Monday, August 30, 2010

gramma's toilet

Lol, now there's a title for a blogpost. Or a song. Or a band. Or anything else that is awesome.

Usually Thanksgiving and Christmas would be hosted at my grandparent's house. My entire family would gorge themselves on turkey, ham, pot roast, and every other holiday indulgence you can imagine. It was awesome. While we had a small family, there would still be maybe 10-12 of us, all at their place.

It was a big house, but strangely, the bathroom was right off the kitchen. Not like next door to the kitchen, the bathroom was IN THE KITCHEN. Like if you walked right out of the bathroom, you'd be staring at the kitchen sink. To get to the bathroom, you'd have to walk through the entire kitchen.

Anyway, we'd all be gettin' our holiday on, gathered 'round the table, when somebodies gotta go number 2. Nine times out of ten, it was ur boi. The best was when Aunt Edna couldn't hold off the festering brown urges until everybody was done eating.

She was shaking so violently while trying to polish off the last of the mashed potatoes on her plate.

We'd be eating the shit out of (no pun intended) some holiday meal, and you'd see Aunt Edna make a break for the powder room. Moaning, groaning, splashing, toilet-bowl-echoed farting, man, she would be blastin' dukes so hard it made us sweat.

Of course, my brother and I would be laughing so furiously, furiously making our parents furiously embarrassed.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd emerge as if nothing happened, soaked in sweat. Likewise, we'd continue eating like nothing happened, soaked in sweat.

Finally, the meal would end, and without skipping a beat, our family ritual would begin. You see, once everybody was done eating, and the small talk was getting stale, we'd put our plates on the counter and all congregate in the living room for some football. For we knew that what was going to happen next, nobody wanted to be in the near vicinity of the bathroom.

If you had half a beer left, you'd grab another cold one from the fridge. If you wanted more water, you'd fill your glass up before you claimed your seat. If you had to use the bathroom, you went quickly.

See, after each holiday meal, Gramma would trudge to the bathroom and engage in a war of bloody excretions. It was loud, obnoxious, probably painful, and easily made what Aunt Edna did, look like child's play. She wasn't done until Gramma'd hobble into the living room, with a a cloud of brownish steam following her. Every time, she'd find us just sitting in utter silence, watching the television.

Class was in session every holiday, as Gramma schooled Aunt Edna, and all of us, in the art of elimination - reminding us that this was GRAMMA'S TOILET.

Friday, August 27, 2010

remember the band lifehouse?

You know, those "Hangin' by a Moment" fruitcakes? 'Member them? (huh huh he said member)

While not a huge fan of the band or anything, I've never been mad at any of their tunes I've heard. Stupid, catchy, modern rock.

All the songs generally sound the same - the verses, with clean guitar, feel like they're building up into something epic. But then of course never do. And the vocal style always seems to sound the same.

Then you're gonna have the chorus where the guitar gets distorted, and he's shout-singing, again the similar vocal style from song to song.

But wait, why the hell am I posting about Lifehouse? And why am I dissecting their songwriting? I don't have an answer for you, sorry.

Check out what happens at about 1:16. Seriously, do it.

Did you see how the singer tackles the other dude? Why do you think he did that? Did you see the slight smile on his face? Or the look of "you retard" on the long-haired dude's face?

Obviously it's a performance-based video, with shots of the band acting "real", or "candid", thrown in. I get the concept, it's been done to death, dudes.

Maybe I'm naive, but I would have thought the "candid" shots didn't involve the director saying, "I got a great idea; I need the long-haired dude to stand here, and the singer to stand over there. On my count of three, I need the singer to run up and tackle the long-haired dude".

I can just imagine the smile spreading over the director's face, as he realizes what cinematic gold he just captured. I bet he goes home to tell his wife and children about the magic he witnessed today on the set.

"I know, I'm sorry, I told you I'd be home 9 hours ago. I know it's 4AM, but we nailed 'the shot'!", he tells his wife. "Just wait till you see the video, you'll see what I mean, I promise", he continues.

I've never been in a band, never toured with a band, but maybe that is what touring band mates do to kill time before they go on. Maybe they playfully tackle each other.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


We recently moved, and are finally done unpacking. And allay'all know what happens when you unpack after a move: you wind up with a shitload of boxes. Living in such a progressive (lol) city, recycling is much more prevalent than it was in Gainesville. Not sure why, and don't care.

So rather than trying to sneak the boxes into the huge garbage bin, we recycled them. And per our landlord's directions, this entailed taking them out to the curb the night before pick-up, stacking them up nice and neat, and tying them up with twine. Simple enough, right?

