really want to continue your relationship with a stupid, slutty partner? I thought not.
– When your partner refuses to lift the restraining order and your advances are met with pepper spray and throat punches.
– The last and most dangerous is Jesus Christ. The man is a playa. Even though Jesus himself has a pure heart and only the best of intentions he has inadvertently broken up more happy homes than internet porn and secret gay lives combined. I’ve worked up a simple, easy to use guide to determine if Jesus is ‘tapping that ass’ that you used to call home.
1- Has your spouse been conspicuously absent from the pukey, hungover bed on Sunday mornings? And now that you think about it, wasn’t she even more conspicuously absent from the weekly Saturday night ‘Strips Clubs are Funner with Blow’ outing?
2- Has she been leaving her old, sexy clothes in the closet and buying new, conservative, yet still slightly tacky outfits that tend to feature pleated, ankle length skirts and pearl buttoned tops with weird hats and hidous make-up?
3- Has she been finding excuses not to go to the Golden Calf Café on Sacrifice night?
4- Is there a little wooden, factory produced painting thingy with footprints and a bunch of squiggly lines now hanging in your bathroom or sitting room?
5- Are her eyes all shiny and sparkly now even though you just looked at your stash of meth and it was still in the same place and none was even missing?
If you answered yes to two or more of these questions then I hate to be the one to tell you but it’s all over and she’s with J-man now. She’s got the Holy Spirit going wild all up inside her and she’s not likely coming back from that trip anytime soon.
You have only two choices; convert or divorce. There will be no negotiation, trust me.
I hope this has been helpful. I still need questions about relationships, love, drug smuggling or sex for the next Love God post.
I’ve been out of the prime time, must-see TV loop for two years now. We don’t even own a TV over here, what would be the point? I’d have to buy a satellite as well, and still only get BBC. And watching condensation form on a cold glass (F.G.) would be more appealing than that. All we’ve ever done was downloaded the few shows that we watched from Pirate Bay.
Now that we’ve totally caught up with Lost, Mad Men, Survivor, 30 Rock and The Office, I thought I’d look for something new to numb my brain for an hour or two every night. So I went back to Pirate Bay, clicked on TV Shows and then Show All Series. What came up surpised even me and I’m the creator of such quality programming as Amserdam After Dark, Animals Relations with Dr. Drew and Alcoholic Acrobats.
Having never seen these shows or even heard of them, I’m just taking educated guesses at what they actually might be about. If I’m wrong, and/or if any of these shows are any good, please let me know.
Hotter Than my Daughter– Woody Allen re-evaluates his life choices?
Trailer Park Boys– A spin-off of Cops; with the point of view from the other side of the cuffs?
Acapulco Heat– A Weather Channel show about the obvious? Or porn?
Dirty Sanchez– A ‘where are they now’ style documentary about the man, the myth, the legend…the man who sprung the ill fated, disgusting fad?
How to Solve a Problem Like Maria– Bschooled finally got syndicated? I thought we were partners? WTF?
Vegas Confessions– An awkward look at real life ‘The Crying Game’ morning after admissions on the strip? Or maybe men having to tell their wives that they lost little Timmy’s college money on a King Jack off-suit?
The Red Green Show– The host interviews Color Brown?
Extreme Paintball, Beyond the Paint– An insiders look at fresh bruising?
Paranormal Cops– Officers in Miami investigate a domestic between drunken demons, a spirit DUI, and an entity tries to buy meth off an undercover.
Build, Destroy, Build– A sitcom featuring Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher’s ego?
I Pity the Fool– Mr. T tries his hand at bounty hunting. Fails. Pawns necklaces?
Manswers– Burt Reynolds, Jerome Bettis, Eddie Griffin and Jimmy Johnson decide whether it’s ever ok to wear a fanny pack, rent a chick flick…even a funny one, or use hair care products?
Brandy and Mr. Whiskers– A behind the scenes peek at Kirstie Alley’s weekends?
Barely Legal– A Law and Order style drama about the Bush justice department? Or Porn?
Dino Riders– Kent Hovind presents A ‘scientific’ study pondering which dino’s Adam and Eve used as working pets? Or animal porn?
Age of Love– A sitcom about a senior swinger’s retirement community in Florida?
Bite Me with Dr. Mike– A doctor tries to help patients suffering from vampirism and fails repeatedly?
Apnea– A CSI type drama about Rosanne Barr sleeping on her back?
Biker Mice from Mars– A spin-off of Biker Rats from Venus?
