Two pictures and a terrible post
This picture was taken in Eréndira, Mexico about two years ago.
This was taken in front of a restaurant before my illustrious Naval career.
When I get bored I do all sorts of boring of stuff. When reading or writing or having a wank just isn’t enough, I indulge myself in the cyber space cesspool that is Craigslist. I realize that the website is awfully useful if you intend to sell a used mattress or your wedding ring but to be perfectly honest, I don’t trust Craigslist users.
As you may all know by now, I have theories. Lots and lots of theories. Some of these explain the nature of the universe or the behavior of monkeys, and others enlighten one to as why Chinese restaurant menus always contain grammatical and/or spelling errors.
So, I’m going to try and explain to you, my dear readers, why I find Craigslist so disgusting yet fascinating and a theory I have about the personal ads.
I could care less about jewelry, jobs, or “missed connections”. When I craigslist (that’s a verb I invented), I go straight to “women seeking men” or perhaps “women seeking women” if I’m in the right sort of mood. But before I go on, I know some of you are jumping to the conclusion that because I do this, I’m some sort of lonely and undersexed creep. That really couldn’t be further from the truth (except the sex part). In all honesty, I am far too shy as to arrange a lovers tryst with some floozy off of Craigslist. I do this simply for my own amusement.
You know your walking the line between good taste and porno when Craigslist prompts you with a warning and disclaimer webpage about the nature of its personal ads. Furthermore, they offer this bit of advice just below the “women seeking men” link:
“Choosing safer sex for you and your partner greatly reduces the risk of contracting STDs including HIV -- you can get answers to your
safer sex questions, courtesy of staff members at the
SF city clinic”
So, I can only assume that casual sex with craigslist users will inevitably result in STD’s or an unwanted pregnancy.
Great. Where can I sign up?
But putting all that aside, the true beauty of Craigslist lies in the personal ads themselves. I don’t really want to post a particular ad from the Sacramento area because that’s irresponsible and mean but rest assured, they are very, very crude. Here are a few tasty titles to whet you curious whistle:
I planned on elaborating on a theory I have about hookers on Craigslist and how they come to your home and unlock the back door so their pimp can stroll on in and beat you and rob you blind. But I’m sick of writing.
P.S. I was planning on doing an Oscars post this week but for some reason it was last night and not some other day that would be more convenient for me.
P.S.S. Congratulations to T.M on his engagement if the rumors are in fact true. Coughs…don’t do it…cough. Sorry, I’m a smoker.
Can't think of a title again...here's a pretty picture
Apologies for the lack of an update. I could go ahead and say that I’ve been extremely busy with work and women but I don’t feel like lying. Speaking of lying, I got a haircut today, and if you don’t already know this, I’m a terrific liar while getting a trim.
Because I usually go to a Super Cuts or a Great Clips, I get a different “stylist” every time. These are lonely women I think (except for the occasional gay man), and they often seem overly interested in how my weekend was, or, if it’s upcoming, what my plans for it are. And this is a lovely opportunity to tell “porky pies”.
I was a law student for fifteen minutes today. I played the part at least, and the twenty something Asian was never the wiser. Sometimes I tell tales of extravagant travels or say I’m in the military. I even went as far as saying I spent time in Iraq once. Although I have yet to summon the courage to try an accent. My debit card does say “Ryan McClune”, so an English, Irish, Scottish, or Welsh accent couldn’t possibly be that difficult to accept. But what I’m trying to say is this: these precious moments we share with the single mothers that cut our hair is an invaluable opportunity to assume the identity of our dreams (except for “rich guy”, because rich guys don’t go to Super Cuts). So my advice to you is this: Fuck therapy, for half an hour a month you can be the man you have always wanted to be.
Space monkeys: Project Mayhem requires each of you to get a haircut and tell beautiful lies. And make sure to leave comments on their success.
By the way, a welcome to Seth is in order. I’m always glad to see a new reader and he has so far proven himself to be an active member of the "burst". Keep it coming.