Since we had so many boxes, and would ultimately wind up with multiple stacks of them, he also suggested giving the recyclers a hand when they come to pick them up. No problem. I didn't get up early or anything, but as I laid in bed, I thought I heard big recycling trucks coming by. Much to my chagrin, when I peeked out the window at the curb around, 10:30, they were still there. By the time they finally managed to come, at like 12:15, I was actually on my way out the door to the gym.

Perfect timing!

Sure enough, there was a dude tossing boxes into his huge recycling truck. Being the all around awesome dude I am, I ran over and offered the guy a hand.

Approaching, and seeing the disgruntled look on his face, I assumed he was just holding in some explosive diarrhea. The ire I would soon detect in his voice told me it was something more. Something wetter, squishier, and warmer. But like, the angry kind of wet, squishy, and warm.

"Hey, let me give you a hand with that", I offered.

"NO!", he yelled, not even looking up at me. Just kept tossing boxes into the truck.

Noticing how hard he was scowling, instead of asking if scowling so hard hurts his forehead, I asked if I prepared the cardboard wrong...and was immediately greeted with a "YES!"

"I'm really sorry, here let me help", as I reached for a stack of boxes. Still not man enough to look at the person he was yelling at, he growled, "NO!".

"Cool man, see ya, peace", I chuckled back to him, as I walked to my car, PUMPED as FUCK for the gym. Haha, I think I even gave him the standard "see ya later" peace sign.

Seeing how angry this dickhead got, over something so stupid, really got me PUMPED UP. And it should PUMP YOU UP too. Totally had a ROFL filled drive to the gym, and then a great workout.

Think about that the next time you're not feelin' the PUMP - there's somebody out there, yelling at somebody else (hopefully a kid), about something totally trivial. Somebody is out there, totally pissed off, ready to have a meltdown, and you're just sittin' there, totally chilled out. Not givin' a fo.

So what are you gonna do? Are you gonna sit there and cry about it? Probably, but I know what I'm gonna do - I'm gonna get SO PUMPED UP FROM RED BULLS AND THE CRAZY CARDBOARD RECYCLING GUY THAT I WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO SEE. THAT'S HOW PUMPED I'M GONNA GET. BLIND PUMPED

***I'd like to dedicate this HDPU to the crazy cardboard recycling guy: I know you're out there, somewhere, getting pissed and freaking out. Peace, brother.

Monday, August 23, 2010

oh is it now?

Daytime TV is pretty horrible. Last week, I was grabbing a quick bite before the gym, and decided to turn on the tube for a minute. Great, it's the Martha Stewart Show. Awesome, love that trick.

But even more awesome was the dialogue that immediately caught my attention, as the television powered itself up.

Seriously, the first thing I heard, without even knowing what the hell I would be watching, was: "my home is my sanctuary, as is yours".

The sound was audible about a second before the picture flickered on - about the time it took for me to register what I just heard. Finally, the picture appears, and what do I see on the screen, sitting next to Martha Stewart, offering my home for his sanctuary needs?

A rather rotund, flamboyant, middle-aged man. wut

Obviously my attention has been grabbed, so as I watched, I learned that he was a judge on some "top-model" show. I don't remember which one. Apparently they were discussing some sort of interior design stuff, and I tuned in at the tail end of it, presumably catching his closing argument for pimping out your own home. Listen brother, you ain't have to convince me; I want a sweet home too.

Let's go back to what he said though: "my home is my sanctuary, as is yours". No motherfucker, my home is not your sanctuary any more than your home is my sanctuary. I get what you're trying to say, 'cept you failed IN AN EPIC MANNER.

He went on to talk about some stuff, using the words "inspirational" and "aspirational" pretty much interchangeably. Just nodding her head, Martha Stewart didn't interject much, most likely to allow him to empty out his thoughts. You could tell she'd had enough of this airhead, and couldn't wait for the commercial break.

You and me both, shawtie.

Friday, August 20, 2010

some say the camera adds 10 lbs

I'm not the most photogenic. It's true; I'm really not. Yeah yeah, kind of shocker - a man as handsome as I am, not being able to demonstrate that handsome-ness in a mere photograph.

And it's not just me; a lot of us suffer from nonphotogenica. Not a big deal, but life goes on. Well maybe it doesn't go on, you could die lol.