Adults Only 20 to 1– A cute girl picks long shots at the Del Mar track in Cali while interacting with the colorful locals?
Don’t get Screwed– A game show where contestants have to spend a night alone with Andy Dick and Bernie Madoff to win (or lose) cash and prizes?
Girls Next Door– A comedy where a new couple is constantly harassed by the neighbor’s pain in the ass girl scout cookie selling, charity drive collecting, Christmas caroling daughters?
G-Spot– An MTV Cribs show about where 50 Cent and G-Unit hang out?
The L Word– A game show like Wheel of Fortune?
American Loggers– Definitely gay porn.
Everyone should know the warning sings of beginning a relationship with an unstable or dangerous person; violent outbursts, drug dependency, letters from prison, etc, etc. Dr Phil has probably covered all that by now. I really don’t know, I can’t stand the smarmy, fat prick. But to my knowledge no one has ever covered the warning lines (sentences and phrases) that should put up a bright, red flag immediatly. Oh, and alarm bells should ring. And your life should flash before your eyes like a vacation slide show on crystal meth. So if you’re out on a date (especially a first date) and your date utters any of these statements or questions, just run like a crack whore who’s heard “Five-O.” Keep in mind that these are for the men as well as the ladies.
“I’ve had a tough year. I was a ‘person of interest’ in a homicide investigation.”
“You are the only person who ‘gets’ me.”
“Could you take a different route? I’m not supposed to be within 300ft of a school.”
“Do you have any Chore Boy at your house?”
“Do you have any Risperdal or Zyprexa on you?”
“I’m totally healthy; I haven’t had an outbreak in two months.”
“My Husband is doing a ten year bit upstate.”
“Are you ok white boy? Do you need some brown?”
“When we get in here, could you pretend that you’re my niece?”
“Have you ever had an 8-some?”
“Wow, you’re probably going to make hubby number 5!”
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
“Do you want a hit of this?”
“Why don’t I just show you my cock now, to get it out of the way.”
“Why don’t you just show me your penis now, to get it out of the way.”
“I’ve just changed my relationship status on Facebook from ‘single’ to ‘in a serious relationship!”
“What kind of health insurance do you have?”
“I hope you’ve packed. I’m taking you to Clearwater to meet my friends.”
“Kids this is Mark; but you need to call him daddy now.”
“So, writers must make a lot of money, huh?”
“Theoretically speaking, how would you respond to a wedding proposal on the first date?”
“Have you ever seen The Crying Game?”
“I’m only stripping so that I can put myself through GED class.”
“Wait until you see my lovenest.”
“I’m only staying at my mom’s until I can get back on my feet.”
“I gotta run in this house for a second. Keep the car doors locked and the windows up.”
“Do you have some baking soda, a glass bowl, and a microwave at your place?”
“Wait until you see my melon ball-her!”
“Have you ever heard of emetophilia?”
“What size dress do you wear…..12? Do you moisturize regularly?”
“I’m S.C. Beringer. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
“Do you want to hit a 12-step meeting and then grab some coffee and chat?”
“My name is Beth, but my friends call me Tweaker.”
“Say, out of curiosity; how old do you think that girl is?”
“I’m famous in my home town, I been on Springer twice.”
“Hang on, I just have to run in here and surrender my passport.”
“When we get to the party, make sure that you don’t make eye contact with any of my brothers.”
Following a knock at the door….
“I guess it’s time you meet the Gimp.”
“Oh my God! Hide in the closet. NOW!”
“Fuck. Shit. Oh my God. Fuck me.”
“You don’t happen to have five grand on you by chance?”
“Hurry, help me get this neck brace on.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“If that’s my parole officer, tell him I’m at work.”
“Have you ever heard of Troilism?”
I know that this doesn’t sound like it will be the most interesting post in the world, but I assure you that this will be the most interesting post in the world. You’ll want to buy this post a Dos Equis by the time you’re finished. Every day people say between 3 and 11 phrases that have deep historical roots and meanings. It is assumed by many scholars that most of these phrases originated in one of three logical places; the Bible, Shakespeare, or was originally nautical lingo. I’m here to ‘blow the lid’ off of these false presumptions right now. Like Dan Brown or Kathleen Neville, I’m going to rewrite history in a more entertaining fashion uncover the truths that have been long buried by shadowy conspirators. So without any further hoopla (my hoopla machine is out of hoop) let’s begin…….
