Rumor has it in Hollywood that Paramount is going to re-submit the movie Ghost to the Motion Picture Academy for consideration as Best Documentary.
That joke is in poor taste.
Speaking of poor taste, I was at a wedding in Martha's Vineyard two weekends ago. Some might argue that hooking up with the wedding planner who was also a grandmother is in poor taste. But I say, was Andy Stitzer acting in poor taste when he hooked up with Trish? And was it over after the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?
Don't answer those.
With a minor assist from the Wood Dog (you remember the Wood Dog, right? Nice guy, blond hair, used to blog.), I put together a little pub crawl in honor of the location chosen by the happy couple. Here's the list, as distributed to the participants.
THE JOHN-JOHN MEMORIAL "DEAD KENNEDYS" PUB CRAWL
Edgartown, Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts
September 11, 2009
What: It’s no secret that John F. Kennedy Jr. had trouble passing bars; he failed to pass the New York bar exam the first two times he tried. The participants of the John-John Memorial Dead Kennedys Pub Crawl won’t be passing any bars in a drunken crawl through Edgartown, Massachusetts.
Where: Nevin’s Square and the Edgartown waterfront. The Boat House, Black Dog Tavern, Salivar’s, Détente, Wharf Pub and Newes from America. Or whichever of those places are open and don’t refuse us service.
How: It looks like we’ve got 5 or 6 places to choose from so we’re looking at about 2 drinks at each stop. Remember, this is a Kennedy-themed pub crawl so speak with a Massachusetts accent whenever possible. And lean to the left every time you take a drink. That’s NOT optional.
The Drinks:
1. The Vineyard. You’re on Martha’s Vineyard. They make wine at vineyards. Have a glass of the crappy East Coast swill they’re passing off as wine.
2. Cape Cod. OK, you’re not exactly on Cape Cod; it lies a little to the north. So drink a Cape Cod (vodka & cranberry) while facing north (if you stand facing away from the waterfront, you’re facing northwest).
3. Bay of Pigs. John F. Kennedy ordered CIA-trained Cuban exiles to invade Cuba in 1961, but the exiles were quickly killed or captured when Kennedy refused to give them U.S. air support. Have a Cuba Libre (Spanish for “Free Cuba,” a rum and coke with lime juice), but show your lack of commitment by drinking half and then walking away.
4. Cuban Missile Crisis. In 1962, JFK ordered a naval blockade of Cuba to get the Soviets to stop building nuclear missile silos. The crisis was defused when the Soviet Union agreed to dismantle the missiles in exchange for a public US promise not to invade Cuba and a private assurance that the US would later remove its nuclear missiles from Turkey. Since you don’t have any missiles in Turkey, appease the Soviets by drinking the vodka drink of your choice.
5. JFK (Warren Commission). According to the Warren Commission, Lee Harvey Oswald performed one of the greatest feats in marksmanship history by firing three accurate rounds from a bolt-action rifle in eight seconds. Match Lee’s feat by doing three shots in eight seconds, using the same hand for each shot. Be sure to tilt your head “back and to the left” as you take each shot. Don't believe it can be done? Then try instead:
5. JFK (Oliver Stone). Common sense tells you it’s impossible for one man to do three shots in eight seconds using the same hand, and you’re not buying the “magic liver” theory either. So buy three shots and give one each to three of your friends. Position your friends strategically around the room; one should be in an elevated position, one should be near a half-height bar wall, and the third should be on a grassy knoll. When you say the code word “Green!” the three take their shots simultaneously then immediately leave the bar.
6. RFK. Announce you’re running for President, then take a shot. Don’t let it go to your head.
7. Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis. A few months after RFK’s death, Jackie Kennedy married shipping billionaire Aristotle Onassis. Have an Ouzo and toast Jackie for bringing us the gigantic sunglasses women wear today.
8. Chappaquiddick Incident. Mary Jo Kopechne's body was discovered on Chappaquiddick Island, underwater and inside an overturned car belonging to Ted Kennedy. Ted gave a statement to police saying that on the previous night Kopechne was his passenger when he took a wrong turn and accidentally drove his car off a bridge into the water. So have an Irish car bomb: accidentally drop a shot glass of whiskey and Bailey’s into a Guinness and slam it.
9. William Kennedy Smith. William Kennedy Smith says the walk on the beach at the Kennedy compound led to consensual sex. Patty Bowman says she was raped. I say have a Sex on the Beach (orange, cranberry, vodka & peach schnapps). Pound it aggressively. It won’t press charges.
10. JFK Jr. JFK Jr. was killed when his small airplane crashed into the Atlantic Ocean off Martha’s Vineyard. According to the National Transportation Safety Board, the reason for the crash was “Kennedy’s failure to maintain control of the airplane during a descent over water at night, which was a result of spatial disorientation.” Have an Oyster Shooter for John-John and by this point in the crawl you’re bound to be feeling a little spatial disorientation yourself.
