Friday the 13th – Revisited

Meditating on the deeper meaning of life...and throwing feces at Zoo visitors.

It seems like so long ago that I wrote my first Friday 13th article, and yet it was only a scant 3 months back when I penned this Pulitzer-worthy piece: “Superstitious Much?” Not much has changed in those 12 weeks, except for a noted lack in major news sites covering the event.

Did they blow their collective wads back in January? Is Friday the 13th less mystifying in the Spring than in the Winter? I’m not sure, but it does seem odd that there’s almost no mention of the big, bad, scary day this time around. Back in January every one had something to say about it. Today? Nada.

Yahoo News, the worlds worst repository for journalism, is even lacking in this category and I have to say I’m disappointed by their efforts. I was hoping to read more of the same superstitious mumbo jumbo that I saw earlier this year. But no, I find myself having to make due with actual news today. What the serious hell?

Instead of “Black Cats Crossing Paths on the Rise!”, I’m reading about North Korea’s failed missile launch. That shit’s depressing. In place of learning more about the ancient mysticism that goes along with a mostly arbitrary number on a calendar made by a couple of drunken Romans, I find that I’m learning more about a sissy slap fight between Gawker and Fox News.

Wait a minute…holy shit. Friday the 13th brings bad luck and this is the worst luck of all. Actual news being reported through Yahoo! Oh damn. I’m going back to bed. I’m fairly sure this is a sign of the apocalypse.

RAW Regurgitation – A Night of Promos

Like Wrestling? You're gonna hate tonight's show then.

RAW happened last night. Whoopty shit. There wasn’t much to say for this one I’m afraid. I also fear we’re going to be forced to watch some kind of chess championship at Wrestlemania, or perhaps a Tweet-Off stomp the yard-style, between Big Johnny and Teddy Long.

For the record, I like both characters, I think they do exactly what they’re supposed to do and they do it well. I don’t, however, believe that we need a GM vs. GM Easy Bake Oven Dance Off at Wrestlemania. Hopefully they flush this turd before it wastes part of the PPV event in April.

That said, last night’s RAW was just chock full of…promos. Yeah, we got footage about everything, and very little of substance actually came to pass. I guess they’re trying to save the “good stuff” for another night.

Besides, they were in Oregon and those people don’t have much else to recommend them, so I suppose seeing big muscled up guys talk and act on the jumbo-tron was still a pretty good night out. It had to be better than watching the cat lick it’s balls while you listened to the weather report on your old transistor radio.

But I digress. Let’s get into it. RAW – A Night of Promos.

If you want to turn it into a drinking game, everytime there’s a vignette or promo mentioned, drink a beer.

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It’s Superbowl Weekend!

Rex'll be watching from home just like us regular guys.

The party’in starts NOW folks. I was going to get up today, write an incredibly witty, yet misunterstood, article about some group of people so they too could hate on me. But instead, I had to get my new BBQ smoker burned in for the big day Sunday.

As you can see on the sidebar of the site, I was trying to get a petition going to make Superbowl Sunday a national holiday. Since nobody, save for 2 people, saw fit to sign the petition, I’m afraid I’m going to have to abandon all hope of getting Monday off now. I’m not giving up though. I will fight the good fight and I will continue to circulate this online petition until we have enough signatures to force the powers-that-be in Washington to take notice and give the American people what they want. And what do we want? We want a holiday for the Superbowl. It’s one of the biggest party events of the year!

So if you would, sign my little petition hah? To my knowledge, it doesn’t cost you a dime and it could help us add a holiday to the calendar so that all of us fun-lovin’, beer-swillin’, party-goin’, red-blooded, All-American Americans can get our groove on proper and still have one day to recover from it.

Hell, if Arbor day is a thing, I don’t see why this won’t work. Here’s my Superbowl pick: Giants. My prediction, however, is the Patriots. I want the Pats to lose, ergo, they will win. Smart money’s on New England. Smarter money’s on Miller Brewing Company stock, because I’m doing it up right this Sunday!

