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PROVO, UT- With the recent departure of forward Brandon Davies, the BYU basketball team was hoping that reckless and disgusting pre-marital sex was the worst of their problems. If the recent photos surfacing online are true, they may be terribly wrong.
Logan Magnusson, Iced coffee
In these photos, broken some time between Read the rest of this entry »
Max Page, pre-pubescent minion
Hollywood, CA – In a clear violation of both Constitutional law and the Jedi code, the young actor in the recent Star Wars-themed Volkswagen commerical, 6-year-old Max Page, was recently apprehended for both reckless endangerment and unlicensed use of The Force. Read the rest of this entry »
“You do what?” She asked me, suddenly ignoring the white noise of the party and concentrating on me for the first time. Trouble was, she was trying to contain a look of disgust.
“I pee in my wetsuit,” I told her, matter-of-factly, as if describing an obvious everyday ritual, like procrastinating on facebook or counting down the minutes until 5 p.m’s first drink. Sure, it might not be something to take pride in, but it’s totally normal…right?
Think about it for a second. She did. It turned out that although she looked like a sexy coffee shop barista, she was in fact a sexy psychologist, who spent a good portion of her day treating sickos with behavior disorders and perverted sexual fetishes. Judging by the clinical, pitying look she gave me, peeing in my wetsuit indicated that I was mentally ill.
“Everyone does it,” I told her reassuringly. “It helps keep you warm. It feels…” I stopped myself short. I thought better of finishing my thought as I was now as self-conscious about peeing in my wetsuit as if it were the first time. I realized if I told her the whole truth, it would not go over well.
The truth was this, during some marathon sessions, I pee in my wetsuit upward of five times. It feels absolutely wonderful to marinate in the temporary warmth of your own 98.6 degree urine. Not to mention the sensation of release is indescribably satisfying. I’d like to tell you thie piss quickly drips out of my wetsuit, and that I rinse out the rest with an invigorating flush of cold water. But the truth is, I never flush out the piss anymore. Why let a little flood of ice water down your back when you’re happily basking in your own urine? To make matters worse, wetsuit technology has gotten so good that the piss never seems to go anywhere. It just stays around your midriff, cooling slowly. By the end of a session, after sloshing around in my own diluted urine, I smell like a hipster hobo. No matter how many times I wash off my leash strap, it still smells like smegma from Bigfoot’s dick. I am not exaggerating. That is how my leash strap smells.
Even without hearing the whole story, she had come to the conclusion that I was now a curiosity. “It’s interesting, really,” she thought aloud while giving me that clinical, sterile look. “Incontinence is a terrible condition. But incontinence suggests a lack of bladder control. You’re urinating on yourself on purpose, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied with a squeak in my voice and taking a nervous gulp of my vodka soda.
“So this isn’t really incontinence- it’s closer to enuresis- that’s the technical term for bet-wetting. But that’s not right either. Because enuresis happens in your sleep, unconsciously. I suppose it’s closer to Paraphalic Infantalism.”
That didn’t sound good, but I rolled the dice and asked her for a definition.
“It’s commonly referred to as Adult Baby Syndrome. In some cases a sexual fetish where sufferers feel the need to defecate in adult diapers and pretend to be infants. They’re stuck in the Anal Stage- struggling to gain control of the most basic bodily functions.
Ughh, Burnt. Even worse than I expected. I scrambled to formulate a reasonable defense. “Well, um it’s really not so different than what astronauts do. It’s not like they’re going to take off their spacesuit just to go pee, right? That’s what it’s like going surfing. I’m on an important mission, and if that means peeing in the suit then so be it.”
“Right…” The look she gave me now was worse than the clinical pitying look I’d received earlier. I’d just gone from being infantile to space-cadet.
“Occupational hazard,” I said, faking confidence as I tried to take a deep swig of my long-gone vodka. Then we stared at each other blankly, both unsure which occupation I was referring to- surfer, astronaut, or psychologist.
Imagine you are a kid in a kindergarten.
You’ve got nice clothes. New Sneakers. Lots of friends.
Imagine that you get A+’s consistently.
And imagine that your parents give you a quarter for every A. Read the rest of this entry »
Get up, Sammy
OMAHA- Sam Clemens, a dude with a terrible, terrible hangover, honestly thinks he’s going to die. After several rounds of chuckling and finger pointing the following morning, witnesses weighed in on the possible causes of his current state of distress. Read the rest of this entry »
HTC missed the boat by making the standard ringer for its "Hero" something other than Enrique Iglesias' eponymous song.
Today I spent over an hour on the phone, talking to the fine folks in tech support at Sprint and HTC. I was a man on a mission, and with good reason. Unfair overages, you guess? A stolen phone?
No, I was dealing with a phone fate far worse: ringer problems.
The application on my phone that’s supposed to let me specialize ringers has gone haywire. And with it, so has a small part of my soul.
You see, I’m a serial ringer specializer. It’s a habit that, in a convoluted way, helps me organize my life.
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