11. Ted Kennedy. On August 25, 2009, Ted died at his home in Hyannis Port (about eight miles away) after battling a malignant brain tumor. Drink a brain hemorrhage (shot of Peach Schnapps, float of Bailey’s, drop of grenadine) in Ted’s honor. Then hightail it out of there – the man died two weeks ago! Have you no respect?
So there you have it. Two people finished the crawl, and footage exists of one of them doing the Warren Commission version of the JFK Assassination. It's our own Zapruter film, but it won't be making it into the National Archives anytime soon.
Back when I used to blog, I used to text myself blog ideas. You know, to make sure I didn't forget the blog idea for my next blog entry (remember, this is back when I used to blog). The funny thing is, when I'd receive the message a few seconds later, I'd already forgotten that I sent it myself. So I'd get all excited like I just received a new text message from someone, until I opened it and was disappointed that it was just some half-baked idea from me to me.
What's the proper response when another dude sneezes in front of you? When a chick does it, you say "bless you" or "gesundheit." The meaning of "bless you" is pretty self-explanatory, and "gesundheit" is another way to wish someone good health. It makes sense that you'd want to wish a chick good health, because your chances of sleeping with her are much greater when she's not sick since there are few if any women who are in the mood for some hanky-panky when they're ill. Granted, there are some innovative types out there who prefer their women in a state worse than ill, but for the most part you ain't gettin' none if she's not in top operating condition. When a dude sneezes, I just pretty much ignore it. This makes sense, since I don't want to sleep with the dude so I couldn't give two squirts what he thinks of me. Does this apply elsewhere? Do gay guys only say "bless you" to people they want to sleep with (i.e. attractive gay guys and all straight guys)? Or do they say "bless you" to women as well?
There are two chicks who spring to mind that people generally think of as hot who aren't. The first is Perrey Reeves (aka Mrs. Ari from Entourage): Look, she's got a nice body. And I guess she's kinda hot for being 38. But the streets of LA are crawling with 38-year-old chicks who are hotter. And I intend to reconfirm this truism in the very near future.
The second allegedly hot chick is Susan Sarandon. And I don't just mean now that she is an inappropriately dressed grandma but also when she was younger: I think she was a Ford model at some point, which I guess means she was considered "striking", but if I were Tim Robbins' junk I'd rather be striking than performing my manly duties with this bug-eyed ghoul.
In the interests of gender equality, it's only fair to point out that baseball broadcaster Jon Miller has also seen better days: I think it's really stupid how clothes irons come with a warning that you're not supposed to use them on clothes you're wearing. Is this really necessary? What kind of a moron would actually iron clothes while they're wearing them? One substantial chest burn later, I can answer that question: the same kind of moron who writes this blog.
The MLB All-Star Game started as I was typing this. I feel it's OK to express some thoughts about this since I'm only 37-years old while typing this from my mother's basement. Still, to be safe don't tell Raul Ibanez:
Possibly the most overused angle at the All-Star Game is filming the first-time players who are there filming the festivities. "Oh look! They're having so much fun out there! These guys can't believe they're out there with all their heroes! What a wonderful experience! Baseball truly is America's national pastime!" Shut it. If not for fantasy baseball and day drinking, we'd pretty much just "pass" on America's pastime...
It's not just an HD problem anymore - at this point, regular definition TV isn't doing Sheryl Crow any favors either. Although I salute Lance Armstrong for jettisoning her before it got to this point, I also salute Ms. Crow for not oversinging the national anthem (not that she has the vocal range to, but still...). Failing to have any work done was her least favorite mistake of mine, so I'll just post a picture of her back when she looked decent... After Sheryl finished singing the national anthem, some B-2 Spirit "stealth" bombers did a flyover of the stadium. I know everyone knows they exist, but aren't we kind of defeating the purpose of a "stealth" bomber if we're showing them on television? Wouldn't it make more sense to broadcast a blank screen and tell everyone our stealth tech is so good that they couldn't be seen?
President Barack Obama jogs out to throw the first pitch of the game. He's wearing a Chicago White Sox jacket, and either Barack has been doing the same steroids as the rest of the guys on the field, or he's wearing one hell of a thick bullet-proof vest. And I had no idea that he both (a) is left-handed, and (b) throws like a girl! Barack may have it all over George W. Bush when it comes to things like public speaking, but G.W. most certainly throws out a better first pitch...
And Joe Buck's ever-balding dome fills the screen as he starts to spew some introductory nonsense about being in St. Louis and how St. Louis fans are among the best fans in baseball. I can't really concentrate on what he's saying though, as I just keep waiting for Artie Lange to show up and ask Joe if suckingcock.com is still his second favorite website...
Tim McCarver speaking. My IQ is dropping like the needle on the fuel gauge of an H2 Hummer going 140mph down the freeway...
And now a commercial for a movie called Funny People. You know, it's really too bad Seth Rogen hasn't managed to capitalize on his entertaining role in The 40-Year Old Virgin. It's called overexposure, Seth, and you passed it about four exits ago. While you're at it, tell Judd Apatow to stop casting his wife and Jonah Hill in all his movies. That's also getting a bit tiresome.