Raw Regurgitation – CEO’s, HHH’s, and WRASSLIN’!

Royal Rumble Yesterday...Anybody? No? Ok.

This is my third installment of the Raw Regurgitation. As I said last week, I intend to whittle down the word count as much as I can. So this week, I didn’t include the commercial reviews. Let me know if you’d prefer I put them back in. I sometimes do things that amuse only me. This episode of Raw came hot on the heels of the Royal Rumble pay per view. As the show opens we’re treated to the introduction of Executive Vice President of Talent Relations and Interim General Manager of Monday Night Raw and Assistant Fry Cook John Larenitis comes out shaking hands, kissing babies, etc. His job review is coming up tonight at the hands of Chief Operating Officer and Boss’ Son In Law, Triple H.

As he starts speaking, CM Punk interrupts after Big Johnny has announced the Elimination Chamber participants. We don’t let the PPV settle 24 hours before we start plugging the next one coming up. It is, afterall, all about getting in your pocket.

As Punk is berating and singing “Na nah nah nah Goodbye” somewhere between the key of A sharp and Holy Gawd This is awful, Daniel Bryan comes out and it’s announced that we’ll have a Champion vs. Champion match. Because that’s a fresh, new exciting idea. Of course, when you put Punk and Bryan in a match, it’s going to be guaranteed entertaining. But just as Bryan is getting his groove on, letting everyone know he’s better than they are because he’s vegan and doesn’t eat meat, out come Sheamus to remind us, “Hey I’m Sheamus and I’m here too!”.

As the winner of the Two Towsand Twelve Royal Rumble, he’ll pick his opponent for Wrestlemania and if these two guys still have their title after EC, then it will be one of them (Daniel Bryan). And then he tells Big Johnny that he hopes he gets fired by relating an old Irish saying, which (and I’m paraphrasing here) wishes for John’s lacy underthings to get kicked through his colon and out his mouth. B. A. Star Sheamus.

Commercial Break – See? No Recaps.

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Extreme Couch Potato’ing

Shown here, WINNING Not shown: Gutmeister

Is that even a word? Potato’ing? According to my spell check, it is not. So, much like William Shakespeare, I’m inventing it. Potato’ing is now a for-real verb that I will use to describe my favorite pastime. I enjoy laying around on the couch, just spudding it up as much as I can. I don’t get a lot of chances to practice my craft, but I have achieved epic levels of Couch Potato’ing on occasion.

There’s more to it than just sitting there. You have to dig in, find just the right angle for your back, along with carving out the perfect butt groove in the cushions. If you think you can just plop down on the sofa, and call it extreme, well my friend you are sadly mistaken. There’s an art to it. You have to know your couch, your remotes, how many steps to the fridge and bathroom, and most importantly, you have to know your butt.

You might think you know your butt, although I’m pretty sure you don’t. I mean, you’re aware of having a butt. You’re aware that when you sit down, you’re typically sitting on said butt. That’s the basics, even toddlers understand the basics of the butt. You need to take it to the next level though, if you’re going to venture into Extreme Couch Potato’ing territory. And that’s not to say it’s without its hazards.

Your typical seated position on the couch doesn’t lend itself to a long-term starchy vegetative state. It’s more of a necessity than it is an event. Consider this. If you’re just sitting there and not giving it any thought, you might have to fart. When you fart in a seated position, if you’re not positioned just right you will have to lean to one side or the other to allow your flatulence the opportunity to escape properly. In extreme couch potato’ing, you’re already in the optimal position to squeeze out a few air biscuits without so much as having to adjust your cheeks.

The trick is to recline slightly, don’t lay down! Just recline back so that your lower back is supporting you as much as the top half of your butt cheeks. This is going to allow for the lower half of your badonkadonk to remain exposed to the air, unobstructed. So when you have to let one fly, it can just scoot on out of there. No need to adjust, lean or otherwise interrupt your training.