‘Like Finding a Needle in a haystack’
The origins of this phrase started way back in 400AD with Attila the Hun’s little brother Hypo. He started his career fighting alongside Attila and the rest of the Huns, and he was a fierce, but small boned warrior. After an unfortunate Achilles heel injury (ironic, I know) he was unable to take part in the epic battles his brother waged, and soon became addicted to Oxy-Contin. The Huns used Aetna as their insurance provider, and being Aetna, they claimed the bum heel was a pre-existing condition. Hypo was left with little option but to switch to the smack. The White Huns had already made inroads into Afghanistan, so Hypo began making monthly re-up trips while claiming to be silk trading.
Hypo soon began injecting the heroin by inventing the world’s first needle. It was copper and silver, and a bit clumsy, but it got the job done. In trying to hide his addiction from his brother (who was known to be a bit of a hot-head) Hypo hid his needle in Attila’s stables. After the great conqueror left for battle, Hypo began desperately searching through the bales of hay for the hidden needle. This task was made even more difficult by the fact that poor Hypo couldn’t stay off of the ‘shitting hole’ for more than 10 minutes. It took him 4 days of pure misery, but eventually he found his needle, put Comfortably Numb on the 8-track, and nodded out. From that day forth whenever something was difficult to locate, he’d exclaim, “That’s like finding a needle in a haystack,” and then softly chuckle at his inside joke. It caught on in their circles, and the rest is in the history books (or will be soon).
‘Bite the Bullet’
The general consensus is that ‘bite the bullet’ started off as a wartime phrase because wounded soldiers would literally have to bite down on a bullet to keep from screaming during battlefield surgeries. Not true.
King Henry The 1st of England was perpetually paranoid about being poisoned. Because of his almost obsessive compulsion for candy Pop Rocks (which were newly invented) he had to have a cache of alchemists/sorcerers/candy makers brought in from far and wide to make the deliciously explosive candy. King Henry had little trust for these foreign, mostly Asian men. So he would always have his court jester William Whittington try them first. This was fine by William because he loved the candy as well. Originally it didn’t come in tiny little pieces like it does today; it came in large, bite size nuggets which were called bullets.
It turned out that there was an assassin in their midst after all. An Asian man had been smuggling in gunpowder from China which he then mixed with acetone peroxide to make a really, super explosive treat fit for a king. When poor William bit into the first chunk, most of his face exploded into a grisly spray of blood, bone, and brain. Think Bud Dwyer.
After the initial shock, the always jovial and lighthearted king exclaimed, “Looks like our young Bill really bit the bullet this time.” The phrase stuck and eventually became synonymous with facing a dire consequence.
Ironically William was an ancestor to Harry Whittington, the man who Dick Cheney shot in the face. The Whittington’s apparently have shitty luck when it comes to associating with men of power.
‘Pass The buck’ and ‘The Buck Stops Here’
While it is assumed that ‘pass the buck’ was a poker phrase in the 19th century and ‘the buck stops here’ was coined by Truman, both of these premises are incorrect. The truth is much more about sexual deviance than gambling or presidential responsibility.
After first finding out that the Skull and Bones society was in fact a gay flee club from Muammar Gaddafi via Jay, I did a little more research and found the real origin of these phrases.
The year was 1834 and S & K was beginning its third year of existence when an eager junior by the name of William ‘Buck’ Thurston was ‘tapped’ for membership*. Being a born masochist he fit right into their gay glee club games. Then things began to get out of hand. Like ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ out of hand; I mean come on, nobody wants to see all that. Anyway, Buck quickly fell into a ‘The Gimp’ type role and the boys started using young Buck as a Bones depository. As soon as one young aristocrat was finished with him another would immediately yell, “pass the Buck!”
It was 3 long years later and Buck was near collapse when a deep, resounding voice boomed across the dungeon, “pass the Buck.” When the other boys led Buck by his choke chain to the distinguished gentleman they were astounded to see that it was the rising politician James Polk. As soon as Polk was done poking Buck, he yelled in that same strong voice, “The Buck stops here.” They let the boy go, and as you all know, Polk went on to become the 11th president of the United States. Nobody really knows what happened to Buck, but it is rumored that he became a high school gym teacher.
*The original use of ‘tapped’ as a sexual connotation also began with the Skull and Bones.-Three for the price of one!
It is my hope that the next time you use or hear one of these phrases you will remember Hypo, William, or Buck, and you will tip your cup to these great men of history. Please let me know, if you would like me to uncover the roots of any of your favorite phrases. I’m a little busy as Kathleen Neville is writing a new book, and I’m her only researcher/fact checker, but I will try to get to your request by next week.