So, I left my lofty perch atop the Hyatt Regency yesterday (see photo: apparently they go ahead and bump you up to the penthouse if you named your own price on Priceline and you show up to check in after midnight with a few cocktails in you.) To think I didn't bring any chicks home to that palatial estate. For shame. I'm not saying *I* stayed in the room every night, but still... one should take advantage of these things when handed the opportunity. Anyway, I left the friendly confines to head to the Del Taco on Market Street for a little dinner.
It seems to me that the Taco Bells and Del Tacos (Del Taco, actually, since there's only the one) of San Francisco are overpriced. They're more in line with airport pricing or Japan pricing than with actual pricing. Still, I am tickled to be able to go to a Del Taco in San Francisco, particularly one that stays open late, even on weekends when all of downtown is shut down. It certainly adds to the allure of living downtown, and it almost cancels out the detrimental effect of the junkies shooting heroin on the doorstep of said Del Taco. Still, this Del Taco has some wrinkles to iron out. Like working on not running out of lettuce. Seriously, how else am I supposed to get my daily serving of vegetables?
So I'm walking either to or from the Del Taco, I forget which, but it was not too long after the Gay Pride parade finished up on Market Street. The Del Taco trip was the first time I walked down Market Street that day, which is to say I did not participate in the parade. Maybe I'm just not a prideful person, possibly because I heard it is one of the seven deadly sins. Or maybe I'm just not gay, regardless of the fact that the night before I was singing along at a piano bar then went out clubbing where I exchanged several high-fives with a chubby and quite obviously gay man. And by "exchanged several high-fives" I don't mean that we bumped the ends of our man-parts together. Because that would have to read "exchanged several high-three-and-a-halfs."
As I was walking down Market Street I was accosted by an allegedly homeless guy holding a paper cup (possibly a Del Taco cup). He actually looked like he just might have been a straggler from the parade instead of an authentic homeless guy. Here's how the exchange went:
ALLEGEDLY HOMELESS GUY ("AHG"): Hey buddy, can you spare some change?
OSCAR DE LA JOLLA ("ODLJ") shakes his head, says nothing.
AHG: Whatever.
ODLJ: Take care.
AHG: Yeah, fuck you.
Did I do something wrong there? Or was that just "aggressive panhandling" in action? Granted, as a soon-to-be-homeless person myself, I might want to try and curry some homeless guy good karma by contributing, but that's not my thing. It hasn't been my thing since my days at Berkeley, really. I guess if you keep seeing the same guy by the same BART station telling the same story about how his car broke down and how he needs a couple bucks for a tow truck for too many days in a row, you start to get desensitized to the whole thing. I don't think I was being overly sarcastic with my "Take care", I just figured I should say something rather than ignoring the dude completely. And I got a "Fuck you" for my trouble. Normally this sort of thing would have bothered me for awhile, but lately my Give a Crap Meter has gotten a lot less sensitive, and it takes a pretty significant event to register on my radar. So here's my promise to you, dear reader: when I'm living on the streets and you refuse my request for spare change, I promise not to tell you to go fuck yourself - I'll draw the line at telling you to eat a dick and that will be the end of it.
Scene: Interior, the darkened headquarters of It's OKTO Blog. The sounds of keys rattling and the click of a deadbolt sliding open are heard. The door opens, and a sliver of light pierces the blackness. [OSCAR DE LA JOLLA enters. He clears the cobwebs off of a light switch and flips the switch. Overhead, fluorescent lights flicker to life.]
"Hello?"
[OSCAR's voice echoes faintly. The only response is the steady hum of the fluorescent lights.]
"Looks like no one's been here in weeks. Months, maybe. By posting it seems I've lost our little game of blog chicken, but waiting for the Wood Dog to blog first was like getting into a staring contest with a fish. Or maybe the Legion of Doom finally won?"
Look, I realize that blogging is such a 2007 thing to do, but let's shoot a couple more entries out into cyberspace before we wrap this puppy up for good. I'd really like to make it to the blog's one-year anniversary, seeing as how it might be the only one-year anniversary I'm a part of in my lifetime. Besides, we have to keep blogging, at least until we get a Facebook page or a Twitter feed. Is it OKTO Twitter? Speaking of Twitter, you can follow the Wood Dog here. But it will do you no good, since he Tweets as often as I have threesomes. Which, as you'll learn below, is "not yet."
Woke up in my own bed (for a change, and at a reasonable hour to boot -- meaning "as well" in this context and not that I woke up at a good time for puking) two Sundays ago. It being Mother's Day, I threw a goodbye/mercy screw to Wood Dog's Mom before she left, then called my Mom to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. As I prepared to begin my day, however, I couldn't figure for the life of me why my left arm was aching.