But what makes your seemingly nice smile and over-practiced pose transform into a toothy hosebeast of a mugshot? Most would argue the generic "camera adds 10 lbs" argument. My obvious response would be, "the 10 lbs actually adds the 10lbs, the camera is just the messenger". Don't kill the messenger!

Personally for me, I have a horrible smile: my teeth aren't perfect. Not snaggletooth style, but you get the gist. Like my tall friend from Tampa, my teeth could be straighter. Not his teeth - him, in general. I don't give a shit about his teeth.

And what about those intangible things that make your photo so unsavory?

Not sure, but as far as video cameras, I know for certain that if you're over, say 40 years old, a southern accent adds 30 lbs. No doubt about that.

I'm looking at you, Paula Deen.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


I'm gonna cut right to the chase: things have been kinda shitty lately, so let's start this thing off with some awesome:

Ok, back to reality: just moved to a new city and I'm looking for a job. Cool. Trying to cut my discretionary spending till I am employed. Makes sense. Sometimes I wish I was the government, and that spending frivolously didn't matter, and that I could just print money, and that proven laws of economics didn't apply to me.

But I love buying stuff!

In true Democrat style, my landlord offered us a handout. That's right, our own little bailout: we get free wireless internet from them - but my DESKTOP COMPUTER doesn't have a FUCKING WIRELESS THING. So I had to buy a wireless adapter to plug into the USB.

$80 later, I have shitty, spotty, wireless internet on my desktop. No big deal, the other day the adapter thing seemed to uninstall itself so I spent a good goddamn hour sweating, swearing, and trying to figure out WHY THE FUCK MY GMAIL WON'T FUCKING LOAD.

A couple weeks later, I was trying to split our cable, and in doing so, I had to unscrew the coax cable from the back of the TV, that was already hooked up. Sadly, I'm so strong that I screwed it on there tight as fuck. So tight, that I wasn't even strong enough to unscrew it. Not there's a paradox for the ages. After grabbing my wrench, I got it loose. But I also loosened up the DAMN SCREW THING THAT YOU SCREW THE CABLE INTO, ATTACHED TO THE BACK OF THE TV.

Now the cable hardly comes in, and you have to mess with the cable right where it's plugged into the back of the TV, for the picture to come in somewhat visibly. F BOMB. Welcome to I Need a New TV City, population: 1.

And then the other day when the internet went out, I decided to leave the goddamn computer alone for a minute, and watch some TV. Oh yeah, I have to fuck with the connection so I can get a picture. After reaching my ARM behind the TV for 2 minutes, suddenly something feels loose. Looser than normal.

Yes, the part where the cable is screwed into the TV is now completely, 100%, and totally dislodged from, and unconnected to, the TV. In case you're not following, it broke.

It's taking a lot of control right now to not be using all caps.

I guess on the plus side, I've been drinking every night. Seems to chill me out, help me sleep.

It appears that this was more of a PUMP DOWN. Do your best to turn my trash into your treasure; get PUMPED that you're probably having a better day than I am.

Last chance to get PUMPED: I was back in Wisconsin last week and got Toppers TWICE. FUCK YEAH I DID. Easily the smartest thing I've done lately.

Second last chance to get PUMPED, despite all the shitty stuff: I pre-ordered the new MAROON 5 ALBUM TODAY. Expect each HDPU to feature MAROON 5 awesomeness until the release date, September 21. Then that very next HDPU, you can expect a full review of the album. Holy shit I can't wait.

OK, I'm pretty PUMPED right now.

Monday, August 16, 2010

cats in cages

This post is over a year old, somehow it never got posted.

We have our ferret cage reserved for our two (2) ferrets (RIP girls). Meow meow, our weirdo cat is pissed about that, and not only does she want a cage, but she wants to eat ferret food. I would love to keep her in a tiny little cage. In fact, the one time I locked her in one for an hour, she meowed so much her voice got a little hoarse.

Here is a picture of our cat eating the ferrets' food. In the ferrets' cage.

Look at that tank-ass, like we don't feed her enough. Maybe hit the treadmill, chubbs.

Another shot of the culprit. Notice the bright white, clean linens.

As she exits the cage, she looks both ways to make sure she's not about to get ravaged by two (2) ferrets.

What a weirdo.

Friday, August 13, 2010

new report: smoking benefical to exercise

OK, this isn't really a new report, rather something I've been tossing around in my head for quite some time now. Most of you are acutely aware that I enjoy exercising. And some of you probably know that any exercise I get is negated by all the fried food, booze, and drugs. If you do the math, you'll see that I'm breaking about even then.

