Favorite Food

My favorite kind of food is either Chinese food or Mexican food. I guess it’s all pink on the inside, right? No wait, it shouldn’t be pink, that might mean it’s undercooked. In fact, if your food is pink on the inside, send it back—unless you think the cooks might spit in it, then just don’t eat it.

La Puanteur du E-Rod

I recently got back from a lovely trip to East Lansing, Michigan and with that came some cool life realizations. Enormously long car rides create an environment well suited for figuring out how to become a sexier, stronger, new you. Here’s what I figured out gang:

1. My testicle sweat is becoming more than an issue for just me.
2. They make a version of the game ‘Dope Wars’ for Blackberry.
3. My Blackberry’s battery goes dead after just one hour of playing ‘Dope Wars’ on it.
4. There’s no place sweeter to drink a 32oz. bottle of Bud Ice than the side of a semi trailer.
5. Breakfast burritos in Iowa give me uncontrollable flatulence.
6. Nebraska can/will suck wiener. Forever.
7. The way I look in stone-wash(ed) jeans is something that most women would never want to see.
8. I can and will eat 4-5 oranges a day if they come from my mom and I feel guilty about not eating them.
9. I can smoke a lot , a lot , a lot of cigarettes without ever getting sick, or sick of it.
10. My throat glands swell up when I smoke a lot, a lot, a lot of cigarettes.

So, most of these things I have no control over. However, I do think I can do something to improve on one of these things. For this post, I’d like to address point number 1.

Point 1 -- My testicle sweat is becoming more than an issue for just me.

Over the years, through my neurosis and acute awareness to my causal effect unto my environment, I have come to realize how I affect others’ time spent with myself. That said, I could tell when Flo was/should (have) been bothered about the stench I was producing. Were I cartoon, surely I would have been drawn with long, thick stink lines radiating from my crotch.

I don’t know what it is about testicle sweat, but it smells a lot like poop. My butt was clean, but it’s almost like there is some poop that accumulates for these types of moments just under the thin skinned no-man’s land. It lives in the taint and sweats out when you’re in social situations with women.

Hypothetical Ex. At a bar talking to a woman after a show

Me: Wow. You’re a veterinarian huh? That’s pretty cool.
Vet Chick: Yeah. It’s a pretty awesome feeling saving…saving…saving (begins to look at my crotch and acts as if nose if stuffed up and begins to grab at it)…you know…uhhhhhh(5-7 seconds)…lives.
Me: I can’t imagine. Does my neck look weird? You’re a doctor right? Is this weird (making my retarded frog neck thing puff out)?
Vet Chick: (Chuckles)…Jesus (Not amused at all. Face says “I’m creeped out”)!
Me: Yeah. I know. (Now I feel awkward and testicle sweat pours)
Vet Chick: It was nice meeting you Derrick.
Me: It’s Eric. (Smiling like an idiot without my teeth showing)

I know when I stink, and since returning to Denver I’ve figured out a way to enhance my natural musk. I call it ‘musk’ because that’s what it is! When animals want to mate they produce a secretion that is meant to draw mates closer. That’s what my body is doing (that’s what I’m telling myself). However, my musk isn’t as pleasant as some females would want. So check this: I’ve begun to spray one very large spritz of Dunhill on my junk in the morning. If the spritz comes out half-ass then I give my crotch another full one for good measure. This is, surely, the best way to enhance my Man-roma. Now when I sweat, the only thing that I can smell (and taste for that matter) is the delightful citrus blend of Dunhill. An excerpt from www.dunhillfragrances.com reads:

“Spices drive the distinctive character of Dunhill, delivering uncompromising masculinity throughout the evolution of fragrance”.

Now, let me ask you this: Doesn’t that sound a lot better than:

“Essence of Hot Pockets and poop drive the distinctive character of Eric’s taint, delivering questioning thoughts about his sanitation habits and overall character” ?


--EAB--

Pre-order your GREENglove today.

