My life, in a nutshell, is this post.
Here goes.
It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend.
This particular Friday started out just like any other day:
1) I woke up
2) I heard my wife downstairs making coffee
3) I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and masturbated furiously before she came back upstairs
4) pretended I was sleeping when she came back up
Me: "Morning, hon."
Wife: "Hi. Why are you out of breath?"
Me: "Um. Bad dream. Scary. Had spiders and Rachael Ray. Don't want to talk about it."
Wife: "Well...what's with the tissue stuck to your shirt?"
Me: "I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!"
Like I said.
Typical day.
The forecast for that day called for 80 degrees and sunny.
This means "Harley time."
I got ready for work, and went back to the shed and took out my motorcycle.
She's black and she's beautiful.
Like Oprah Winfrey.
Except, you know, beautiful.
I started her up, then turned back to the shed to close the doors.
Behind me, the engine STOPPED.
"..huh..?"
I turned to see my that my Harley Davidson had decided to flop over on it's right side, crash to the ground and shut itself off.
That's. Just. Awesome.
**********
Dear God,
What the fuck? Seriously?
You gotta pull this shit on a fucking Friday!?
Signed,
Not a happy disciple right now, dude. Not even a little bit.
Rod
**********
I went over to the bike, grabbed it's handlebars and pulled it upright.
I realized , at about a 30-degree angle to it's LEFT, that my kickstand had decided to go back to it's little home under the bike.
Kickstand's mom: "Kickstand! Time for dinner!"
Kickstand: "Coming mom!"
My bike, without a kickstand to rest on...
...began it's descent to the opposite side.
It's at this exact moment that the right mirror caught the pocket of my leather jacket.
And the bike...
...with me now attached to it...
...fell over on it's LEFT side.
Taking me with it.
************
Dear God,
Yeah..it's Rod again.
Seriously. You've had your fun.
Cut the fucking shit.
Signed,
Guy who's going to convert to Judaism soon
************
I finally managed to pick the bike up, readjust everything that had bent or moved...
...and went to work.
It's about halfway to work where I look down at my gas tank.
There...on the top right of my tank:
A FUCKING DENT.
Me: "Kill me."
My throttle linkage apparently drove into the gas tank with such force that it caused a small dent in the tank.
So far...this Friday?
Not the best.
**************
Dear God,
Please forget about the 'converting to Judaism' thing I said earlier.
I was kidding. I know I shouldn't be fucking with you.
Plus, I don't look good in beanies, so I don't think the Jew look is for me.
Signed,
Your humble servant, Rodney
P.S.,
Please stop now.
**************
I get to work, completely bummed.
I immediately start researching 'how to pull out dents' and 'Harley Davidson body shops' and 'how to slit my fucking wrists'...
...when suddenly I have the urge to pee.
I walk into the men's room and step up to the urinal.
That's when I notice it.
Apparently, in one of the two efforts to pull my bike back up from the ground...
...something had caught on my pants...
...and ripped a four-inch hole in the crotch of my goddamn jeans.
Oh.
Looky there.
My right ball is hanging out.
Excellent.
**************
Dear God,
Touche'.
I give up.
Rod
*******************
So, here I sit at my desk...
...with a nut hanging out of the hole that remains.
I say 'remains' because I tried to staple it shut.
Some fucking hairy moments doing that, my friends.
I leave work in about an hour.
I wonder how God will finish me off.
Death by Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?
Trapped in a hot elevator with an unshowered Rosie O'Donnell?
My money is something messy done by a steam roller.
It seems like it's gonna be a steam roller death kinda day.
Pray for me.
'Cuz it doesn't seem like mine are working.
Moog out.
25 comments:
Even better? It's Thursday.
There are so many things I want to say right now.
So.
Many.
Um........
I'll just not.
That is all.
Death by Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader? That doesn't sound bad, really. I've always kinda hoped my obit will read something like:
MILLIONAIRE OCTOGENARIAN SUFFERS FATAL STROKE WHILE SERVICING THE DALLAS COWBOYS CHEERLEADING SQUAD. "HE WAS AMAZING" SAYS CHEERLEADER. HE HAD THE FATAL STROKE WHILE IN THE MIDST OF A, WELL, FATAL STROKE.