I went to check it out and sure enough, I had a pretty nasty welt on my upper arm. First I reviewed the Captain's Log from the night before... nope, no falling was done. Looking for clues, I hunted around for my phone, and located it safely stowed in my front jeans pocket. I have a theory about this - the amount you had to drink the night before is directly correlated to the amount of stuff you find in your pants the next morning. Keys and wallet on the dresser, phone plugged into the charger? Sober. Keys on the dresser but phone and wallet in your pants? Buzzed. Keys, wallet and phone in your pants? Drunk. Keys, wallet and phone in your pants and you're still wearing the pants when you wake up? Very Drunk. Keys, wallet, phone, poop, and the phone number and e-mail address of some handsome sailor you sorta remember meeting all in your pants and you're still wearing the pants? Smashed, and maybe it's time to seek some professional help. And if you wake up with that handsome sailor in your pants? Smashed and Very Gay.
Checked the phone. Found a nasty 2:45AM text message from a "booty text" of mine. I didn't keep it, but it said something to the effect of "I can't believe u did that. Ur SUCH an ASSHOEL!1!" Aha! A clue! Hamster starts running, wheel starts turning, brain starts working. Yes. The night did end badly. Yes, it definitely did. Why? Because I tried to fly too close to the sun.
You see, I have spent a few nights over at Ms. Booty Text's place. Now, MBT lives with two roommates. Two cute roommates. Two cute, female roommates. I've met them on several occasions, including one time when I was on my way to use the bathroom and I hadn't bothered to get fully dressed before venturing out. Between my time at the gym and my time at the waxing salon, I dare say that shirtless in boxers is not a bad look for me at the moment. Apparently the roommates agreed, as MBT let it be known once that the roommates had commented to her that I was attractive. Once I playfully suggested inviting them into the bedroom, and was told by MBT that they probably wouldn't mind but that she would really mind.
Armed with this information, I met MBT and her roommate, the one who happens to be a yoga instructor, out for late-night drinks. I was trying to set the Yogi up with a friend of mine, but she was going on about some guy she met a few bars earlier in the night and clearly was having esteem issues ("Do you think I should call him? Maybe I should text him. He hasn't texted me yet and he's had my number for two hours now. I think I should text him."). So I figured I'd put some time in, build this girl up a little, and get her to live in the present and chat up my buddy (who was being a champion and throwing alcohol in our direction the whole time).
Unfortunately (but intentionally) my building-up of this girl came across as flirting. This had a two-pronged effect. Yogi was flattered by the flirting but unsure what if anything to about it, seeing as how MBT was sitting two barstools down. MBT, on the other hand, began to get a bit jealous. As much as MBT claimed to understand that ours was a NSA relationship, one of her other friends confided in me that she in fact had far greater aspirations than that. Me? Not so much. I had in fact I been looking to shut down the relationship, as these things can't go on for too long without someone developing feelings and I knew it wasn't me doing the developing. I'm simply incapable of developing feelings, romantic or otherwise. Even if I get choked up when I watch the end of the Scrubs episode where Brendan Fraser dies. Oops. Spoiler Alert from 2004.
So the bar eventually closes, and the conversation devolves into MBT accusing me of flirting with her roommate. Which I was. Blatantly, and right in front of her. So, being the uncompromising sort, I admit to doing just that. Of course I had to flirt with her, I explained, because how else were we going to have a threesome? When MBT realizes that I'm serious (hell, I'm acting like I'm entitled to it at this point) she goes ballistic. "Who do you think you are? What, am I not enough for you? Not in a million years, Buster Brown!" Etc. So then it all comes out. "Why don't you want to date me?" MBT wants to know. Filled with the sodium pentathol that is sweet, sweet alcohol, I proceed to tell her that it is mainly because she is "unstable" and "insane." She oddly seemed to take offense at these statements. In fact, when I used the word "insane" MBT actually went insane and took a swing at me. Due to her poor aim or my superior defensive skill (green belt, bitches!) she ended up hitting me in the left arm, right where the bruise now resides. Which, if nothing else, proved my point regarding her insanity. Satisfied it was the right thing to do, as I don't really like the taste of boiled bunny, I deleted all her contact information. She did send me one e-mail after that, to which I responded as a concession to the female need for closure. However, I'm sure that's the last time I'll ever see her, although I do think of her every day. I can't help it - every time I see this sickly yellow-brown contusion on my arm I am reminded of her. Nice punch, MBT. Respect.
Day after day, week after week, month after month, I find myself wondering why this blog isn't more popular. It's gotten to the point where my life's being consumed by the thought. Well, consumed to the extent that my life hasn't been consumed by chasing skirts and suffering through Facebook status updates from my former high school friends ("Cindy is driving the kids to school, then she has to go grocery shopping. Ugggghhhh I am sooooo tired"). I hope Cindy isn't updating her status while she's driving her kids to school, as that just seems inherently unsafe. Knowing Cindy, her kids are going to have enough trouble making it through life without being disfigured in a car accident Cindy causes when she's trying to finish the "Which Cocktail Are You?" Facebook quiz while behind the wheel.
