Friday, June 30, 2006

Happy 4th of July Weekend...

A picture is worth a Thousand Words...

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Ugly Camp, Part 2

Well, now that we’ve given a small list of some of the people who will be attending the celebrity edition of Ugly Camp, it’s time to look at some of the activities of their six-week retreat of pain, discomfort, and beautifying.

Don’t forget that Ugly Camp isn’t just for celebrities. Send your particularly butch wife or girlfriend right along. Before you know it, guys will be looking at her in the mall. Who knows, you may want to shop her around and see if you can get some indecent proposals.

Anyway, back to the point. It’s time to look at what makes up Ugly Camp.

*Specialized diet. It’s easy enough to just stop feeding the fat chicks, but that doesn’t always do what needs to be done. So, at Ugly Camp we’ll be tailoring a diet specifically for your horse, cow, or dog. As easily as we can turn the big girls’ diets into sprouts and water, we can create a high-calorie, high-fat diet of cheeseburgers and shots of lard every half hour. That way, we can fix up the Rosie O’Donnells and the Mischa Bartons.

*Extreme plastic surgery. As you know, the largest part of ugly is the ugly part. We can overlook the fat people. We can overlook the dumb people. But, when it comes down to the aesthetic principle, you can’t beat a good looker. So, we’ll take Courtney Love, and turn her into Anna Kournikova!

*Tough workouts. Can you think of anything more exciting than six hours of strenuous physical labor? What is better than a washboard stomach on a chick? Once she’s got the stomach, we’ll pierce her belly and make her even more sexy.

This is just a start. More on Ugly Camp to come.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

How My Wife Saves Money...

My wife came home from the store today with 15 (yes, I said fifteen) backyard oil torches. She was delighted with her find and could hardly wait to tell me how much money she saved. Now, before I get into the how much she paid for to first component in our voodoo sacrificial torch lit alter, help me with something. Why would a woman who fears the backyard at night and runs at the first sign of the West Nile army buy lanterns? The answer to this quandary can only be found in the mind of my wife and leaves all that attempt to solve such a riddle to suffer a fate worse than that of the Sphinx.

We don’t need one backyard torch lantern, let alone 15. I just spent more than a few hundred dollars on flood lights and lamp posts for the backyard. Not because I wanted enough lights to illuminate Fenway Park, but because my wife (who hates to be outside at night) wanted them. So the dog can see when he pees was her reasoning. We lit the backyard like Time Square so the dog doesn’t pee on his foot. Now the dog, which won’t go out at night by himself anyway, has a better lit crapper than I do.

Now, ask me why she bought the torches. She bought them because they were on sale and she got a great deal. How is it saving money when you buy something you have no need or desire for? That’s not saving money. It’s spending money. I can’t tell you how many things we own that saved my wife money. Much of this stuff has never been opened. Christmas candles last July, candy dishes (she won’t let me eat candy), pet clothing and many other treasures sit in my attic saving me money. I hate the Christmas Tree Shop. Would someone please tell my wife that just because something is on sale doesn’t me we need it.

Back to the torches, they only cost one dollar each. Yes, I said one dollar. Who the hell can manufacture and sell a product for one dollar. Let alone a product that is intended to hold a pint of flammable oil and remain lit for an extended period of time. Who is making the torches? Blind Malaysian toddler midgets working in slave camps. I can’t imagine that these things are anything close to safe. They cost a dollar.

If you hear fire engines tonight I apologize, we are testing our new torches. I wonder how well bamboo burns. These things have to be illegal. Wait until she realizes our two year old can pull them out of the ground. Hopefully King Kong will see my torch lit patio, think it is a sacrificial alter and take one of us away. Please let it be me!

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Ugly Camp, Part 1

As much as I enjoy looking at women, there are a few of them that aren’t exactly the cream of the crop. In fact, some fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

Where does that leave us guys? Well, for average ugly guy, it improves our chances of hooking up with somebody. Guys won’t turn their heads to look at her; unless they think there’s a wild beast loose in the mall. But, is that so bad?

This is the first part of a series where we will examine how to turn the ugly chick into a beauty in no time flat. In this issue, I have found a few heinous celebrities you can begin courting at your leisure. In the next installment, we will examine how to turn your dog into a…well, into a show dog anyway. Before you know it, you’ll have her jumping over little matchbox walls at the Westminster Kennel Club.