But what if there was a catalyst to get me over that hump?

Anyway, check this out, I've been contemplating taking up smoking - to complement my physical activity. I really believe that any adverse effects to my lungs will be canceled out by the benefits.

Wait, benefits?

Of course smoking is disgusting, and is only warranted during select times (when you're pretty loaded, and now, when you're exercising). But follow me here, after smoking for a year or two, you'll probably find that it's harder to breathe. Probably harder to do a lot of things. You'll get winded quicker, and more often. Simply climbing a flight of stairs can turn into a horrible ordeal.

Now imagine applying that same principle to the gym. Do you know how much harder you're going to have to work to run those three miles, after smoking half a pack of ciggs? Yeah, much harder. How you gonna squat 245lbs when you got the shakes cause you're craving a nic-fix? You're gonna have to bust your ass to pound that set out.

Do you know how much harder you'll have to train, to reach your goals? Because it will be literally harder to reach them. You'll sweat more, you'll exercise longer, you'll get more out of your workouts. And isn't that the goal anyway?

Just something to think about as the weekend approaches.

PS - I'm still trying to find justification for going to the gym drunk.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Today's HDPU is short, sweet, and holy crap so AWESOME.

The PUMP comes at you from a couple different angles: how catchy the song is, the fact that you are not that guy singin', and the chubby reporter just standing there at the end lol.

But like many swords, this one is double edged: huge UNPUMP from the fact that you cannot take credit for creating this masterpiece. No more dicking around, get PUMPED UP:

I love this video more than macaroni and cheese.

Let this tune be the soundtrack to kicking the rest of the week in the balls. Get some.

Monday, August 9, 2010

michigan bottle law

Yo, we just moved to Michigan, and it's kinda weird. For real, when you buy beer (or other carbonated beverages), you pay a ten cent deposit. Then, when you chug the shit outta that case of Natty Light, you can bring back the empty cans to get your deposit back.

Michiganders ain't mad at some recycling, son. We'll get to my thoughts on recycling in a minute (I hate it).

But did you read that? You pay an extra 10 cents per vessel, and then you have to BRING IT BACK to where you bought it, to get your shitty ten cents back. Add to that the already higher booze prices, and that's a recipe for getting pissed off. Seems like kind of a pain in the ass just to do a little part to save the Earth.

Welcome to Earf.

So every time we have a bag full of empty bottles n cans, and I can manage to sneak off without Heckyeahwoman noticing, I'm going to return those bottles, and get the deposit back. Then, I'm going to deposit each deposit into a secret savings account. When there's finally a substantial amount of deposit money deposited, I'm going to take out the deposit money and buy a shitload of motor oil.

I think you know where this is going.

That's right, I'm gonna drive the 2 blocks to this nice local park, and paint that fuggin' place a nice inky, oil-black. The grass, the tree bark, the benches - I'm gonna slather oil on errthing. Even the kids playing there. Watch your back little Johnny.

Also, I just bought a 1.75 of Early Times whiskey for like $25. Man, back in Gainesville I could have gotten like eight 1.75s of Jim Beam for that much money. And Jim Beam is way better. Actually, they taste (and look) pretty similar. But still, the Beam was like $31 for the same size. AND ON TOP OF THAT, THE DUDE AT THE COUNTER TOLD ME THAT HE LIKED MY SHIRT.

Not sure if you know why I, or most people, go to the liquor store, but I'm guessing it has nothing to do with short-bearded weirdos commenting on my brown tshirt. Lol, next time I go in there, I'm totally gonna wear the same shirt.

Otherwise, Ann Arbor is pretty awesome. Except that I pretty much hate it here lol.

Friday, August 6, 2010

haha that guy is so funny

haha that movie he was in was so funny. that movie that was written by some other dude, but that actor was so funny in it.

he didn't have any creative input whatsoever, and did exactly what the director told him to, but omg he is so funny. haha i love how he just says the lines; it's hilarious!

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


Yeah, you probably thought that the weekly HUMP DAY PUMP UP came a day early with yesterday's gem about protein farts. WRONG.

Awesome post though, I rofl'd so furiously typing that thing up. Scroll down, pussybeats.

So the cat's out of the bag - I joined a new gym. PUMP! Been there a couple times and got both my swell and PUMP on. The place is called PLANET FITNESS, and with a name like that, I knew I had to join. That, and it was $10 a month.

It could be just a couple dumbbells in a bathroom stall, and for $10 a month, yo I'm good. I get full use of the gym, including the locker room, all the weights, treadmills, bikes, ellipticals, machines, and of course the JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE!




