Tag Archives: BarackObama

I get beat by a leather whip while wearing a cowboy jacket and pink boxers … I missed you too

I was going to make this update private, readable by only my wife, Gina, Maggie, Adrian, Marni, Todd B, Mike G (cause he’s cool), Carmen, Craig, Greg, Brian, Leila, Lynn, Bob, Jesse, Jill of course, my cousin Cory, some dude I met last Wednesday and my Dad.

Then I remembered I’m an attention whore and if it can’t be read by everyone why write it?

Boiled down, any story that ends with Dagmar whipping my ass with an actual whip, while I’m wearing boxers and a cowboyish leather jacket (yeah the one from facebook) should be used as a cautionary tale to others.

For those of you that hate me, there’s also head trauma so stick around.

This one

The Jacket that keeps on giving … me pain.

Really though the night ended with me getting whipped, by Dagmar wearing a leather bra and leather chaps, while I was wearing that abortion of a jacket and pink striped boxers.

Some back story is likely called for.

And don’t you hate that?  Someone is writing something crazy and they cut in with, “but before I tell you the cool shit, here’s stuff I want you too read cause, context is fun”.    Yeah I’d skip too the end too.   Look for the bolded part.

About a month ago Dagmar left me.   So call me ladies!   Okay, okay she didn’t ‘leave me’ so much as she took a new job up the road in a place where I will also be working soon.    We were both moving, she just moved first.

Through luck, chance and charm a good friend of ours just moved there.   She offered, and we graciously accepted, Dagmar a place to sleep at night so she would be spared the hour or so one way drive.

This offer, coupled with the fact that I was going on a three-week long business trip that consisted of retarded crazy hours meant that Dagmar and the cat were moving into our friend’s house until we were resettled.

We were effectively ‘separated’ only I couldn’t have meaningless sex with random bar chicks because Dagmar likes to split hairs.   She’s a total kill joy.

So after three weeks of cross-dressing Germans, creamer incidents and me not dying. I arrive home.

To nothing.

Seriously after three weeks of not being able to get away from anyone … of only having a 10-minute break at the end of the night alone I arrive home to an empty house.

No wife, no cat, no anyone.

I had a hand-held radio for the three weeks I was there, it would call out at four a.m. “Wolverine 17 this is Beached whale 79, I’m at check point “I fucked your mom” and I think the training unit just committed a level one poop in the bed!”

I would yell out, ‘shut up!’ at the radio and cry in my pillow.   But mostly I would just turn it off and go back to bed.

I bring that up because even when I was alone, I wasn’t.   The radio brought me, even at 3 in the morning, constant updates.

So when I arrived home on Wednesday at about 5 in the afternoon I was thrilled that I wouldn’t see another human being until Friday night.

Yeah, so I was crazy for human companionship by Friday.  I was also crazy for a shave, a shower, a change of clothes and my ass desperately needed to get off the damned couch.

I can do a day alone, I’m cool with that.   Forty-eight hours though and I’m getting a bit ‘freaked out’.   At 56 hours I’m talking to myself in the mirror and I’m disagreeing with myself.

Luckily though I get to go see Dagmar, I just have to drive an hour and a half to do it.

Dagmar is full of instructions though before I can come see her.   Pick up sausage links, eggs, white wine that kind of tastes like summer and her new domestic-partner is no better, pick up two packs of cream cheese, make sure they’re blessed by midget angels — cause that’s the kind I like.

I mean I’m just screwed all around.   It’s typical German November weather, meaning it sucks.  I’m wet at every turn but I have coffee.

Did I mention coffee?

Every place I stopped had coffee.   I cannot, on a night like this, ignore coffee.

I think the amount of coffee I drank almost equaled meth before the drive.  Had someone gave me a no shit line of meth I don’t think I could have been more white knuckled during that drive.

Pouring rain, hopped up on java, I think I peed in a Gatorade bottle at one point but I made it.

People!  Interaction!  Friends!

But there’s my wife and there’s that slight bit of awkward haven’t seen you for three weeks, fuck you kiss me, you’re beautiful, time and here we are at the end of the party.  The dinner plates are being cleared, guests are being said good bye too and I’m wearing a leather jacket …

Yeah again ‘that’ leather jacket.

Bolded part starts now for those of you that suck ….

Everyone else but the three of us has left and for a moment I think Dagmar and our host has left too.