*Rosie O’Donnell. I know what you’re thinking: “Why the hell would I date her?” I couldn’t agree more, but you know as well as I do that sometimes you gotta take what you can get. And, remember, we’ll be sending her to ugly camp, so she won’t be ugly long.

*Ellen DeGeneres. Like Rosie, this will be an uphill battle. After all, she bats for the other team. But, again, ugly camp and brainwashing (I mean intense psychotherapy) can fix anything.

*RuPaul. I know. He’s a man, dressed as a woman. But, I can’t stress this enough. Some guys have to do what they have to do. We all take the good with the bad. At ugly camp we have a whole team of surgeons ready and willing to accomplish the improbable. (And don’t lie to me, before you knew the truth you thought RuPaul was hot!)

Alright, that’s enough for now. Coming soon, we’ll look at the basics of Ugly Camp. How can this strenuous six-week experience turn your mut into a shitzu? Come back soon and see.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

Monday, June 26, 2006

Summer Flick Picks...

Just for the record my friend and fellow scribe was not glued to his seat during the Olympics…he was stuck in it. He does however raise some valid points when it comes to appropriate viewing selections. Moreover, he is a like a ninja when it comes to his artful TV abilities, if it were not for the sounds and scents of his ass one would never know he was in the room. Better than that he found a picture of two hot chicks rolling around in the sand together, bravo! Bravo!

All kidding aside his post last evening has inspired memories of some of my all time favorite summer movies. Thus far this season has proven to be a wet one and afforded me much time to revisit my video collection. Here a list of my five favorites:

Number five on my list is none other than Caddyshack. A rainy summer day can always be brightened by Bill Murray trying to stuff a hundred pounds of plastic explosive into a gopher hole. Chevy Chase trying to stuff Lacy Underall and Ted Knight’s nephew stuffin’ his finger up his nose.

Animal House comes in at number four. The fraternity every college freshman dreams of. John Belushi is in his prime smashing guitars and pounding bottles of Jack. Others using stories of young girls dying in a kiln explosion to get laid, poor Fawn. Plus TP reminds me of Flounder and you’ve got love Flounder.

Three on my list is Dumb and Dumber. Not much needs to be said here. Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels look like Einstein compare to some of my colleagues. There's a Chevy dog, jet way tumbles and explosive diarrhea. What’s better that explosive diarrhea in a hot chicks bathroom?

Chiming in at number two is Happy Gilmore. Adam Sandler coming to blows with Bob Barker and getting his ass kicked. Better than that it has dream sequence with a midget riding a broomstick horse. According to my experience there is always room for midgets. Have you ever seen a bad movie that has a midget in it? Huh? Have you?

Last, but certainly not least, my all time favorite movie, Jaws. There is no better summer film. Roy Schieder, Dick Dreyfuss and Robert Shaw against the biggest fish bitch New England has ever seen. There is no tougher man that Captain Quint. This guy gets bitten in half by a shark and still manages to grab a machete on his way down. The man refuses to wear lifejacket, makes moonshine from shark bones and thinks he can catch a 20 foot shark with piano wire. We should all take a page from Quints book on manliness.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

What Not To Watch

There are a lot of things out there for entertaining men. There’s the gratuitous nudy bar, which is a must for any self-respecting man (as long as your wife approves or doesn’t know). Any number of sporting events is a welcome diversion. Of course, there’s porn on the Internet.

As you can see, there are things out there worth watching, but, unfortunately, there are some things you shouldn’t watch. What follows is a list of just a few of those things. My wordy counterpart on this blog may not agree with all of them, but he’s always distracted trying to come up with new, vociferous ways of making fun of me.

*Brokeback Mountain. This should be obvious, but some of my more artistic male contemporaries feel the need to watch. Gay is cool nowadays. Don’t be attracted by the siren song of gay movies. They’re not what you think. They’re really just gay.

*Golden Girls. I was talking to a homosexual friend of mine (no, it’s not Jekyll) recently, and he mentioned that he likes this particular, uninteresting show about a bunch of old ladies. He says that he knows the lines before they’re said. I guess I can appreciate that from the Simpsons or Family Guy, but not the freakin’ Golden Girls.