Here are four reasons I came up with that may explain why the blog isn't more popular:
1. The blog doesn't have any marketing or advertising.
This isn't exactly true - I did make four t-shirts for the blog. I even wore one of those t-shirts when I was out last weekend. Of course, I was wearing the t-shirt underneath a Snuggie on a Snuggie Pub Crawl, but since Snuggies are open in the back you could totally see our logo and URL. Since there were several hundred other idiots out there in Snuggies, I expect the page hits to start rolling in any day now.
Author's note regarding Snuggie Pub Crawls - when girls are all wearing the same baggy, one-size-fits-all robe, they tend to start looking alike. This can lead to talking to a girl at the end of the night thinking she is a girl from earlier in the night you have already spoken with. You may bring up things from the earlier conversation that the new girl doesn't remember, because you weren't talking to her before. You may even call her by the prior girl's name, and the current girl may then get pissed at you and send you home. So beware.
2. The blog's content sucks.
I've specifically been asked to discontinue writing about getting humped by dogs. Who knows how many other offensive topics the readers have suffered in silence?
3. The Wood Dog doesn't post.
A point closely related to point #2 above - at this point the third installment in the Legion of Doom series is as overdue and eagerly awaited as Duke Nukem Forever, the OICW (the U.S. military's replacement for the M-16), or the Guns n' Roses album Chinese Democracy. It seems at this point that the Man of Wood is not a man of his word. However, technically all he said he was going to do was "blog more", and he's blogging more than, say, a termite, so it might be that in his mind he's fulfilling his resolution. Either that or he refuses to be shamed into posting. He may be a liar, but he's also a man of integrity. Glad to have him on board.
4. We never post any Top Ten lists.
Aha! I think we may be on to something with this final point. People love Top Ten lists! Dave Letterman's used them for years and he's still on the air, and I'm pretty sure they're something of a known marketing tool as well - I remember seeing lists like Top Ten Reasons to Give a Togo's Gift Certificate with totally inane reasons like "Take a friend to lunch" making the Top Ten. That stroke of genius could only be the product of a Madison Avenue ad wizard, designed specifically to appeal to today's ADD-afflicted society.
I received my first lapdance at a bar in my hometown. I was probably 21 or 22 years old, and was playing pool near the bar while female oil wrestling was going on where the dance floor normally is. My Mom's boyfriend was there, and he paid one of the wrestling girls $5 to go into the other room and give me a lapdance. As I recall she was fairly attractive, and would have been considered very attractive in my town, though baby had slightly more back than I would have preferred at the time. She then sat me down on a barstool and proceeded to give me the lapdance. The song she performed to was Loser by Beck, and she quietly sung the words as she performed as I sat there pondering the meaning of irony.
With that as context, I present to you:
TOP TEN SONGS YOU'LL HEAR AT A STRIP CLUB
I performed all my own research for this piece, which consisted of a few field trips and a careful examination of my iPod playlist, but no internet searches for anything like "Strip Club Songs". Note that at a real strip club, all of these songs will have been trimmed down to three minutes or less:
10. Girls, Girls, Girls by Motley Crue
Several times during the night, the cheesy DJ with the tuxedo and the ponytail will put on this song, then get on the microphone and tell all the girls to go to the stage for the line-up or "cattle call". This of course gives everyone in the audience a chance to evaluate all the talent, after which they'll all be hoarding their money to purchase a lap or table dance from one of the three cute girls out of the fifty girls working that night. The video for this song actually features a girl on a stripper pole, but Youtube doesn't allow me to embed that video.
9. Hot For Teacher by Van Halen
There's always at least one stripper playing to the teacher fetish we all have, and this song will be a staple at strip clubs until some genius releases a song called "Hot for Catholic Schoolgirl". Then again, I think there are a couple of Britney Spears songs that work just fine for that. Note: the first 45 seconds or so of the video are pretty disturbing, but a bikini-clad woman does eventually end up dancing on a stage.
8. Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard
This song first became popular while I was attending high school, and so did the girl who you'll likely see onstage dancing to this song. The song aged pretty well, but unfortunately the girl did not. Both the band and the stripper are still performing live, but both are woefully past their primes. A shame.
7. Here I Go Again by Whitesnake
The chick in the video is of course Tawny Kitaen, who was the stuff of teenage wet dreams back in her day. Now she's the stuff of the police blotter, having beaten her husband with a stiletto heel in 2002 (he was 6'6" professional baseball player Chuck Finley, so that's pretty impressive) and been caught with a quantity of cocaine in 2006. Do yourself a favor and don't Google Ms. Kitaen, as she pretty much looks like a 47-year old disaster these days. Rather, focus on the 35-year old disaster who's up on stage performing to the song.
6. You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC
You'd think I spent a whole lot of time in strip clubs in the 80's, but I promise you I'd never set foot in one until much later and I've heard all these songs at those establishments recently. Maybe that says something about the caliber of establishment I've been going to, but I just love going to strip clubs and seeing strippers perform who were unattainable in high school but who are now stripping well past their prime and are all-too attainble, assuming you can supply a little bit of meth or even a six-pack of Budweiser tall boys. Score one for those of us who were chess club dorks - the day is mine! And with that, we conclude the old school/hair band/white trash portion of our program.