P.S. Although Seth’s stories of drink fueled debauchery involving yours truly are completely accurate, he failed to mention the worst of the lot: making out with a friend of a friend from High School, only to find out the next day from a reliable source that she had Human Papillomavirus (HPV). If I had gotten lucky that night, I certainly wouldn’t have been…lucky (that’s a drunken attempt at being clever).
Safe.
Not another monkey post
If you click the “view my complete profile” link to the right, you might notice that my occupation is listed as entrepreneur. So, in the spirit of entrepreneurship, the following blog entry is not only meant to be amusing but also potentially lucrative. In other words, I am giving you, my dear readers, the chance to get in on the ground floor of a new and exciting business opportunity.
But first I would like to preface this potential investment by explaining just how I stumbled upon such an ingenious idea. About fifteen minutes ago I finished watching a Nature Channel show appropriately titled “Clever Monkeys”. The show itself was unremarkable but it reminded me of a trip I took to the Sacramento Zoo about a year ago. After wandering about, as people do at the zoo, I stopped to admire the monkeys, you know, the ones that swing around, the other ones that do nothing, and the ones that howl and yelp. And then it hit me. I have never, ever, met a monkey. And the sweat-shop monkeys at the zoo don’t count.
People love monkeys and monkeys love people. But where is our monkey access?
Enter: MonkeyParty.com
Edit: I just checked and that URL is taken (for a completely unrelated reason, mind you). So effective immediately, the company’s name is TBD.
So here is the pitch:
Firstly, I buy a chimpanzee (like the one pictured above), or any Primate really, but if I’m not mistaken, chimps can live to be like eighty years old. And this part is important, because monkeys aren’t cheap. But old monkeys, like eighty year old monkeys, will eventually pay for themselves.
Secondly, people pay me $100/hour to show up at birthdays, office parties, weddings, bar mitzvahs, etc. for the pleasure of meeting a monkey.
The monkey can shake hands, have pictures taken, tell jokes, dance, rollerskate, do high-fives while Dad video tapes it, etc.
Now hear me out. People still hire clowns for birthdays and other events (yeah, clowns). I’ll let the following equation explain my next point.
Kids + Clown = Crappy birthday and unhappy children.
Kids + Monkey = Best birthday ever, I love you Mom and Dad.
Or.
Thirteen-year olds + D.J. = lame and predictable bar mitzvah.
Thirteen-year olds + D.J. + Monkey = Mozoltov!
Let me know what you think and we can start to get the ball rolling. I assure you that there will be other investors so you will want to act quickly.
Style at Large!...even I'm not that clever
Do you know what I got to thinking about this weekend? Plus sized women. Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy women of all shapes and sizes, in fact, I probably prefer the plus sized over those of the anorexic variety. But what I’ve really been thinking about is what exactly does the term plus sized mean? When I ordered a Big Mac Extra Value Meal on Friday I certainly didn’t ask for it to be plus sized. Rather, I politely asked for it to be “large sized”, because I enjoy the big drink. When asked about the nature of my penis I usually respond with “average but thick”, never plus sized. On a side note, women find this sort of honesty irresistible. Have I ever told you what a charming drunk I am?
Anyway, if you Google “plus sized women” the first hit is a website dedicated to lingerie. Rather large lingerie I would imagine. So diving ever deeper into said website (I don’t want to advertise on this blog, not for free at least, so I’ll let you stumble upon it yourself if you’re so inclined), I discovered some very racy photos of what I imagine are plus sized women. And to be perfectly honest, I found myself excited, ashamed, and engorged. Checking the size guide for their bras reveled that the cup sizes go all the way up to JJ. I can scarcely imagine the size of breasts that would facilitate a JJ bra.
I have no idea why I decided to write about these much maligned members of American society. Perhaps it’s because Valentines Day is coming up and I feel terrible for all the lonely big girls out there. And, if the trend towards obesity in this country continues, you’ll soon have no choice but to have a plus sized girlfriend and plus sized wife and eventually plus sized children. So, what I think I’m trying to say in this already regrettable post is: If you’re alone this Valentines Day or any day for that matter, go out and make a friend, a plus sized one.