*Men’s beach volleyball. It’s a woman’s sports with half-dressed men playing it. I don’t think so. On the bright side, when the women play it, they’re almost completely naked. During the last Olympics, I was glued to my seat during women’s beach volleyball games.*Birth shows. My wife, before and during her pregnancy, had an obsession with this stuff on Discovery Channel. First off, the only things worth watching on the Discovery Channel are shark-related shows. Next, I love seeing a naked woman, but not when she has bologna nipples and is ten centimeters dilated. Women in their ninth month of pregnancy look like dead, bloated fish that have just floated to the surface. (I will be sleeping on the couch for that remark, but I stand by my insensitive slur.)

Alright, that’s it. Did I miss anything? What unmanly things should you not watch on TV and at the movies? Feel free to share.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(Note: Pictured are Kerri Walsh and Misty May, two women's beach volleyball players. In one picture you see them in their work gear doing....something. In the other, you can actually see their faces, just for comparison's sake.)

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Tools of the Trade...

Ah, well it is Saturday night and my chunky chum would have you believe that his work ethic keeps him diligently writing for you. A noble sacrifice if it were true. I would never call him a fraud, but I would love to know whose pants he’s trying to get off.

Anyway, my time is short as my evening is filled with promises of tequila, oysters and lobster quesadillas. These are not just random items on the menu at the Tex-Mex restaurant down the street. They are the tools I employ to seduce my wife. Those of you who also enjoy marital bliss understand the difficulty that is the quest for sex. Some would say that tequila should be enough to seal the deal and I would call them amateurs.

The consumption of tequila by my bride usually leads directly to SportsCenter. Tequila when used to encourage already eager college girls is an excellent plan. However, when it comes to married women it becomes a very dangerous proposition. If one margarita passes over my wife’s lips the pillow is about ½ hour away. Two margaritas and she stops at the bathroom on her way to bed. The tequila is for me, the more I drink the better I look and the less I care what she looks like.

The oysters are also for me, she hates them which means I get to eat something without her taking bites off of my plate. Yeah I know these pearl poopers are suppose to be an aphrodisiac, but a cool breeze up the shorts leg works just as well for me.

Finally, the lobster quesadillas are for me as well. My bride is lactose intolerant, but loves quesadillas. A little cheese and she’s in the can all night. Why is that good for me you ask? Well that gives me enough time to find some scrambled porn on the tube and mix up a batch without interruption. Then at least I’m relaxed for SportsCenter and can watch in peace…

Friday, June 23, 2006

The New Man of Chiffon (I mean Steel)

I won’t be stooping to the level of my condescending chum. Clearly, there is some amount of jealousy on his part. He cannot reach my level of persistence, hard work, and dedication. We can’t all be perfect. I will apologize to all of our loyal readers for his R-rated rant against me. On the other hand, he does manage to find some pretty hot pictures of hot chicks, so we’ll keep him around and ride his coattails into some wonderful, exciting new fantasies.

Today, rather than discuss the lack of a post two days ago, we’ll examine the upcoming release of Superman Returns. This is an interesting story on many levels. First off, Superman, as always seems to be the case, is being played by a relative unknown. A man by the name of Brandon Routh will play the Man of Steel. His only acting credits include appearances on The Gilmore Girls, One Life to Live, and that gay sitcom in NBC which we will not mention.

On the other hand, a more known face is Kate Bosworth, who plays Lois Lane. Her work goes back to The Horse Whisperer, Remember the Titans, and Win a Date with Tad Hamilton. For some reason, they were not able to recast Margot Kidder in her previous role. (In truth, Margot Kidder went totally nuts in 1996 and faked her own death because she thought the government was watching her. Koo Koo!)

There are a few rumors on the radar regarding this new Superman movie. Some say that Superman is portrayed as homosexual in the picture. Now, not being gay myself, I have no idea how one would do this. In fact, part of the appeal of the Man of Steel is that he can romance any chick because he’s such a stud. May I say that he looks a bit effeminate. Who knows? Maybe he does putt from the rough. Who am I to question?

Well, I’ll leave us all alone now. As you can see, I’m less than inspired tonight. But, at least you got some useful factoids about Margot Kidder. (May I say the Wikipedia article about her makes absolutely no mention of her manic-depression.) So, while I may be a bit dry today, at least I wrote. Have fun, and we’ll see you soon.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Grilling Lessons for the Caveman

My cohort has his panties in a wad because I have been remiss in my posting responsibilities. I’ve said it before and I will say it again. TFB! He makes numerous remarks about some of my interests being gay. I ask you, what’s more gay? Cooking a nice juicy steak over 800° coals and smoking 6 racks of ribs on a handmade BBQ pit or bitching because I didn’t post last night? Real men don’t bitch, they BBQ, grill, make beer and shit on their buddies as often as possible.