As many of you know I’ve taken on a pet project to bring relevant, entertaining programming to everyone. Whether they want it or not. So my mind keeps churning out shitty ideas and throwing them at the big fans of the major studios hoping something will stick. You can find my best work at The New Reality #1 So anyway, my latest but probably not my greatest……
Spanish Mayors of the Alpujarras
Like the name suggests this would be a play on ‘Real Housewives of Orange County.’ Every week the mayors would get together at the local bar for some tapas and cervaza and discuss their reprehensible lives. Every season we would begin following them on election day. The elections are quite entertaining in their own right. While the national elections are extremely polite and civil, the local mayoral elections are a case study in Machiavellian technique crossed with American style barbarity.
They set up beer/whiskey stands on opposite sides of the street, and proceed to get as many of the locals as shit-faced falling down drunk as possible, while still being able to walk in a voting booth. By 4pm things have progressed to the point of discordant schizophrenia. Which is my phrase of the week. Even while they are behind their respective bars on the street, they are calling each other ‘Cheney’s fucking monkey,’ dope smokers, gypsy lovers, and worst of all dirty capitalists. I’m really surprised that the ‘getting your electorate drunk’ thing hasn’t caught on in the states yet. It’s freaking awesome! Could you imagine the voter turnout if they did this in the US?
They make utterly outrageous commitments that could never possibly be kept. They promise everything and a gold plated kitchen sink. One year they promised the farmers an entire Euro increase per kilo on the sale of almonds. Something that they have no control over whatsoever. The problem is that both sides are making all of these promises to men who are most likely in the middle of a blackout. So there can be no accountability, only more free alcohol. As soon as they announce the winner, both candidates ‘take back’ what they had said about one another and make nice. They do have public accounts to pilfer together after all.
Once elected, the cameras would follow them everywhere. Through the back room deals with mining and real estate companies, to the scene of their hundred thousand dollar accepted bribes from developers. These guys make deals that would make Rob Blagojevich queasy and nervous. Once they get caught they’ll claim that it’s not their signature on the check that was deposited into their bank accounts. We’ll get to see them take their Russian mistresses to the Greek isles and buy them condos, all on the public dime. [It was funny that in 2004 one mayor agreed to a construction project allowing 14 luxury condos to be put up in the Costa Del Sol region, and as soon as they were completed and all the money changed hands, he literally had them bulldozed. He then of course, denied it was his signatures both on the form allowing construction and the order to demolish. He’s still in Prison.]
Once the internal authorities start closing in we’ll give the mayors an opportunity to avoid living with 25% of their peers (seriously) in a Spanish federal prison. They would have to play a series of games to determine who’ll get to remain free to whet their beaks. I’m thinking ‘Survivor’ style games just for the sheer comedy of seeing 300lb; drinking, smoking, sleazy guys compete in anything athletically. Although something along the lines of ‘The Price is Right’ would also be appropriate. They could name how much of a bribe would be applicable to each scenario of corruption. Either way I believe this would make quite a compelling show.
Alcoholic Acrobats, Addicts that Win the Lottery, and Other Tales of Woe
I realize that the name is a bit long and will probably give TV Guide fits of anxiety, but what am I going to do? I think it all needs to be in there or people won’t know what they’re watching. If I shortened it, they might think they’re getting alcoholic acrobats and then the show is about an addict who won the lottery. Then their whole perception of the show is off kilter. Besides I think there is a certain ring to the long name.
This will be a weekly, one hour documentary devoted exclusively to tragic tales of incompatible situations. The series would begin with the heartbreaking tales of those legendary acrobats with Barnum and Bailey, back before they were an ‘animal friendly’ respectable enterprise. Back when they fed the midgets to the tigers for acting up. This begins back in the Circus Baron Days. [I’m using caps to show the gravity of the situation] B&B used to run their business with a ruthlessness that caused their competitors to fold like tents and their employees to drink like Mel Gibson when he gets irritated with the Jewish hierarchy in Hollywood.
It was a sad, volatile situation when B&B’s top 7 acrobats all became emotionally and physically dependent on the sauce. Without a drink they were shaking too badly to perform, but with a couple in them…..well bad things happened. After the first 4 deaths the situation finally came to a head when Cranjo and Maranjo both missed the always dangerous ‘double bar flip axle 12 twisty-turn.’ Back then they didn’t use sissy ass safety nets. There was nothing on the ground but broken glass and railroad spikes. It was after the double funeral that things slowly started to get better for the circus performers.