5. Whichever Britney Spears Song is Currently Popular by Britney Spears
I went ahead and chose Britney's Circus to post but you can bet that if there's a Britney song getting airplay that you'll hear it at a strip club. That may be because her songs have something of a sultry dance groove to them, or it may be that all strippers look up to Britney. As a 27-year old batshit-crazy single mother of two, she's pretty much their queen.
4. Low by Flo Rida
Ah, yes. Getting low. Are we talking about crawling around and seductively dancing near the floor? Are we talking about self-esteem? They're not mutually exclusive, not by a long shot. Update: apparently the increased traffic caused by my linking to this video prompted Youtube to pull it down, so all you get now is still pictures. Bite me.
3. I Wanna Love You by Akon feat. Snoop Dogg
Careful, this one gets all subliminal on our asses. You see, the song is about a dude who goes to a strip club and the stripper who catches his eye. The dude decides he has to have the stripper and throws a bunch of money at her in the champagne room ("...spendin' a couple dubs, throwin' 'bout 30 stacks in the back make it rain like that 'cause I'm far from a scrub"). That translates to $30,000, which may seem like an excessive amount but remember that Pacman Jones made it rain with more than twice as much money. Afterwards, the two leave together in a limo but instead of just a sexual encounter, it looks like this could be true love ("...the type I want to marry, wantin' to just give you everything and that's scary"). So the moral or the story is to go to a strip club and spend an assload of cash on a stripper and then to marry her. It's like a hip-hop remake of Pretty Woman.
2. Me and You by Cassie
Let's see... a video that consists entirely of a reasonably attractive girl dancing alone on a stage? I guess she could be practicing for a ballet recital, or maybe she's just getting in some extra work in hopes of someday appearing on Dancing With the Stars. More likely, this is the cute girl who starts off working at the strip club as a cocktail waitress and would never dream of stripping, at least not until she finds out that the strippers are making 10 times what she's making. Then she'll start stripping, and she'll take the first $4,000 she earns and buy a fake pair of boobies to really increase her earning potential. Also gotta love when she kisses the mirror at the 1:00 mark - now we know where A-Rod is stealing his moves from!
1. I'm In Love With a Stripper by T-Pain feat. Mike Jones
Look, I realize this choice is obvious. It's like putting together a party playlist and using Let's Get It Started by Black Eyed Peas as your first song. But just because your #1 is obvious that doesn't mean it's not #1. I'm starting to think that writing a song that'll be overplayed in a strip club is a rite of passage for hip-hop artists, kind of like how many artists write songs about how tough it is to be famous after they become famous (for example, Have You Seen Me Lately by Counting Crows, Harder to Breathe by Maroon 5, and Don't Let Me Get Me by Pink). I guess it would be pretty cool to see a buxom, tattooed young woman strip to one of your songs, and there's no better way to make sure that happens than to call your song I'm in Love With a Stripper. Well played, T-Pain, but it could have turned out differently. Just ask Two Live Crew:
I went on another date with "Melanie" the other night. Had a pretty good time, really. At the end of the date, Melanie and I found ourselves back at her place. Now, Melanie has a small dog. This is far better than if she had a cat or multiple cats, but the dog is clearly very important to Melanie. For example, there are several pictures of said dog on Melanie's online dating profile.
Being the nice guy I am, I went ahead and walked Melanie's dog around the block when we got back. The dog marked a few bushes but refused to poop anywhere so the walk felt like kind of a waste, like a porn film without the money shot. Anyhow, I get back with the dog and Melanie is grateful. We agree that I'm going to stay over.
Melanie's dog sleeps in her bed. I now know that this is true even when she has a human overnight guest. I've dated girls with dogs and/or cats before, and in those cases the girl would kick the dog or cat out of the bed if I was there. Granted, the animals usually made it back into the bed in the morning, but at least we had some alone time unfettered by a third mammal. In Melanie's case, I wasn't going to make a big stink about it at this time - Melanie and I are barely dating, so I'm at the bottom of the totem pole and the dog is sitting right there at the top. I get this. If things ever got serious I'd think, hope and demand that I'd eventually become more important than the dog, but we're not there yet.
So Melanie and I end up doing a little making out. Nothing crazy, just some good old-fashioned mostly-clothed fun. As I'm going about my business, I feel something on my backside. I come to the horrible realization that what I felt was a dog's nose. It seems the doggie was doing a little sniffing around and got a little too close. Now, there are some people who might be turned on by this. I am not one of those people. In fact, I found this to be quite a turn-off. However, I decided to try and play through it. I didn't think farting to scare the dog and have him back off was a very good idea, so I just sort of bumped the dog's nose with my butt in hopes he'd get the hint and get lost. This seemed to work as I didn't notice him doing any more sniffing around, so I hit one into the gap and made my way toward third base. This move receives a rather audible and favorable reaction from Melanie, and who doesn't love being a crowd-pleaser? This are just going along swimmingly.