In honor of TP’s love for meat (keep your pants on when ever he is in the room) I thought I would teach him how to cook it. Yes, among my many talents I am quite the amateur chef. In my home I do the majority of the cooking. I married for looks, a dowry and an inheritance, not because my bride is anything close to a homemaker. Anyway, I will keep our first lesson simple so he can understand it.

Since doughboy likes his steaks to scream when he takes a bite my 8 minute grilled flank steak sandwich should quickly cure the caveman in his pants.

What to buy:
2-3 pound flank steak (bigger is always better!)
Spicy BBQ sauce (make your own if you can, I do)
Quality hot pepper sauce (also make my own)
Kosher salt and fresh cracked black pepper
Your favorite kind of cheese
Large Sub rolls, buns, what ever kink of bread you like

What to do:
Preheat you grill to high
Season your steak well with salt and pepper
Place on very hot grill
Cook for 2 minutes
Brush with lots of BBQ sauce
Cook for 2 more minutes
Brush with lots of BBQ sauce
Cook of 2 minutes
Remove from grill, cover loosely with foil, and let rest for 10-15 minutes

How to serve:
Slice thinly across the grain at a 45°angle
Douse with hot sauce (optional, for pansies)
Make a sandwich (If you can’t figure out how to put the sandwich together it sucks to be you)

***Cook longer if you don’t like you meat rare, because at 8 minutes this steak will squint at you when you go to take a bite.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I Like Meat

This isn’t what you think. I like raw read meat! I’ll admit it. I can think of nothing better than dropping a red, bloody steak on the grill and listening to it sizzle. I like my prime rib still bleeding when I cut into it. Meat is Jekyll’s field, so I won’t get into how to cook it and make it all fruity. (I mean fruity in the homosexual sense, not in the putting pineapples or something on it way.)

Why do I and most straight men like meat? It’s simple really. We’re the hunter/gathers of the clan. In the olden days, the tusked male would strike the wooly mammoth with a sharp stick. The naked woman would wait at home wearing nothing but hair from head to toe. The man would make a loud wail, and, from west and east, the clan would tramp in and eat it raw. No wonder the lifespan of the average cave man was so short—Salmonella; not to mention getting trampled by the mammoth and eaten in its place.

It’s been at least a couple of years since our tusks fell off. (Imagine the pain of birthing a child with tusks! Better them than us, right guys?) We look different. Despite my best efforts, women cut their hair short and wear clothes now. Many things have changed, but the meat remains. We still eat it. We usually cook it but not always. Our world has changed, but bloody meat hasn’t

What’s so sexy about a thick juicy steak? Every man who’s reading this is salivating right now. It’s like Pavlov’s dog. Just think of a big, red piece of meat with a little fat, and there you are panting and drooling. What is it?

It’s simple really. Deep down inside, we all have tusks. Deep down inside, we want to see some naked chick just wearing her long hair. Deep down inside we want to kill a cow (not quite the challenge of the mammoth, but it’s all we got). We’re harkening back to our evolutionary predecessors (big words).

For the ten seconds when we hold that part of a bleeding carcass in our hands before it goes on the grill, we can eat it raw. We can kill the mammoth. We can club the sexy girl on the head and drag her back to our cave. We can grunt and be understood. What more can you want?

Opinions? I’m listening.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(Note: Out of reverence for Jekyll’s picture posted yesterday, I thought it best to avoid a hot chick picture here. Go enjoy his picture from yesterday. Her hair’s pretty long.)

Monday, June 19, 2006

Father's Day: Another Women's Holiday

Well, yesterday was Father’s Day and as a gift to myself I left my computer off all day. I didn’t check email, my store or this blog. I planned on posting, but just didn’t get around to it (TFB!). Anyway, I managed to do a couple of things on my cohorts list, none of which involved watching Jenna Jamison or receiving oral sex. The truth is my Father’s Day ended before breakfast.

Have you ever noticed that even holidays that honor men are still more about the women. I have wanted to go this outrageous brunch place in Boston ever since I saw it advertised on TV. The place has lobsters, roast beast, and a great beer selection. I told my wife that all I wanted for Dad’s Day this year was to try this place for brunch. No gifts, no home cooked meal; I was even willing to forego sex (not a difficult sacrifice these days). I even made reservations, a responsibility usually of my wife.