After the acrobats we would cover all of the junkies and crackheads who ever hit the lottery. We would delve deeply into the 5-9 days from the point they picked up their check to the time they were lowered into the ground. We’d interview all of their ‘friends’ and ‘relatives’ who had the time of their lives while the party lasted. We’d almost feel the euphoria of realizing that you’re never, ever going to run out of drugs. And the terrible heartbreak and despair of realizing that you’re never, ever going to run out of drugs.
Lastly we’d find oddball cases like people with OCD whose compulsions lead them to lie down in traffic and count to 40. They’d obviously keep getting hit and run over, but as soon as they were released from the hospital, they’d be right back at it. They are called compulsions for a damned good reason after all. Because it’s compulsory for them. At least I think that’s why they call it that. I should really do more research before I start hair-brained shows. I’m sure that this series would last a good 4 or 5 months before the viewers became too depressed to even pick up the remote.
I hope you like my ideas. And as always, I’m wide open for suggestions! And possibly Dick Cheney.
Over the past several months my wife and I have been agonizing over the decision of whether to stay in Spain or return to the states. It helps me sometimes to write things out, especially with a decision as tough as this one. I didn’t bother with the trivial minutia like employment, housing, family, or friends because a book once told me to ‘not sweat the small stuff.’ I’m concentrating on the deal makers and breakers only here.
Why to stay in Spain…
-Nobody bothers me here. If I don’t want to talk, then I can’t speak Spanish.
-Amsterdam, Paris, Greece, Rome, London, most of Europe is within a 2 hour plane ride. I can usually get a ticket for the tax only. 35E.
-Spanish fashion and the women who sport it.
-The crazy people here keep to themselves. They don’t appear on Fox and CNN. Nobody screams nonsense during rational discussions on important topics. Nobody tells anybody else they are going to burn in hell for being gay, or believing in the wrong God, or for disagreeing with them on health care. When the crazy people here get obnoxious or vocal, they get locked up. Except the gypsies, but they mostly keep to themselves anyway.
-Almost all the people that go to church here are actually nice.
-Within a 10 minute walk I can get to a place where I not only don’t see any people, I don’t even see evidence of the existence of people.
-Something I’d never experienced until now; clean mountain air.
-The rednecks here don’t have guns. Or country music. Or political aspirations.
-No strip malls. No Bed Bath and Beyond. No Linen’s N’ Things.
-If you get sick or hurt over here, you will be taken care of.
-They make people on welfare do jobs around town; painting, sweeping, etc.
-There is very little bigotry or racism, even against the damn Brits.
-Did I mention no Fox News?
-No handguns = very little crime or murder. You just gotta watch those damn gypsies.
-Free tapas with every drink.
-Po po ain’t all up in your grill.
-Drugs are practically legal here. I don’t do drugs, except the occasional valium, but I love that po po ain’t all up in your grill.
-When there is a debate, the public discourse while being high-pitched and excitable, is a lesson in civility. Rich, poor, right, left all speak to each other rationally and treat each other with respect and dignity. Other than the mayors during elections. Then it’s a no holds bared cage match in the 9th level of hell.
-Culture, architecture, beauty, charm.
-Spain has fundamentally changed me for the better. I’ve learned how to relax. I’ve finally learned patience. I never would have begun writing again if we hadn’t moved here. Before, I always thought I had to be doing something, anything. I’ve learned that I don’t need a bunch of stuff to be happy. I can sit somewhere and just Be now. I’ve stopped being such a mindless consumer. I’ve learned to eat really slowly and savor food and conversation; the art of the Spanish 3 hour dinner. I’ve learned that I can download and watch survivor on ‘The pirate Bay.’
In general I love the culture of Spain. The people are much more interested in just living. The rat race here is a slow, leisurely amble. They want to eat, drink, and spend time with their family and friends. They possess a genuine love and passion for life, an optimism that I haven’t seen much in America lately.
Why to go back…
-I miss America. I’m American, and it’s what I’m used to.
-Football, baseball, basketball, hockey, tennis, golf, and the UFC. Yes, I watch tennis and golf. I love sports.
-Being able to turn on a TV and flip through the channels without seeing a variety show featuring a fat, mustachioed, corny host, a cache of trashy women laughing hysterically at every awful joke, and the worst music I’ve ever heard. Although I may have to check with our resident expert Capitalistliontamer to verify that.
-God damn murderous, drug-addled, screaming, stealing, groin mauling, stabbing gypsies.