I find myself all alone in the living room.

The girls, and my memory here is hazy, disappeared.

I assume there was much giggling.

I’m not sure if I was confused, drunk or just happy here. But part of me realizes it could have been all three so…

When they reappeared, Dagmar was dressed in a no-shit leather bra, leather chaps and holding a whip.  She spoke in an over the top German accent about my, ‘misbehaving’ and then I, for reasons I cannot explain (it was beer) stripped to my boxers.

Anyone who knows me knows that it takes about 3.5 beers for me too get naked because … well it’s me.

Well after getting whipped by my wife while another person watched and laughed with great joy, the great, penthouse-crazy sex didn’t happen because none of us are in college, retarded and it was late, like 10:30 or so.  We’re also old; do I need to mention we’re old?

When I awoke the next morning I had a headache, which isn’t at all unusual but this one was different it was only on the right side of my brain.    Had the left side of my brain just fucking quit, had I finally killed it?   Why wasn’t the pain equal?

I had no time for such trivialities as ‘head-pain level 5’.   I was wearing pink stripped boxer, black dress socks and nothing else.   The headache would have to wait.  I could have asked Dagmar but that would have led to ugly consequences like the truth.   Better to investigate this mystery myself.    I suspected old-man Winter’s did it but the mystery van and Scoobie Doo were no were to be found so I followed my other hunch, they were downstairs.

I mean there’s a pounding on the right side of my head that would have left

Porn star Jenna Jameson at the 2007 Adult Ente...

I’ve just always wanted to include a photo Jenna here.  CALL ME HON!(Photo credit: Wikipendia)

Jenna Jameson impressed, I’m in boxers and black socks.

Solve the immediate problem first my reptile brain screamed, ‘find the clothes.’

I darted downstairs hoping our host was still fast asleep only to discover she was awake, well composed, drinking tea and completely un-shocked by a nearly naked man in her living room making wild claims about shirts, pants and shoes.

“They’re upstairs,” she replied, barely looking up from her computer.


I ran back up and there they were, sorta folded on a nightstand.   Dagmar is to blame, I obviously would have left them in a pile besides the bed … had I been wearing them when I went to bed.

“Does your head hurt,” came the question from the bed as I desperately tried to unfuck inside-out clothes.

Does my head hurt?   That wasn’t code from Dagmar for ‘do you have a hangover’, that question would just be asked straight forward.   What was she …

Oh shit now I remember and, ‘oh shit’ was exactly what I said when it happened.

I’d fallen out of bed that night and, as it’s a typical German house, there is no carpet.  My retarded brain collided, violently on the right side it would seem, with cold-unforgiving tile.

In my, admittedly flimsy, defense that bed is a head trauma nightmarish contraption of concussion inducing fuck all, it’ll be labeled by OSHA as a class one felony any minute now.   The top mattress is bigger than the bottom box spring and for a retard like me, pushed into the ‘danger zone’ by Dagmar, well gravity was going to win the fight.

My head still hurts.

Joe Arpaio and the birthers? Nah. Truthers? Meh. G8 protesters? Sign me up!

This was going to be about Maricopa County (my home county, I’m so proud) Sherriff Joe Arpaio’s recent ‘posse’ investigation into President Obama’s citizenship. Yeah people are still investigating the birth certificate thing. The only good thing I can say about Joe is that he ensures, for all of history, that I will not win the ‘most embarrassing thing to come out of Maricopa County’ award.

Thanks Joe.

The fact is that anyone, anywhere, still harbors a shadow of a doubt about the president’s citizenship, is a fucking idiot, really reaching the outer limits of any reasonable definition of sanity.

Here maybe a pop culture reference will explain it for you, doubtful but maybe.

But that fruit is just too low hanging if you know what I mean. Besides Joe’s up for reelection, so there’s that. The fact that he’d pull this stunt wasn’t at all shocking (pink prison underwear, immigration enforcement and tents for prisoners) nor was the fact that the voters of Maricopa county will eat it up like Mexicans eat tacos.

I grew up there; it will play well, sadly.

It’s just, meh. Boring maybe? We’re all collectively tired of the Birthers. He’s the president, fuck you county sheriff … aren’t there some brown people you can go bother? Oh wait.