In an effort to decrease the carbon footprint of the average fossil fuel burning motor carriage, ECOsignal has introduced a revolution in turn signal technology. The GREENglove made by the environmentally friendly turn signal company ECOsignal offers an easy, affordable way to decrease the carbon footprint of your automobile.

The GREENglove is designed to be mounted just below, or directly in the driver side window of any car. The apparatus protrudes from the side of the auto, and allows the driver to slide his or her hand out the window (or just below it), into the mitt, and use the traditional arm signals whenever one needs to turn, slow down, or change lanes.

The do it yourself kit comes with:

9.5cm hole-saw.
mounting ring and hardware.
silicone sealant.
one left handed GREENglove.
3 latex repair patches.


Here is was what some satified customers had to say...

Harold Schumacher of Emmet County, Michigan said,

"I can't believe I didn't think of this years ago. I've been rolling down my window, signaling turns, then rolling the window back up for 5 years now, and you want to hear the really bad part? Here it comes... I don't have power windows, can you even believe that?"

Cynthia Firth of Tappshannock, Virginia wrote,

"I felt so wasteful flashing lights all over just to tell people where I was going, with the advancements that ECOsignal has made in the world of green turn signals, I don't feel bad driving my Excursion around town, even if I am alone!"

Maximilian Jenkins of Klamath Falls, Oregon said,

"I'm proud to say that I removed and recycled the bulbs, wire, and plastic from my turn signals, brake lights, and heated rear view mirrors. I don't need signals anymore, not now that the GREENglove has replaced the need for all this electrical garbage. I'll never get another DUI from a burnt out turn signal, plus think of how much energy I'm saving. I know the glove does nothing for the heated mirrors, but they weren't working anymore, and I couldn't afford to fix them."

The GREENglove sells for $295.99 or 200.00 Euro for the British model that comes with a right hand glove and this "My Boss is a Jewish Carpenter" bumper sticker.


ECOsignal is proud to lead the way in green turn signaling and looks forward to unveiling their new keyless entry retro-fit for newer cars with energy wasting, environment ruining, terror funding keyless entry remotes.

Ten Things You Need to Know About Me

You probably think that you know me, but the truth is that you will never really know me until you know these ten things.

1. I love bean dip but I also understand that it is a sham. You can buy a can of bean dip or you can buy a can of refried beans, they’re essentially the same thing. The bean dip will cost you about three bucks, or you can get twice as much if you go with the refried beans and it’ll cost you $1.89. I do understand that the bean dip comes with that little plastic lid so you can reseal it, but it’s not like I’m not eating the entire can in one sitting anyway. It’s a sham.


2. Every night I listen to Gary Wright’s “Dream Weaver” right before I go to bed—I can’t sleep without it. I also feel that listening to this song is much more effective in warding-off nightmares than using a dream catcher. I’ve argued with many a Chippewa about this matter.

3. I own St. John’s Bay clothing—two shirts. I don’t know where I got them—gifts probably—but I’ve had them for awhile. The tags on my shirts say “Authentic St. John’s Bay.” I am proud of this. I laugh when I hear others having this conversation:

“Hey man, nice shirt.”

"Thanks, it’s St. John’s Bay.”

"Whoa—authentic St. John’s Bay?”

“I wish! Do I look like I can afford $12.99 for a plaid button-down shirt? In fact, I can’t afford any clothing that they sell at JC Penney. I got this shirt in Mexico for four bucks—it’s not authentic but it’s the best I can do.”

4. I strongly believe that you have to watch “The Wonder Years” whenever it comes on TV. “Groundhog Day” too. Oh, and “Over the Top.” Also anything with Candance Cameron. And “Bonanza” is on this list, naturally. I don’t care if you have a dentist appointment…

5. If you refer to “Alvin and the Chipmunks” as “Alvin and the Chickmunks” we can never be friends. If you follow by claiming that “it was actually a pretty good movie,” then it is really over. So take that, fat girl I saw at Target: we can never be friends.