-Every time that you drive here you are risking your life. The roads are worse than the French Alps. There are sheer 1000ft drops with no guardrail. They don’t really give DUI’s and half the population starts off the morning with a couple drinks. Old mostly blind, drunken men have almost taken me out numerous times by cutting the shit out of corners. People die constantly by going over the cliffs.
-I’m sick of mullets, Shakira, Peugeots, scooters, and the smell of diesel.
-There is dog shit everywhere. Nobody gets their ‘pets’ fixed or lets them in the house. There are almost as many stray dogs and cats as people by now. I love animals so I started giving the ones right outside our house table scraps when I saw that they were starving to death. I now have to buy cat food (incredibly cheap, thank God) for about 15 stray cats.
-I’m sick of the ear piercing scream of agony when two ill-fitted dogs get surprised during sexy time, and end up stuck together in a biting, yelping, clawing tangle of sheer terror.
-The wonderful service, great food, and casual atmosphere that is the TGIF dining experience. Yea, I’ve brought that shtick back.
-If we moved back it would be to Florida, which is always warm. I’d never known how cold Spain got in the winter. While it gets hot in the day, it’s freezing at night. It snowed twice here last year. The thing is, nobody including us, has heat. All we have is a tiny Ben Franklin (they don’t call it that) style fireplace which barely heats the main room. Last winter I had to sleep in 4 layers with 3 thick blankets and a cat nestled on my head to come close to being comfortable. I have a whole new empathy for the homeless. As a matter of fact, I see why they all migrate to Florida. Well I guess the really cheap crack doesn’t hurt either.
-Bowling. Its little things like that that gets to you after a while. I think I’ve bowled maybe twice in the last ten years. But knowing that you can’t do something makes you want to do it.
-Target. There are no big stores here. Electronics and appliances are ridiculously expensive. A toaster is 30 Euros. A microwave is 100E and complete crap. I’ve never even seen the things I used back home to cook; a wok or crock pot. Almost nobody has a washer or dryer or dishwasher. It’s all done by hand, even in the winter.
-It’s impossible to get anything done here, business wise. After we had moved here and already paid, we had to wait 2 months for our internet and phone to be turned on. When the technician got here he sat outside on our front step for over an hour, smoking and talking on the phone. If you’re on the phone with a company and 2:00pm rolls around, you will be hung up on.
-The bureaucracy is maddening. You need the yellow form (which is in Malaga) to fill out the blue form (which is in Granada) so you can apply for the green form (which has to be mailed from Madrid) but only If you knew to go get the yellow form signed by the Magistrate in Adra. Or else you must start over at the beginning. And if you’re in line at 2:00pm, you’re screwed.
-I’m sick of this being our only grocery store within an hour drive. It’s the size of a 7/11 and not as well stocked. I understand that we are presently in a rural part of southern Spain but for fuck’s sake I thought they’d have better food. I eat chicken breast and vegetable pasta 6 days a week because that’s all I can eat that’s healthy. Everything is pork, fatty, greasy, salty, gristley (not a word) garbage. All the seafood in a restaurant comes deep fried with a face. I miss good restaurants, and selection at the store. There are no name brands of anything here. You begin to crave some odd stuff under these circumstances. I’d kill a man dead for a bowl of Life cereal, a jar of Jif peanut butter, or an Eggo. Some steak and lobster. Garlic butter shrimp. Ok, I have to stop before I stab a gypsy out of frustration.
In general I still love America. It is still undoubtedly the land of opportunity and the envy of most of the world. Life is a lot more stressful, but it’s a lot easier at the same time. You work a lot harder but there are more ways to enjoy yourself. I wish that we could just all learn to get along a little better, and chill out a little more. This is one of the toughest decisions that I’ve ever had to face. In the long run it may be up to the trivial minutia that I mentioned earlier to make up our minds. Well actually, there is no grass to cut here. Hmmmm.
With the last of the Manischewitz beer being drunk and the last of the challah bread being consumed marking the closing celebrations of Rosh Hashanah, it has occurred to me that I’ve completely forgotten to chronicle one of southern Spain’s oddest but liveliest traditions.
Every year the miniscule town of Berchules celebrates New Year’s on the first weekend in August. Of course they still celebrate New Year’s on New Year’s as well, this is just more icing on a party cake. On an already tightly packed drinking schedule; this fiesta has turned into the mother lode of all the fiestas.
Back in 1983 as they were literally in the final seconds of the New Year’s Eve countdown, their town clock stopped cold. Maybe it had finally OD’d. This country does love its blow after all. Everybody was standing around wondering, “Well what the fuck do we do now?” The spell was eventually broken when an old man finally looked at his watch and yelled, “Happy New Year!” The party got back under way and the clock was temporarily forgotten.