Well Sunday has come and gone and I would love to tell all about the great brunch we had, but we didn’t go. Why didn’t we go? She didn’t feel like driving (riding) into Boston. Instead we met her father and mother for breakfast at Denny’s. Not that I have anything against Denny’s, but they don’t have lobsters, roast beast or beer. Oh, let’s face it Denny’s sucks!

Now if my lovely wife wanted to spend Mother’s Day at a fancy restaurant or take a trip to the coast and I made her meet my mother anywhere I would suffer. When it comes to birthdays and anniversaries we do what ever she wants. There is no discussion, yes I am allowed input, but don’t be fooled I know my place. My suggestions only involve things that I know she likes. In fact the only suggestions I make are the ones she has trained me to make.

For Christmas last year money was tight. We decide that we would not exchange gifts and spend our holiday savings on the kid. Now, I am not stupid I know damn well that no gift means she had better have something to open Christmas morning. So I stopped going for coffee in the morning and brought lunch to work for a while (yet another reason some think I’m gay). When Christmas came I had saved enough for our son to buy mom a small pearl bracelet (no I didn’t buy it a Wal-Mart), some perfume and a few other knickknacks. When time came to exchange gifts I caught grief for making her look bad. She stuck to our promise and (according to the court documents…her memory) I went out of my way to make her look like a bad wife. No thank you, no hug, nothing; mind you she didn’t return the gifts.

In closing I would just like to leave you with a few words wisdom. Father’s Day, Christmas, anniversaries, Easter, or any other holidays one can think of are all intended for women. The next time you wife, girl friend, or chick you’re bangin’ tells you she doesn’t want a gift, listen. And let me know if you ever get laid after that day…

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with any of this…I just felt like we needed a hot chick to remind us the why we let them do what they do.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

A Father’s Day Schedule

Well, tomorrow’s the big day for all you dad’s. So, it’s time to own up to being her baby’s daddy and go out and celebrate. Here is a list of some things you should make sure to do on your special day.

1. Sleep late. What could be better than waking up at noon? Hopefully there’s somebody there with you (wife is optional)

2. Watch porn. If you’re lucky, you can get your wife (or whoever you woke up with) to watch with you and practice some of the moves she sees.

3. Receive oral sex. Hey, it’s your special day. There’s no need to share the pleasure. This could go right along with the porn.

4. Grill. This one is pretty obvious. If you can throw some steaks on the grill, drink a beer and get a tan, you’re all set. Maybe you can incorporate #3 with this. Grilling and getting some might actually be the greatest thing that has ever happened…ever.

5. Masturbate. You may not need to do this one, if you’ve completed #3. However, if you’ve watched the porn alone, you gotta do what you gotta do.

6. Drink much beer. This is the favorite pastime of the working dad. Swill down some suds and enjoy the day. After all, what else do you really have to live for? Your kids? Right! They can’t wait to take your money, move out, and leave you in an old folks home where you’ll die, and they can take what they didn’t get the first time.

Well, that’s about it for me. Print your checklist, and feel free to share if I missed anything.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(Note: What would a discussion of porn be without the queen herself, Jenna Jameson? I had a hard time finding a clothed picture of her.)

Friday, June 16, 2006

Crime at Plumper Point

Just before close of business Saturday at 9:58 PM two thieves were spotted fleeing from the Lane Bryant store at the Plumper Point Mall. In pursuit was the night manager Roxanna Tripeldee, a mall security guard and loyal customer Betty Ladrass. The assailants apparently arrived at the store at 9:45 looking for a Father’s Day gift. When interviewed Ms. Tripeldee said “I thought it was strange, but business has been slow and I really want to win that gift certificate to Sizzler”. Everything was fine until one man began eating a box of chocolate covered mini Hostess donuts.

According to the police report; using the snacks as a distraction he moved to the rear of the store and offered both Ms. Tripeldee and Mrs. Ladrass a donut. Meanwhile his partner headed for the cash register. Before they knew what was happening the register was empty. The suspect then tossed the box of donuts into a dressing room. As both women lunge for the remaining chocolate covered treats the men fled. The donuts were small so the ladies were able to finish them quickly and hit the alarm before giving chase.

A passing security guard noticed the two running from the store and also gave chase. Unfortunately, he was distracted by the new Sony Play Station display and surrendered his pursuit. The two ladies said they lost them because the escalator was turned off for the night. Stating the staircase was too far away. Neither woman could give a description of the men, but recalled that they smelled like Popeye’s chicken and one had Sonic drinking straw sticking out of his shirt pocket.