P.S. Right now I’m deciding whether or not to include a picture of a large woman. If you’re reading this, you’ve already found out.
The Teen Wolf Blitzer
Alternate Title:
The Teen Wolf Blitzer Situation Room™
I should preface this post by informing you, my dear readers, that I don’t particularly like Wolf Blitzer. On the other hand, the 1985 film “Teen Wolf” holds a very special place in my admittedly foolish heart. The protagonist Scott Howard, played by the boyishly handsome Michael J. Fox, is a timeless character that all American males can relate to. From boyhood to adolescence and on to young adulthood, I longed to win the state basketball championship. But not as a human though. But rather, a werewolf type creature that oddly enough, never frightened anybody. Which kind of makes you wonder about the citizens of Beacon Town (yes, I did my research). Had werewolves been a benevolent or at least a benign presence in the city’s past. Or, like Rome itself, was the tiny hamlet of Beacon Town founded by twin brothers that were nursed by a kind and gentle She-Wolf. I don’t know, but it would certainly explain the townsfolk’s indifference to the sudden appearance of a teenage werewolf.
I also find myself sympathizing a great deal with the Teen Wolf. I happened to be a “late bloomer” myself, much like Scott Howard – which appears to be his problem in the early stages of the film (I’ve also never had a wet dream which means that either I skipped a vital stage of puberty or I began masturbating far too early and far too often). If you really think about it, Michael J. Fox is hairless and looks to be about twelve years old, not to mention sexually confused. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that the transformation to the Teen Wolf (hairy, powerful, and sexually aggressive) parallels the same changes that take place during the awkward years of male puberty.
By the way, I’m sort of on a roll here and can’t think of anything to say about Wolf Blitzer.
Remember that asshole Mick from the film. The same guy who got away with clotheslining people in the middle of a high school basketball game. The same guy who called one of your best friends “fatty” and was banging the woman of your dreams. I don’t think it needs to be said but we’ve all had a “Mick” in our lives. And now that I think about it, some of my readers went to my rival high school. I wonder if I was your “Mick” or vise versa. Jeff and Davis, were either of you fooling around with my old high school girlfriend Laruen or sabotaging by basketball career between 1999-2001. If so, I forgive you.
So, Wolf Blitzer and the Teen Wolf Blitzer. I’ll let the pictures do the talking.
Back by popular demand
Despite that fact that I am clearly a creative genius I am really struggling with this particular blog entry. It’s probably cold feet and I think the pressure is getting to me. Topics, titles, and anecdotes – I got nothing.
But I could go the personal route though. Ryan McClune is working. Ryan McClune lives with his parents. Ryan McClune is single. The weight of the world has crushed Ryan McClune’s hopes and dreams. Like Palahniuk says in Fight Club, “We are all taught to believe we will grow up to be millionaires and movie stars, but it isn’t happening” – that’s paraphrased of course.
I could go political. For example, my adopted state of California is completely broke and issuing I.O.U.’s rather than proper tax returns. And the Governator, as he’s affectionately referred to, is only making matters worse. This is understandable if you’ve seen the critically acclaimed film Junior. If my dear readers need a bit of a reminder, the movie involves a swollen Arnold Schwarzenegger becoming pregnant and making cinematic history.
So, on to other things.
I’m delighted to see renewed interest in my blog and I hope to begin updating more often. Please respond with any ideas for future updates because I would be glad to oblige. If you want another post about Star Wars or soccer or even another poem in the same spirit as the one I did for that poor lizard, I would be more than happy to do so.
Safe.
By the way, as I’m writing this, I still haven’t decided on the picture for this post, so, it will probably be entirely unrelated to the aforementioned.
P.S. Jamie Katzen Esq. – does “Esq.” mean you are officially a fancy lawyer or just a normal lawyer.
This picture was taken in Eréndira, Mexico about two years ago.