Spain being Spain, it took an entire 8 months to get the clock fixed. It was the first weekend in August when the clock fixer finally put down his cervaza, stubbed out his cigarette, and rewound the gears. Within 4 seconds the clock struck its midnight cord. Well, this shit caused a Pavlovian response for the ages. They must have been subconsciously waiting 8 months for the signal to resume the party, because when that bell struck, all hell broke loose. They started partying like it was 1999 or at least New Year’s 1984.
This impromptu party, like most Spanish drinking binges, lasted a full 3 days leaving the teenagers puking and the old men wondering the streets in a blacked out haze before succumbing to the drink in doorways and on benches. This, much like every other excuse to get plastered in Spain has turned into a tradition of epic proportions.
The problems (and they are legion) arise because Berchules is the town on the top left of this mountain……
Huge isn’t it? They have a population of 850 mostly elderly and infirm residents. There is one hotel which sleeps a whopping 35 people. Well, believe it or not, 10,000 revelrous party goers descend on this place like lions on a wounded antelope. They advance on Berchules in August like Muslims to Mecca. It’s like the second Woodstock without the decent music or the $8 water. And it’s one hot mess.
We ended up going last year based on the rave reviews of some of the local drunken, stoned, X’d out British population. Plus we’re like a 45 minute walk away. Once you get up there you can’t move. It’s obviously strictly BYOB but there are no bathrooms. You’d think they’d bring in some port-o-potties, but nooooo. Half the people are on coke, half are on a very pure form of X called MDMA and everybody and their dog is shit faced drunk.
By the end of the night the place looks like I imagine the aftermath of the battle of Gettysburg must have looked. Bodies on top of bodies as far as the eye can see. Instead of blood,, there is a healthy layer of piss and vomit saturating the ground. We just walked home, but from what I hear people get lost for days in the mountains trying to walk down to Cadiar because they are too busy tripping their balls off to negotiate a path.
The locals have obviously tired of all this fun and have tried to put a stop to it, but at this point, it has a life of all its own. Like some of the walking zombies at the event, it will not die. So while Brits still fly in from the UK every year for the privilege to attend, make the long trek up the mountain and party like its 1984, you’ll find me chillin in front of the TV. I must be getting old.
Anyway, Happy New Year!
Every single time that someone commits an act of public stupidity, people everywhere beg the question; what were they thinking? Nobody however, offers us a truly honest explanation. Being the humble servant to public service that I am, I thought I’d shed some much needed light on a few of history’s greatest mysteries. This is what they were thinking…….
Kayne West, “Oh my God, please look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Please just look at meeeeee.”
Rob Blagojevich, “Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a gangster.”
Larry Craig, “What happens in the Minnesota airports men’s restroom stays in the Minnesota airport men’s restroom.”
Jim Jones, “What. The. Fuck. They told me this was gonna be Gatorade.”
King Henry The VIII, “I wonder where Ann is headed off to?”
Princess Di’s driver, “I knew I shouldn’t have done that last line of coke. Now I’m all edgy and shit.”
Mao Ze-Dong, “Well, there’s half my problem solved right there.”
Tonya Harding, “I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum. Which is what I am, I’m a bum.”
Pete Rose, “Hey batter, batter, swing batter, batter. Cause daddy needs a new pair of shoes.”
Mark Foley, “It’s just the internet, who’s gonna ever find out?”
Bernie Madoff, “I can’t believe I’m getting away with this shit.”
Eddie Murphy, “It’s not gay if she looks like a she.”
Richard Pryor, “Just one more blaze.”
Michael Hutchence and David Carradine, “This is gonna be so great.”
Lisa Nowak (internal dialog, all to herself), “Just be cool bitch. But I gotta pee. Look, tell that bitch to be cool. Bitch be cool and all this shit is gonna work out.”
Hitler, “If only the Goldberg gallery had bought even one painting. Aaughh.”
Schrödinger’s cat, “I’m soooo fucking confused.”
Mussolini, “This is my neighborhood; you should let me wet my beak a little.”
Kim Jong-Il- “I can’t believe they keep making me get that damn glaucoma test.”
Ahmadinejad- “No sane man would fuck with a man wearing such a nice Banana Republic jacket.”
Marsha Applewhite, (Heavens Gate) “This is gonna be so fuckin cool.”
Len Bias- “My future is paved in gold now baby.”
John Belushi and Chris Farley, “Definitely gotta go to rehab tomorrow.”