Further, if you’re not in the right position, eventually you’ll find yourself having to shift around to find a new comfortable position. This is completely against the spirit of extreme couch potato’ing. Your goal in ECP is to remain as close to completely motionless and just shy of comatose as humanly possible. If dust gathers on you, you’re doing it right. If the family has to climb around you and occasionally stick a mirror under your nose to see if you’re breathing, CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve achieved ECP Nirvana!

So if you don’t mind too much, I intend to get started on my ECP session for the weekend. I’ll be on the couch. If you need me, I’ll call you.

The Grocery Store Cashier Friggin’ Hates Me

This is my ride. When I'm shopping, I'm winning

She does, I’m not lying. You see, I shop for the groceries around here. Mainly because I have more flexibility in my day than my wife does, but also mainly because she never buys the stuff I want. So I do the shopping. But I’m shopping for 5 people each time I go. Have you ever shopped for 5 or more people? It’s an event, not unlike the old Supermarket Sweep gameshow. I run, well who am I trying to fool? I walk purposefully through the store, in a pre-determined route that I’ve honed to perfection over the years.

Everyone else goes in the store and just kind of wanders about, taking in the majestic beauty that is the local mega market. I don’t know where these people have been living the past, oh 50 years, but they are completely stunned and awestruck by the bountiful harvest set before them by the grocery conglomerates. Me, I’m not impressed. It’s the same crap in mostly the same location every week. Once in a while they’ll stick a display of Twinkies or tampons out in the middle of the aisle, but otherwise it’s not really a lot to behold.

So while I’m driving my highly tuned, tricked out grocery cart through the store, I’m deftly weaving in and out of housewife traffic. Two heifers blocking the entire aisle? No problem, I can skid to a stop and simultaneously pull a 180 degree turn with pinpoint precision. Items go flying from the store shelves into my cart, neatly arranged by where it goes when I get home. This is how I load the belt at the checkout and this is how I want it to be bagged up for me. No sense in running around in circles to put this stuff away, all it takes is a superior mind to figure out the best course of action and implement it. I have one such superior mind.

Now, another thing I like to do is wait until AFTER they finish ringing up my order to give them the store discount card. It makes me happy to see the money come spilling off my receipt after everything has been scanned, bagged and stacked neatly back in my cart. It’s like my own little Showcase Showdown. Or maybe that little yodeling mountain climber game from the Price is Right. Either way, it makes me happy.

What it doesn’t do, is make the cashier happy. She’s usually an old bat, angry at the world because she has to ring up my groceries. She probably applied for the “florist” position and found out that Francois the ambiguously gay floral designer beat her to the spot. So here she is, on register 9 having to check out my mountainous, albeit very organized, cart full of grocery store wares.

And I buy heavy shit. 40lb bags of dog food, cases of beer, cinder block crunch cereal. You know, MAN stuff. It’s heavy, that means it’s manly. And she weighs in around 87lbs soaking wet. I offer to help her scan the heavier things and she seethes at me “No, I got it!” Meee-yow! You go on with your bad, geriatric, breakin’-a-hip self then! But before she’ll start scanning she wants my bonus card. That’s a no-no. I tell her, I’ll give it to her when I get done unloading the cart.

She’d rather have it now. I’d rather give it to her when I’m damn good and ready. The manager gets involved, and by now, he’s used to it. ”Sir, we require all of our cashiers to ask for your bonus card prior to ringing up your order to insure you get the discounts that are available to you.” And I say, “Yeah, but go eat a turd. I’ll do it my way.” He sighs, wanders by the beer aisle and swipes a 6 pack along with Nytol sleeping pills. I know he hates his job. I can relate. I hate his job too.

So now, finally the old bat realizes she’s not getting the card until I’m damn good and ready to hand it over. With disgust in her eye and pure black hate in her heart, she begins the process of ringing up my order. She doesn’t realize that I don’t have a single thing else to do, but she goes as slow as humanly possible to irritate me. If I was a busy guy, I wouldn’t be grocery shopping at 10am on a Thursday, do you think? There are times that I’ll have her stop, print the receipt and go back and verify for me if the canned tomatoes were 87 cents or 86 cents, just because I can. Take that you old bitty.