6. I never wanted to be the guy for whom the college years were the best time of my life. I’m afraid things may be shaping out that way. But those were some of the chuch-est times I’ve ever had. Now I try to trick myself into feeling content with material things. On an unrelated note, I am looking for love-sac owned by a former Rockies catcher—I know I will be forever happy if I have one. Otherwise I will have to settle for a Ronald Joseph Karkovice game-worn warm-up jacket—which will make me happy, just not as happy.

7. I really can’t decide whether or not Minnie Driver is hot. She is fairly attractive in “Good Will Hunting.” But not so much in “Sleepers.” I just don’t know. Will someone please just tell me so I can move on with my life? I know this isn't funny.

8. Once I shot 2,567 pounds of food, but was only able to carry 62 pounds back to my wagon.

9. I never thought it was remotely funny or clever the way they would hide the bottom half of the neighbor’s face on “Home Improvement.” I also hated when people referred to this show as “Tool Time.”

“Hey man, did you catch ‘Tool Time’ last night?”

“Um, the show is called ‘Home Improvement’—‘Tool Time’ is a show within the show.”

And all of the sudden I’m arguing about a program I don’t even like.

10. I hate it when you’re not around—and the fact that you didn’t call—but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you—not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Here's What's Being Advertised When I Watch "Monk"

I’ve probably seen the commercial 20+ times and I never gave it a second thought. Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s a commercial for Valtrex.

The commercial starts out with all these hip looking twenty-somethings talking about their herpes while loading a kayak onto their four-runner or doing some other activity that subtly tells me how cool they are.




Usually the supposedly disease-free girlfriend is sitting next to her boyfriend talking openly about his STD—in actuality this girl is much too attractive for me to believe that she would want to have anything to do with some herpe-farm d-bag. Or some other girl is talking about careful she has to be because she has herpes and her boyfriend doesn’t. The guy just sits there smiling like an idiot. Really dude? She has herpes, you don’t, and you’re sticking around? Really? Really?

Whatever. This doesn’t even bother me. Truthfully, I don’t care about any of that at all. In fact, I was just using that as filler to get to what really concerns me. I didn’t want this post to be too short to be taken seriously. This is important.

Here it is. This is in the commercial:

“70% of people with herpes got it when their partner showed no signs of an outbreak.”

Think about this.

This means that that 30% of people with herpes got it when their partner was showing signs of an outbreak. 3 out of 10 people who have herpes saw visible evidence that there was something disgusting going on, and went for it anyway. Sick.

“Yeah bro, she was totally all over me. Chick totally wanted me, so I disregarded the fact that I would almost certainly contract an incurable virus that causes outbreaks of nasty sores on my dong. It was sweet.”

Hey 30%, enjoy your herpes. You deserve them.

Call me when you want to have an intelligent conversation.

I had a date last week. Correction, a series of three bad dates.

I would like to think that I am an intelligent human being. I mean, I may not have much common sense, but I did manage to clamber my way through the rigorous Greeley District 6 education system and still be admitted into and graduate from a third tier university.

I hesitate to tell people that I am a graduate student. It makes me extremely uncomfortable (and feel obnoxiously pretentious) because a precedent has been set that I will unlikely live up to. This was never more evident than in the case of my most recent gentleman caller. He thought I was hot and knew I was smart. Apparently that means he KNOWS me, and never really bothered to ask me anything about myself. Or else I'm sure that what I'm about to say might not have been an extreme shock.

After three dates of listening to him ramble with nary a break for breathing about his political leanings, how he doesn't like Jesus the God but loves Jesus the Man, and how evolutionary psychology is the crux of the WORLD... I had enough. I thought maybe he was just nervous, but after three dates it was clear that this was it with this guy. And I can't help it. I hate that shit. Politics will never enthrall me, philosophy will always be dead guys with little scientific merit, and religious conversations tend to put me on edge.

When I called to eventually break off his plans of an eventual fourth date, he left me with a gem sounding something like "call me when you want to have an intelligent conversation."

Hey douche, if you are so disturbed about what's going on in Africa right now that it warrants 15 minutes of intense discussion, why aren't you there? Why are you in East Lansing trying to date me? Seems a bit counter-intuitive for the man who is planning to single-handedly solve the world's problems.