Except that the dog was also apparently intrigued by what was going on, so he decided to hump my leg. I imagine there might be bigger turn-offs than that, but I can't really think of any right now. Wait a minute... maybe I can (NSFW). But still, having a dog hump your leg while making the sexy time is probably the worst thing that's happened to me in the context of the bedroom. Melanie's having a good time, and seems unaware that her dog is doing what it's doing, so I'm reluctant to stop what I'm doing. I decide to take one for the team and just suffer this indignancy in silence. In fact, I'm pretty sure the dog finished, meaning two of the three mammals present had a great time. But the third mammal, Me, did not. It was just a little too weird. I think between this and the cell phone incident, this chick is officially undateable. Which means we go back to the old drawing board.
Inside a typical restaurant, a group of girls is out to dinner. The spinach salads and cheesecake slices have been eaten, and the mojitos and chardonnays sit half-finished on the table. The girls who are present have gossiped ad naseum about any girls who are absent, and all that remains is to pay the check. After painstaking itemization and multiple recalculations over several agonizing minutes, each girl's share of the check has more or less been determined. Then it happens, as it invariably must - each girl pays for her share of the check on her own respective credit card. All across America, this scene repeats itself over and over again, like the mythical Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill. Why doesn't one of the girls pick up the check and be paid by the other girls? It's not possible, because girls don't carry more than a few dollars in cash. But why not? We tried to find out.
I'm Oscar de La Jolla. That story, and Andy Rooney, tonight on It's OKTO Blog.
I'd like to admit up front that this is a very poorly-researched story. I came up with three possible answers to why chicks never carry any cash, but I didn't really ask any girls why they don't carry cash. I actually was chatting up a cute chick Saturday night and she offered a fourth explanation, but I don't really remember what she said because I was busy looking at her boobs. But I did get her number so maybe I'll be able to coax that information out of her again at a later date. Coax her? I just met her! Oh!
A buddy of mine who was out with me the night I met this chick texted me the next day to see how things had gone. This dude has a pretty sweet interrogation method, as the first text to arrive read "Did you throw a f*ck into that chick?". When I indicated that I had not, the next text to arrive was "I thought you were going to make her into your c*ck ornament." Eloquence at its finest. I'm pretty sure this dude was Cyrano de Bergerac in his former life.
REASON #1: FEAR OF ROBBERY. Except in very rare cases (e.g. the Y-Scale, the female "professional football player" we met in San Luis Obispo, or some of my very unfortunate hookups), woman are the smaller, weaker sex. Therefore it would follow that women are concerned about having their purses stolen. Naturally, if there were any cash in the woman's purse, she would lose that in a robbery along with any gum, lipstick, Blackberry, sanitary product or cute lime-green iPod shuffle that might be in that purse. Now, many girls aren't that hip to finance, but I think most all of them know that their liability is limited to $50 in the event of unauthorized use of a credit card. So by not carrying cash, they're cutting their losses at $50. It's actually a pretty reasonable thing to do. Maybe guys should consider doing it, although it's much less impressive when you're "making it rain" by throwing your Visa, ATM, Safeway Club and Supercuts cards (tenth haircut is free!) onto the main stage at the local strip club. Not that Dr. Seuss the stripper didn't try and convince me that she'd be mightily impressed had I opened a line of credit on my card in the champagne room.
REASON #2: IMPULSE BUYING. As you may be aware, women tend to worry about their weight. Heck, I once worked in an office where a group of women got together and petitioned the boss to prohibit people from keeping candy dishes at their cubicles because these women were being unfairly tempted to eat the candy. Yes, instead of using willpower, let's make life just a little more miserable for those people stuck in cubicles by taking away their candy. Good thinking, way to suck it up for the team. By not carrying cash, women short-circuit their ability to buy a candy bar or a sugar soda during the day without having to petition the city to prohibit stores from carrying fattening products. True, women could still use their credit cards to buy a Twix, but with the credit card minimums imposed by most merchants this isn't very likely - just as women love to buy things on sale, they tend to hate to pay more for a product than they have to. Of course, they could always buy an US Weekly along with the candy bar to get above the credit card minimum, but at least it's an additional hurdle.
REASON #3: FREQUENT-FLIER MILES. If a person had the self-discipline and the financial ability to pay off their credit card each month, buying everything on the card seems like a pretty smart thing to do. You'll be building your credit score, your card may offer theft protection when the card is used to make certain purchases, and you can get credit cards with all kinds of reward programs like cash back, hotel points, or frequent-flier miles. So why not pay for everything on a credit card and take an annual trip to the Caribbean? Granted, you'll have to go in the middle of the hurricane and pirate seasons, but you won't be paying for that middle seat on the airplane, which is nice. Plus, you're maximizing your rewards while paying exactly the same amount you'd pay if you used cash. Carrying a balance and incurring interest charges (as a few women tend to do) might outweigh the benefits of the rewards program, but many women may be using their credit cards with the intent that they'll pay off their balances, even if it doesn't actually happen.