Wow. That naked picture of you and God. You really weren't kidding about your small peen. I think that was God's initial joke on you. I'm sorry.
Just: Thanks...you made me realize like I wrote this today and then needed to rewrite the beginning.
Ass.
Like I wanted more shit to do.
Sass: Yes. Because...blue and...
what?!
Mike: Oooooh. Good point.
Plus I really like bacon.
Chris: We totally have to send that to TMZ.
You do it.
Go ahead.
Kellie: You cut me deep just then, Kell.
You cut me deep.
That sounds like a really bad day. On our anniversary last year, the wheels almost came off our car on the way out of town,then after having them fixed, we went into a store and our car was broken into and our clothes for the weekend stolen.
And yes, it was our 13th anniversary. And no, I don't believe in that crap. But having a ball hanging out, literally or metaphorically, is not a good thing.
Aww Moooooog....
.
.
.
.
.
yeah I've got nothing, it just felt like an "Aww Moooooog" was called for.
Dude, that totally sucks. Careful with the stapler. I have seen a guy staple his sack to his pants; it was funny to me.
Doooood, it can't be all bad.....you were wearing undies.
Oh...that's nice.
I WENT TO VEGAS!
alrighty, you asked for me to pray.
"Dear Lord...today you saw fit to set before Moooog many trials. I do not claim to know your ways, dear Father, but could you see fit to leave him alone for the next few days? I mean, come on. He ripped a hole in his jeans in the name of all that is holy. Plus you didn't give him much in the way of the height department. And he's not to happy about his Mr. Wiggly it seems....I mean...I know this is just like a side note thing...but really? Let him have a nice few days, okay? His blogs are more entertaining when he's in a good mood. Your Bemused Follower, Fawkes.
p.s...thanks for the new camera by the way. That was pretty cool. "
Mooooog...hope that helps.
kathcom: Especially for you...a ball hanging out would be..well...kinda disturbing.
Doug: I was hedging towards Amy Winehouse.
Too soon?
Bon: hey...if you reach down here you can feel my pity.
That sounded better in my head.
justjp: this happened to SOMEONE ELSE?!?!
Thank Christ. I thought I was the only one this shit happened to.
Winky: How did this comment go fecal?
Cindee: hon...I'm 5'2" with a size 7 shoe.
Even if I went commando, chances of actually seeing something poke it's head out are pretty slim.
I'm hot.
Becky: "..and all I got was this stupid comment."
Fawkes: Wow. Thanks.
Little extra time on your hands today?
I expected that comment to begin:
"Call me Ishmael..."
Did your left ball get jealous because the right got to hang out all day? Just curious.
BTW, it's gonna take more than prayer. I know being a minster's wife and all. Some serious Bible study is in order.*ahem*
My mother always told me that if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.
:x
Looking at that picture, I see some stuff hanging down. Like...hairs. Or are they threads?
Regardless...cut that shit.
Do us all a public service and do some "manscaping" before you let your junk hang out for all to see.
K? Thanks.
Christina: I've trained my balls to be non-judgmental of one another.
It's a much more harmonious crotch that way.
MI: Yet...you still speak....
Amonynous: I will have you know that my netherregion is barren...like the desert or Madonna's ovaries.
If you must, you can read about my very first adventure in manscaping...
...which was mandated by the doctor doing my vasectomy.
Good times. Good times.
Please, for your own good, go back to bed....now....
Your balls are GREEN?
Green like the Hulk?
I think you should see a doctor Moog...
That dent and rip are your first steps toward looking like bad-ass Thunderdome sonofabitch. Embrace it.
Would you please install a nanny cam? This is the best reality show I know of.
Well, I didn't want to admit it....but I invented the "hole in the crotch" pants thing.
Pay up
sucks to be you.
You invited Hulk to the party in your pants? The pants party?
I'm insulted.
Oh that's stinks! Sorry to hear about your motorcycle.
That sounds like one hell of an awesome day...the only way it could have gotten any better is if Ernest Borgnine snuck into your bedroom and teabagged you in the middle of the night...
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