All I want out of my social life right now is to watch "The Hills" with the fervor of a 13 year old girl, drink a good Long Island, take bets on how long Lindsay Lohan will stay out of rehab, and bumble my way through the Hall and Oates classic "Maneater" at karaoke. And I'm not going to let a 26 year old with no college degree spouting off sonnets on how he wants to be like Jesus the Man make me feel bad about it.

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.

I’m not an Elitist…I just think I’m better than you

To Greeley:

I really wish angry mothers would shut the fuck up about the lead painted toys. It’s not like your kid is gonna turn into Mark fuckin’ Riggins because his Spongebob doll is coated in a thin layer of toxic shit. Look around bitches. Be worried that your kid is gonna get a 16 on is ACTs. Be worried that your kid is gonna need to drink martinis at the ripe age of 18 after a hard days work baking rolls at your local Texas Roadhouse. Be worried that your daughter is gonna get boned by her 30+ year old highschool psychology teacher…or gym teacher…or fondled by her tennis coach.

Be worried that your idiot fuckin’ son is gonna go from the kid with ear wax visibly draining from his ear to being infamously known as a bigot in Sports Illustrated or maybe stab someone. I talked to Matt about his near 10 year high school reunion and he said he was going to try and scheme a way to fake his own death. I don’t blame him.

There’s a lot bigger shit going down than the God damn lead.

To Hobos:

I recently overheard a woman in McDonalds on Colfax and Penn. get berated by some piece of shit homeless guy who happened to be black:

“All you white people think you’re fuckin’ better than us huh? You’za afraid of the blacks ain’t cha bitch”?

No. We’re afraid of you because we just saw you smoke a fuckin’ crack rock just outside the door. We’re afraid of you because it looks like you shit your pants, you’re frothing at the mouth, and your breath smells like you’ve been sucking on a piece of your poop laden pants. We’re afraid of you because you have nothing to lose and can only gain from your ass getting arrested.

Where’s Mike Sherman when you need a good butterfly knife?

To Denver:

You suck too. Corey’s gotten mugged (and propositioned by a hooker hahaha). I’ve seen a gunfight. There’s a crack dealer two houses down, and it’s cold. What’s worse is that I don’t live in an area associated with scariness. I live in the damn gay district. I thought the swarms of people wearing those ‘oh so subtle’ white earbuds and beanie/ball caps would be the end of me but they’re the least of my concerns. Found out a while back that a month before I moved in someone was murdered in the parking lot behind my building. As in, less than 50 yards away from where I sleep. As in, one person KILLING another person. And about a month after I moved in, an attendant at the 16th street mall 7-11 (about 4 blocks away) was shot in the face.

I know there isn’t much of a point to this. But writing this out really felt good. That kind of good that is usually reserved for moments like holding Bip’s door closed with moving ties at 8 a.m. and playing your half-stack as loud as it’ll go. Or…video taping a covert snowball operation targeted at Mormons (Operation Mormon Hawk as I’ve dubbed it). I miss the smell of rotten Papa Johns and B.O.

Peace Out

I'm not a _____, but...

We've all been there. It's the Christmas party and everyone is having a great time. The wine is being served and the conversation is flowing. And then that funny guy, you know Ted from accounting, pipes up with what will most assuredly be a hilarious little quip. And then that all too familiar phrase pops out of his mouth. "Dude, I'm not racist, but..."

At this point you don't know what old Ted is going to say. All you can say for sure really, is that it will be the most racist thing you've ever heard in your life. Any time an extremist view is followed with a "but", be prepared to hear things you never thought you'd be subjected to, outside the walls of John Evans Junior High. But hey, I don't discriminate. I won't judge. I know it takes all kinds, right? That's why this goes for all the "I'm not ____" statements. "Dude, I'm no homer, but the Broncos are obviously the best team EVER! "Dude, I'm not sexist, but women should only be allowed to work if it's in the kitchen." "Dude, I'm not gay but, did you check out that new guys ass! Yeah!"