Mark Sanford, “If it ain’t the same continent, it ain’t cheatin.”
Bill Clinton, “Hehe, everybody knows fat chicks give the best head. Hehe.”
Nixon, “Fuck em.”
Cheney, “Fuck em.”
Bush, “I wonder if Dick will let me have Saddam’s train set?”
OJ, “Come on man, you should know not to fuck with a brother’s white girl. Shoulda God damn better known better.”
Ted Haggard, “Dear lord Jesus, please avert your eyes for about an hour.”
Pontius Pilate, “I have a bad gut feeling about this. Ahh, I’m sure it’ll work out.”
This is part II of an interview between me and one of the nutty gypsy women living in my little village in Spain. If you have not read part I then you can do so here.
I met her in the local park once again since she isn’t allowed in any establishment in the region. After I proffered her ration of cigarettes and alcohol we got right back into it. As you know the Crazy Ass Gypsy Lady is referred to as GL.
GL- So where you been white boy, I ain’t seen you around much?
Me- I’ve been busy, I had um….pneumonia.
GL- Pneumonia? I don’t even know what the fuck that is. Wait, isn’t that what all the people on the magic pictures box and the magic singing box say when they were just all fucked up?
Me- What are you insinuating?
GL- Don’t try to trick me with your in-sinful word. Are you putting a curse on me white boy? Hey, are you sure you didn’t suffer from exhaustion?
Me- Back off bitch.
GL- I’ll bet it was the exhaustion; what, with all of your sitting in the sun, sitting at the magic typing box and siestas taking. Or no, I’ll bet it was really too many fiestas, wasn’t it?
Me- Look, I’ll tell you this only one time; don’t ever ask me about my business Kate.
GL- My names not Kate, its Crazy Ass Gypsy Lady. Jesus, lay off the fucking drugs white boy.
Me- Can you tell me about the life of a gypsy woman?
GL- The gypsy women’s life is all about blood. Where do you think the term gypsy rose stems from? Oooh, an unintended pun! Anyway, we have a very hard life. A baby girl is already sold into marriage by the time she is one year old. As long as the elders don’t deem her a ‘fugly.’
Me- Are you born in a hospital or at home?
GL- We may enjoy stabbing some relatives on occasion, but we’re not barbarians. Of course we’re born in a hospital; we have socialized medicine over here after all.
At this point we were interrupted by a crowd of fat white men who started chanting and screaming at us. One of them called her a secret Muslim and me the antichrist. Then they started screaming that nobody even speaks English here anymore and stormed off looking for a “Christian Church not a God-damned Catholic one.” It was pretty odd considering we’re in Spain. Anyway……
Me- Does this work kind of like a dowry or something?
GL- What the fuck is a dowry? No, mother fucker, she is sold for some brown for the girl’s family and maybe some chickens and shit. Then as soon as the girl oozes her first blood of the unclean she is to be married. But the marriage preparation is a real mother-fucker white boy. The night before the wedding, the groom’s family takes the girl to their home then lay her spread eagled on a table, then they jam a rose right into the girls wamy-jamy hole. They have a piece of cloth under her, and when it’s all over if the cloth has a blood stain its all good. They bring the cloth out for the families to pass around and celebrate over. Everybody holds the cloth over their cup and takes a drink of hooch through the hoochie stained cloth. And you thought those purity ball fathers were sick fuckers white boy. HUH!
Me- Oh my God. I feel sick. Talk about groin mauling.
GL- Yea, why do you think we stab each other, and try to run each other over with Peugeots and shit. Our hatred runs so deep we came up with curses. But that ain’t even the worst of it, not by a long shot. If the girl doesn’t bleed then her entire family is ostracized from the gypsy community. Wait, I don’t even know what ostracized means. The girls whole family is kicked the fuck out of the community in Adra. That’s what happened to us. That’s why we is stuck up here in the wilds.
Me- There is an entire gypsy community in Adra?
GL- Oh it’s glorious, all the booze, all the heroin, all the new people to stab and club. It’s bigger than the biggest housing project in the land of the MTV.
Me- You know MTV?
GL- Yea, and that mother fucking Kayne West is a lucky man he ain’t a gypsy. Wouldn’t last a day. Anyway, here we only got each other to stab. And it’s harder than a priapismed love stick to stay in the brown.
At this point another guy jumped up out of nowhere and shouted, “You Lie” so I cut the interview short. If you would like to hear more from the Crazy Ass Gypsy Lady, let me know and I’ll visit with her one more time. It’s up to you guys entirely.