The men escaped with approximately $62.00 in cash, a Butterfinger candy bar, 3 Slim Jims and a coupon for the snack bar at Wal-Mart. If anyone has any information regarding this incident they are asked to please contact the Plumper Point county sheriff’s office or the Lane Bryant headquarters located in the rear of the food court.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

FEMA and Midget Tag

Being a good sport, I thought I’d participate vicariously in midget tag. In my line of work, you see a lot of weird stuff, some involving midgets. So, I’ll be the first to report a sighting, sort of. I didn’t see it, but that doesn’t make it any less weird.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency recently reported some abuse of their disaster relief after Hurricane Katrina. People received $500 debit cards to certain stores from FEMA to pay for groceries, supplies, clothes, etc. In places like Atlanta, where some refugees went, they would sell the cards for $300 or something, so they had cash to spend wherever they’d like. Others who did not have specific debit cards used the cards to buy Xboxes and other knick knacks from Best Buy and other like places. One refugee racked up a $600 bill at a strip club all on FEMA’s dime. Still another stayed at an expensive hotel in Hawaii for a month. All told, FEMA was swindled for close to a billion dollars.

These were the normal cheats, but they were not the only ones. I have scoured the news for similar Katrina-related scams that would qualify for midget tag. As it turns out, there were quite a few.

*Midget tossing. The time-honored American tradition has been turned into a professional sport. In fact, some industrious refugee used his hurricane relief money to create a professional midget tossing league. In the league’s inaugural match, the Little Rock Red Necks defeated the Jackson White Trash by a distance of 12 ½ feet.

*Midget identity theft. Many of the people in New Orleans knew to get out when the water was waist-deep. Unfortunately, it was already too late for the little people by then. Thus, some unscrupulous regular-sized type, stole the little identities and used the small relief checks to purchase little cars, little clothes, and massive quantities of heroin. Drugs are a big problem in the little community.

*Midget warlords. Not all of the small people were killed in the floods. Some managed to escape by climbing things. For a brief period, before order was restored, a few strong-willed little people became rulers of their domains. Some reports say that these little warlords amused themselves by strapping tall people together and forcing them to knife fight for food.

The atrocities that residents of the Gulf Coast suffered should not be overlooked, but damn can we get some good humor out of it.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Wanna Play Midget Tag?

By the end of freshman year Midget Tag had become an institution among my fraternity brothers and anyone else that roamed in our circle. I knew it was out of control when the game carried over into the summer. My roommate called me late one night from some small town down south. He was spending the summer traveling around the country and had stopped at some fleabag motel for the night. I think he was in Alabama or Georgia, making his way to Louisiana.

The phone rang about 1 AM; he had just left some bar and was heading back to his room when he witnessed his first redneck midget. According to his report and a few pictures that I am trying desperately to locate (It was 1992) he saw a feisty little person streaking across the motel parking lot. Drunk with a mullet, tattooed and naked as a Jaybird, this wonderful wee person was in hot pursuit of someone. We never actually found out what this guy was after or for that matter where he ended up. Images of flashing blue lights and pimps always seem to come alive when I remember this phone call.

This report became only one in series of a summer communications that recorded a search of oddities from across the country. To this very day, I receive phone calls and email every once in a while telling of such events. I too have made my share of calls. Today I am bringing this pastime to the Internet (God forgive me).

The rules are simple; it’s determining a winner that is hard. We play in rounds of undetermined length. A round usually ends at a reunion dinner or group gathering. Some rounds have lasted as long as year others as short as a summer. The person with the best story usually has his tabbed picked up by the group of is given a case of beer. For our purposes I have created a few guidelines:

  • The objective is simple. When ever you are lucky enough to witness any odd, disturbing or particularly humorous event it must be reported within 24 hours (give or take a week). Special consideration is to be given to any event involving midgets. Pictures and recordings are encouraged, but the game is based on the honor code.

  • Each round will last as long as I feel like it should last. At the end of the round I will post what we think are the five funniest and most unique reports (reports can be left as comments on any post from now on or emailed). Participants will then be asked to vote for a winner. The idiots (i.e. Jekell & T.P.) reserve final say in determining the winner.

  • The winner will receive a prize (players within the continental United States only). I have no idea what that prize will be, but I promise it will be manly and you will all wish you had one.