Finally she gets through, I hand over the card, and if there was a way to verify it, I’d swear she scans my card with a voodoo curse chaser. I mean, just that pure, raw, loathing she has for me has to be a bad luck incantation doesn’t it?

On the upside? I saved $68.87 today.

One Great Upside to Marriage

Marriage is not ALWAYS like this, just mostly.

So, you’re afraid of marriage huh? I’m sorry to hear that, you want some ointment for that? Truth is, marriage is a pretty darn nice thing to be involved in, if you find the right person and neither of you are selfish, self-important walrus taints. If you’re someone who always has to come first, who’s always got to have things “just so” and feels that your own feelings and desires are the single most important thing EVER, then do us all a favor. Don’t get married. Don’t go out in public. Just climb up the nearest cliff and jump off. We don’t need your kind.

If, however, you’re capable of caring about others, and you’re one of those rare people who actually have the unique ability to put yourself second in line once in a while, then you might be marriage material. Additionally, if you can find someone similar you’re doing even better. Congratulations, get hitched! It’s not that hard to do, a few bucks at the courthouse and you’re done.

Unless of course you’re marrying an average woman. I don’t mean average in terms of looks, personality, sexual prowess, skill at Dungeons and Dragons. I mean average in that most women have a dream wedding pictured in their minds and it’s your job to make sure they get it. Keep in mind, the wedding isn’t about the guy. It’s never about the guy. Your best bet is to go along quietly to pick out china patterns, blenders and flowers. Suck it up big boy, she puts up with YOU afterall. It’s really unfair to her if you think about it objectively.

So you make it through the circus of a wedding, you’re now deeper in debt than college loans could have ever possibly hoped to achieve, and you’re married. To the same person. Every. Freaking. Day. And you know what? It ain’t so bad.

Here’s the thing, the minute you get married you’ve entered into a partnership with another human being who’s also willing to let you have sex with them, every other Tuesday whether you need it or not. But in agreeing to marrying you, they now get to split the bullshit that life throws at you on the regular. Remember back when you were single and the car would break down? You’d look in your bank account and basically the ATM would spit out a receipt with this image on it?

madbro 300x273 One Great Upside to Marriage

Yeah, there's nothing even remotely close to money in your account

So you’d sit there, wondering how you were going to get to work, what you were going to eat and how you were going to get your car fixed. You’d run out of ideas and get blindingly drunk on mouthwash and Nyquil just so you could forget about your troubles for a few fitful hours of sleep. It was awful. But now you’re married!

That means she gets to help you deal with the huge slice of shit-pizza that the Pizza-verse has dealt you. While you’re walking to the bus stop to get to your low-paying, unfulfilling job, she’s able to call around for the best quotes on repairs and vice versa. You’re able to hunt down friends who owe you a favor or know a guy who’ll do the work on the cheap while she’s at her low-paying, unfulfilling job somewhere.

And remember balancing the budget? Trying to pay everything each month? Not only do you have a partner in racking up those debts, but you also have a partner in juggling them around each month so that you don’t get something turned off at the wrong time. ”So, we skipped the electric bill last month, this month we can skip the water bill to pay the electric bill. If it rains, we won’t have to worry about having water anyways.”

On and on this cycle goes. You’re still getting dumped on, but it’s being spread across two people now. You and your partner. The Jackie Chan to your Chris Tucker. The Cagney to your Lacey. The Spongebob to your Patrick. Well, that last one might be a little bit suspect.

But you can see how it works. Marriage absolutely has it’s challenges, anyone who tells you differently is either a) lying or b) happily divorced. Marriage, in my experience, has many more positives than negatives. The biggest plus for me? Knowing that at least once a month, I get to have sex, guaranteed. Whether I need it or not.