No, a pre-qualifing statement doesn't give you free reign to say whatever you want. "I mean I've never actually been to Greeley, but dude, it TOTALLY smells like ass." And so we dance. What a tangled web the feeble tard mind weaves.

I mean, I'm just as retarded as the next guy, but...

Do the Conga!

This will have to be a four part series or I fear blogger will shove off everyone else’s posts.

There are moments in our lives that define you both as a person as well as an artist. Everyone is struggling with questions like “Why am I here” and “Are relationships a solution to loneliness, or simply way to suppress it”? The opinions are numerous and varied, and for as many people there are on the earth there are different answers to the aforementioned questions. People find solace and relatability (it’s a word I checked) in art and music and literature that makes them feel like someone else understands them. Personally, music has always been my blue eyed boy.

With that said, I thought I’d share with you some of my favorite songs. Lyrics with devastating power, elegance, and honesty. These lines served as inspiration to me in my hardest times and have gotten me through depression, wild drug accusations, and having a shit-head brother. Allow me to walk you through my life in a lyrical context:



1989 – Gloria Estefan 1-2-3
Nickname: E.A.

Gloria helps me learn how to count as my mom dances in the living room singing into a broom and I get a little bit more effeminate:
“1-2-3-4 come on baby say you love me…5-6-7 times…8-9-10-11 I'm just gonna keep on counting…Until you're mine”

1990 – C&C Music Factory Things that make you go Hmmmmm…
Nickname: Air-Reeeeeek!
I learn about the birds and the bees…
“I said chill baby baby chill baby baby wait…My girl bust in, Caught us creating a boom…She said "Girlfriend"?”

And the correlation between “tightness” and blood types…
“I watched the fight. I thought is was alright…'Cause me and Jay were really really tight…So damned close we had the same blood type”

1991 – L.L. Cool J Mama Said Knock You Out
Nickname: Reekers
What the Fuck is a Jammy?
“I'm gonna tie you up and let you understand…that I'm not your average man…when I got a jammy in my hand”

1992 – House of Pain Jump Around
Nickname: Reekers (still)
I got a sterling silver cross necklace, a Notre Dame hat, Side Pocket, and a baby mullet
“Or better yet a terminator…Like Arnold Schwarzenegger…Try'n to play me out like as if my name was Sega”

Q: What's on TV today?

A: Poop.

I hate what’s on TV now and miss what used to be.

What happened to “Unsolved Mysteries”? I find it hard to believe that all of my favorite mysteries from the late eighties have been solved. I also find it hard to believe that there aren’t any new mysteries. Where did “Unsolved Mysteries” go? Now that’s a fucking mystery. I want it back.



And “Rescue 911” too. Dramatic re-enactments = pure awesomeness. I mean, you see a kid running with a toothbrush in his mouth and its like, “Oh shit, here we go…” Or someone would get stuck in a laundry chute—hilarious. But then they would have like an armed robbery and it would be like “Whoa, time to get serious.” Man, that show had it all.

Also, I miss “Boy Meets World.” I could really relate to that show—undoubtedly TGIF’s finest. I mean here’s this kid Cory, kind of dorky but everyone liked him (Erod). He had this really cool friend who the ladies loved named Sean Hunter (me). And they had this great teacher who changed their lives named Mr. Feeney (Jake). Remember the first time Erod kissed Topanga? Crazy. Wait, did that really happen? Oh, and if Corey feels left out he can be Minkis.

And is it too much to ask to come home from work, turn on the TV, and hear the theme from Disney’s “Talespin”? I would be like “Is that bear flying an airplane to an island bar ran by a monkey? Ah, who gives a shit, that song is money. Do-do-do Do-da-do-do…”

Whatever. I guess I’ll go watch “Reba.” (She doesn’t even sing, she’s just a single-mom living next door to her ex-husband. I mean, play to your strengths.)

Seriously though, what happened to "Unsolved Mysteries"?

Robert Stack, little help?