So I thought about picking on my favorite left wing conspiracy group, the Truthers. Sadly that will just end in a retarded discussion where I’m called a “sheeple” and me just baffled that a seemingly otherwise intelligent person could buy into this idea. I even watched ‘Loose Change’, I DID! Don’t watch Loose Change, I warned you.

I admit it, I'm a sheeple.

Look 19 hijackers flew planes into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and a plot of land in Pennsylvania. Osama Bin Laden yelled, “fuck you America I did that shit” (or words to that effect). We invaded the right country, fucked it up, invaded the wrong country, fucked it up and then kind of got it right. We then started working on the first country again (with mixed results). You’re prepositioned explosions and hologram airplanes (seriously funny cracked.com article there) are retarded so god damned retarded that Charlie fucking Sheen espouses the view point.

It’s akin to people that claim to have been abducted by aliens and anally probed.

Anal probing aliens always kind of make me laugh. So the Aliens have the ability to travel across the galaxy? They weren’t spotted by any of our technology? They have the ability to ‘beam you up’ into their ship? And they’re interest is in your ass? Listen sir or ma’am your ass just isn’t that interesting I promise.

Conspiracy theories are fun, I love them honestly I do.

That leaves me with the G8 and the people that protest the G8, namely their declaration of victory because the G8 summit was moved to Camp David. The move part I don’t care about, other than I’m glad the G8 will have a quiet place, free of pissed off hippies, to meet.

I’m picking on the G8 because my boss considers me a liberal hippy (mostly because I’ve proclaimed loudly at work, “I’m a liberal hippy!” daily for two years.) And maybe I am, in a lot of respects.

Not here.

Dear G8 protesters, who cares?

The G8, for those that need a refresher, are the following countries: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the U.K. and the U.S. Hint to G8 I think it’s time to add in China, but I understand if you don’t want to.

Boiled down, to the point is has no flavor left whatsoever, these eight nations meet yearly, usually in the summer, to discuss economics, policy, security and other things that make the guy designing the power point presentations want to cry.

We're going to keep burning cars until the violence stops!

Okay what fun that little joke was but you can Google G8 protest reasons all day long … it comes down to those and a few other topics.

Here’s the thing G8 protesters; you’re getting your head caved in by riot police doesn’t ensure that poverty get’s discussed at the meeting. Do you know why?

It was already being discussed.

Do you really think that on the last day of the summit, when everyone has their bags packed and are just waiting for the closing remarks to finish before hailing cabs to the airport some dude walks up to the podium and reads the following announcement.

“Hey we’ve had a great conference and Italy you were wild at the closing party last night, did you get your underwear back? No? I think France took them … France, give Italy her underwear back. Look as many of you are aware there are a lot of protesters outside, don’t worry Russia. But they specifically asked that we discuss poverty. I know, I know, I was like, what? Crap we forgot poverty? We had that day-long discussion of who had the cutest language … shut up Japan you didn’t win fair and square … you won hottest porn award. So look I propose that for the next few hours, we discuss poverty, no Russia not how to make people poorer, how to make them richer, you know how to get rid of poverty. It would mean a lot to the kids outside, what do you say?”

Let me hit this cop with a thin piece of wood, get ready to yell POLICE BRUTALITY!


I’m sure on some level, we both (the G8 protesters and I) agree that these countries need to meet up and make connections, talk about important issues and develop personal relationships, be they between leaders, staffers or the security guys that wish they were outside bashing hippy heads in.

I just don’t see what your protest brings to the table. Every one of the participating nations is a democracy (haha Russia you are! Neiner, neiner!). They have elected officials and I assume (wild ass guess here) that each of protesters votes so … What the fuck are you doing? Other than giving the left wing of politics a (deserved in this case) dirty-hippy image, what the fuck are you doing? Occupy wall street had their shit more together than you do and I still don’t know what their main objectives were other than, ‘Wall Street sucks’.

Go there if you must. I’ll never say you shouldn’t be allowed to protest, protest all you like. You might as well protest that the military industrial complex needs to be reminded that it needs tax payer dollars to develop new way to kill ‘dudes that need killing’ though. Here’s a hint if the cops, who by the way LOVE getting all Conan the Barbarian on your hippy asses, ask you not to crowd a barrier or not to go to a place outside the designated area … don’t fucking do that shit.

Besides the fact that everything you think should be discussed is already being discussed do you really think your shenanigans are altering the discourse?

Of course you don’t, you just want to be on TV.