Reflections on Belly Billboard

Sorry ladies, I'm spoken for.

You know, when I started this blog and the idea to sell message space on my gut over at Fiverr.com I really had very little hope that it would become much of a thing. I mean, it’s funny to people to see a big fat hairy gut with lipstick scrawled across it and then even funnier when you share it with the world. I get it. I just never thought it would turn into such a big thing for me.

In the short time I’ve been doing this, right around 8 months I believe, I’ve fulfilled almost 2 dozen orders for Belly Billboard messages and each one is always fun to do. My wife gets a huge kick out of scribbling on me with hooker lipstick, and even more fun watching me try to scrub it off through all the hair in my man-pelt. I use a scotchbrite scrubber and liquid soap, in case you were wondering. I all but remove the top layer of my epidermis for you people. I am that dedicated to your enjoyment.

Anyhow, I just wanted to use this post to say thanks. And for everyone who’s coming by regular to read my inane writing, I really appreciate you doing that. I never thought anyone would be interested in much of what goes on inside my brain. I thank you.

Raw Regurgitation, Pre-Royal Rumble Edition

Somebody Call My Momma!

Somebody call my Momma. Raw wasn’t half bad tonight. It had all the elements of a good show without too much of a good show mixed in. It was the perfect storm, if you will.

Now, if you remember last week I went on forever about the show and this week I vow to cut it back a bit. Even I don’t like reading that much crap, and I’ve read at least 4 dozen Dean Koontz novels in the last 4 years. So we’ll try to make this thing a little bit more palatable.

Some notes before we get started:

I still credit @MrBrandonStroud from WithLeather for the inspiration behind doing these reviews.
The Funkasaurus is the best thing going in WWE today.
@5HourEnergy is pretty damn good at ignoring my Twitter heckling.
TGIFriday’s needs to quit pretending they aren’t called TGIFriday’s anymore
Divas matches need to be conducted in the nude, in HD, in slow-motion.

With that said, let’s get on to the show…

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Monday Football Hangover – Championship Edition

So, the Redskins aren't playing?

Yeah, it was a hard weekend for the Ol’ Gutmeister. When you’re a die hard Redskins fan, it’s pretty tough to watch the playoffs. Mainly because my team is never in them anymore. But when you add in the fact that 3 of the 4 teams playing in the championship games are teams I simply cannot stand, it makes for a rough day of football viewing.

Enough of my pity party, let’s talk about the games. First on the schedule was the Ravens vs. the Patriots. If there was any way it could be possible for two teams to lose the same game, this was the one time I needed it to happen. I cannot stand the Ravens at all. The reasoning goes back to how the Colts snuck out of town leaving all of Baltimore to wonder what the hell was going on. Then to have the Browns sneak INTO town much the same way, and see these people support them like it was a great thing just sickens me. Plus, Ray Lewis.

The Patriots have Belichick and Brady and frankly I can’t believe they’re allowed to participate in the human race, let alone professional sports. One is a grumpy, never satisfied, irritable bowel of a man and the other is Belichick. It was, however, a really good game. Lots of back and forth, a good showing for the defenses and it was a well paced game. Congrats to the Bradiots for sending the Baltimore Browns back home.

The next game had the Giants vs. the 49ers. Oh god. The Giants. The same team that the Redskins managed to put a beat down on twice during the regular season and they still manged to get into the championship game. It’s hard to believe. And god, this game was BORING until the 4th quarter. I mean, it literally felt like that game wasn’t ever going to end. Not that it wasn’t a close game, or a well played game, but it was B-O-R-I-N-G to watch. I’d have had more excitement watching flies fornicate.

When it got to overtime though, the game really took off. There was finally a sense of urgency between the teams, like they actually might want to try to win this thing. And even though it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, they played hard. Congrats to the Giants I guess.

So now, we get a week off from football until the Superbowl, and that means I have to watch the Senior Bowl if I want anything resembling football. Ugh.

Belly Billboard

What What? On My Gut!

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