I don't know which of these answers is the right answer. I don't know if any of these answers is the right answer. Maybe the answer is that women each want their own receipt so they can expense the meal at work, or deduct it on their tax returns. Crap, I might have to actually ask a girl about this, unless someone wants to tell us the answer in the Comments.
And now, Andy Rooney.
Andy Rooney, as those of you who watch 60 Minutes know, has lost touch with reality. He's at best irrelevant, and at worst terrifying (especially in HD - woof!). But I love how whichever of the other goblin/correspondents who introduces Andy Rooney ("I'm Morley Safer... coming up next, Andy is wondering why they call the newspaper "USA Today" when it isn't published every day") always has this smirk on his or her face when Andy's segment ends, as if what Andy just finished saying was even remotely funny. Wait, I don't love the smirk, I hate it. Who do they think they're kidding? Screw those guys.
I'm Oscar de La Jolla. We'll be back next week with another edition of It's OKTO Blog. With any luck it will be the long-awaited third installment of the Legion of Doom series. I don't like our chances, but we can dare to dream.
THE JOHN-JOHN MEMORIAL "DEAD KENNEDYS" PUB CRAWL
1. The Vineyard. You’re on Martha’s Vineyard. They make wine at vineyards. Have a glass of the crappy East Coast swill they’re passing off as wine.
2. Cape Cod. OK, you’re not exactly on Cape Cod; it lies a little to the north. So drink a Cape Cod (vodka & cranberry) while facing north (if you stand facing away from the waterfront, you’re facing northwest).
3. Bay of Pigs. John F. Kennedy ordered CIA-trained Cuban exiles to invade Cuba in 1961, but the exiles were quickly killed or captured when Kennedy refused to give them U.S. air support. Have a Cuba Libre (Spanish for “Free Cuba,” a rum and coke with lime juice), but show your lack of commitment by drinking half and then walking away.
4. Cuban Missile Crisis. In 1962, JFK ordered a naval blockade of Cuba to get the Soviets to stop building nuclear missile silos. The crisis was defused when the Soviet Union agreed to dismantle the missiles in exchange for a public US promise not to invade Cuba and a private assurance that the US would later remove its nuclear missiles from Turkey. Since you don’t have any missiles in Turkey, appease the Soviets by drinking the vodka drink of your choice.
5. JFK (Warren Commission). According to the Warren Commission, Lee Harvey Oswald performed one of the greatest feats in marksmanship history by firing three accurate rounds from a bolt-action rifle in eight seconds. Match Lee’s feat by doing three shots in eight seconds, using the same hand for each shot. Be sure to tilt your head “back and to the left” as you take each shot. Don't believe it can be done? Then try instead:
5. JFK (Oliver Stone). Common sense tells you it’s impossible for one man to do three shots in eight seconds using the same hand, and you’re not buying the “magic liver” theory either. So buy three shots and give one each to three of your friends. Position your friends strategically around the room; one should be in an elevated position, one should be near a half-height bar wall, and the third should be on a grassy knoll. When you say the code word “Green!” the three take their shots simultaneously then immediately leave the bar.
6. RFK. Announce you’re running for President, then take a shot. Don’t let it go to your head.
7. Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis. A few months after RFK’s death, Jackie Kennedy married shipping billionaire Aristotle Onassis. Have an Ouzo and toast Jackie for bringing us the gigantic sunglasses women wear today.
8. Chappaquiddick Incident. Mary Jo Kopechne's body was discovered on Chappaquiddick Island, underwater and inside an overturned car belonging to Ted Kennedy. Ted gave a statement to police saying that on the previous night Kopechne was his passenger when he took a wrong turn and accidentally drove his car off a bridge into the water. So have an Irish car bomb: accidentally drop a shot glass of whiskey and Bailey’s into a Guinness and slam it.
9. William Kennedy Smith. William Kennedy Smith says the walk on the beach at the Kennedy compound led to consensual sex. Patty Bowman says she was raped. I say have a Sex on the Beach (orange, cranberry, vodka & peach schnapps). Pound it aggressively. It won’t press charges.
10. JFK Jr. JFK Jr. was killed when his small airplane crashed into the Atlantic Ocean off Martha’s Vineyard. According to the National Transportation Safety Board, the reason for the crash was “Kennedy’s failure to maintain control of the airplane during a descent over water at night, which was a result of spatial disorientation.” Have an Oyster Shooter for John-John and by this point in the crawl you’re bound to be feeling a little spatial disorientation yourself.
11. Ted Kennedy. On August 25, 2009, Ted died at his home in Hyannis Port (about eight miles away) after battling a malignant brain tumor. Drink a brain hemorrhage (shot of Peach Schnapps, float of Bailey’s, drop of grenadine) in Ted’s honor. Then hightail it out of there – the man died two weeks ago! Have you no respect?