Bullshit! I judge everybody. Especially at the gym! Fatasses, old people, dipshits, meatheads, hot slores, dickheads, everybody.


And listening to a 1 thumbed maniac scream about being judged should PUMP YOU UP!!!

Look at this place - it's in the middle of a strip mall. I HATE STRIP MALLS BUT I LOVE EXERCISING SO I'LL COPE. And it's like 4 miles from my crib (, dawg).


While I wouldn't, I'm willing to bet you would. Yeah, the one on the right, weirdo.

Shoot dawg, I even ordered one of these bad boys:


Lettuce recap: I'm awesome, I joined a gym, I judge people, and I will be insanely PUMPED UP for the foreseeable future. And I don't have a job, which could be either a PUMP or an unPUMP.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

as wet as it was warm

Maybe some of you are avid bodybuilders. Maybe not. Maybe you chug protein shakes like it's the antidote. Again, maybe not.

Whether you are the world's strongest man, a weekend warrior, or a gym rat, there's a good chance you are familiar with protein shakes. More specifically, their gaseous byproduct: protein farts.

Not in the know? Drink protein shakes, get the protein farts. Simple.

Buh, wuh ih a protein fart; and how is it different from a regular fart? Well, what exactly is a regular fart? Not too odious, not too subtle? Moderately loud, but not explosive? Neither wet nor dry, almost misty?

Doesn't matter. If you drink protein shakes, you're going to be farting a little more than normal...for about the first year or so. A protein fart is merely a side effect. That and getting all JACKED AND TAN AND AWESOME YOU FUCKING PUSSIES UR NOTHIN BUT POTATOES. I MASH U.

(lol, I think we just found my next vanity plates: I MASH U)

Anyway, protein farts. I've been drinking a post-workout protein shake erry time for the last 5-ish years. I had my protein farting stage, and it passed.

But goddamn, the five year mark must be some sort of hallmark for protein consumers. Yeah, that's right, I got a pre-protein shake fart the other day. Wrap your HGH-free head around that, pussybeats: pre-protein shake farts.

Only one explanation for this phenomenon - the anticipation.

True story, I got home from the gym, and as I reached for my bag 'o protein, I unleashed a cloud of brown mist upon my banana hammock. It was as wet as it was warm. As moist as it was putrid. As surprising as it was natural.

As unsettling as it was comforting.

My poor (admittedly little) underwear just endured a brutal workout, then it had to endure a suffocating liquid skid mark (liksquid mark?). The horror.

Maybe it was just a normal fart, a little unexpected flatulence. I can't really prove that it was a pre-protein shake fart. I can confirm, however, that it was a percussive propulsion with a propensity para peligroso al Mundo.

Not really much else to say here - it happened, I lived, and I'm going back to the gym tomorrow. Will keep you posted.

*right as i was about to post this, i totally had a thought for a new blog post: i just joined a new gym!

Monday, August 2, 2010

the massage

So Heckyeahwoman got me a couples massage for my 29th birthday a couple days ago. Holy shit I'm 29. Goddamn.

Anyway, I knew we were destined for awesome almost immediately. Check this out: So we get there, check in, go change into the stupid, huge robes & sandals, and come out to this corny ass waiting room area.

There are probably 5 other people in there waiting - a mix of couples and single weirdos. Whatevs, it's dark, and I'm about to get a massage. And I'm about to be 29, FUGG YEAH. Finally, some lady, probably a masseuse, walks in, calls some dude's (ha, more like dud's) name; she introduces herself, and takes him out the door, but before she left, she had something nice to say to all of us. A simple two (2) words: "enjoy everyone".


What the fuck does that even mean? What a weird thing to say. Immediately I share my confusion with Heckyeahwoman, and the rest of the paying customers in the waiting room: "did she mean enjoy everyone - or enjoy, comma, everyone?"

Enjoy everyone.

Enjoy, everyone.

Obviously, a little comma can make a huge difference. If that trick is telling me to enjoy everyone (that I see today? in the waiting room right now? that works at the spa? wtf?), that's kind of weird.

More likely, she meant "enjoy (the massages), everyone". But that lack of a pause between words, combined with that dirty little smile as she said it, had me wondering.

Anyway, the massage was awesome, and it felt so good. My chick could have been hotter, but then again, so could have Heckyeahwoman's.

Since it was my first massage, Heckyeahwoman wanted to know what my favorite part was. Without even thinking, I answered, "the head".