  • Finally, please understand much of what we write about is in poor taste and often rude. We have no problem with good natured fun commentary. We also have no problem talking about porn and other borderline inappropriate things. We will not post, publish or condone anything that is of an explicitly sexual, pornographic nature or is hateful, illegal or illicit.

For late night midget fun click here… Midget Toss

***Picture retrieved on 6-14-06 for Middle East Online (

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Things Guys Don’t Need

For anyone who doesn’t know, Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback, Ben Roethlisberger, was involved in a motorcycle accident where he was seriously injured. He has since undergone surgery to repair him. He was not wearing a helmet at the time. On several occasions prior to the incident, the Steelers’s head coach, Bill Cowher, has asked Big Ben to wear a helmet while riding.

Here’s what I have to say about all this: screw you Bill! If I don’t want to wear a helmet, I won’t. All this hoopla has gotten me thinking about some of the other things guys don’t need. Girls, if you don’t to upset your man, don’t give him any of these.

*Advice. Why do people bother to give men advice? We don’t listen anyway. When I tell my wife I’m going to do something stupid, she has the audacity to try and talk me out of it. She should save her breath and go make me a pie.

*Directions. This stems from the advice thing. We’re not going to stop and ask. I’d rather die than ask someone when I’m lost.

*New underwear. Look in the underwear drawer of the average male. What will you see? A collection of rags with elastic that slightly resembles a waist band. But, don’t tell me that I need a new pair. Until my underwear literally falls off of me, it’s as good as new. And, by the way, by the time they get that old, you can’t wash them because that would be the end.

*An excuse to masturbate. We don’t have to see a hot girl to want to go at it. Guys, when was the last time you rubbed one out because there wasn’t anything on TV to watch. Maybe there just wasn’t anything better to do. Don’t be shy. We all know it happens.

*The Lifetime Network. What the hell is this crap? My sister-in-law loves it. Here’s the plot of every movie on the network: a woman is getting stalked by the illegitimate father of her Down’s Syndrome child, but he has a heart attack, and she falls for him again. Are you lost? So am I. I think I’ll go play Keno.

That’s just a sampling. Tell me, guys, what else don’t we need that is being forced down our throats all the time? And, remember, this goes double if you’re gay.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(The Pittsburgh Steelers don’t have cheerleaders, so you’re forced to look at a picture of a Dallas Cowgirl. Sorry.)

Monday, June 12, 2006

Midget Tag: A "Little" History

It all started back in college. My buddies and I were awaiting our new roommate. We had unintentionally driven out our original companion. I guess he was more into the student thing than we were. It could have been the fact that some random drunk urinated on his bed over the weekend he went home and we wouldn’t clean it up. Man, by the time he got back, it stunk. Anyway, this poor kid got pissed (pun intended) and moved out. About a week later the college assigned us a new friend.

The new guy’s name, I think, was Dave. This kid was unbelievably disturbed. He hung posters of random civil rights activists all around his bunk. Not really a big deal, until one fell down. Hidden under the poster was a menagerie of bizarre pornography. Don’t get me wrong I have no problem with porn, but why would someone go through all the trouble of hiding pictures under posters. Moreover, many of the pictures involve animals and other odd stuff. This was not normal porn. What was this kid doing when we were not home? Even today the possibilities make me tremble.

After a brief discussion with our lesbian RA (I can’t make this stuff up) and a few uncomfortable requests to the Director of Resident Life we managed to get this kid to move out. Not before, however, we were introduced to Sarah. Sarah was his midget witch girlfriend (yes, I am serious). This small treasure was the start of what turned into my ongoing unquenchable fascination with midgets. You see although Dave moved out he still remained on campus and he came to hate us. Of course you can’t blame the kid for the contempt he harbored. We told just about everyone we could about his secret posters and unique taste in women.

The combination of civil rights, midgets and witchcraft lead to some the funniest memories from my college days. The funniest of which is still in practice today. Originally we had set up a sort of watchdog system for keeping track of our former roommate and his elf. Our circle of friends would, without fail, report back to the group any sighting of these two characters. It became the highlight of every Sunday morning hangover breakfast. People would share stories about them or any other odd persons that were encountered during the course of the week. I can’t even begin to do justice to the time we saw them dressed up like Dungeon and Dragons characters (it wasn’t Halloween).

Eventually it got to the point that upon a sighting of these two an immediate phone call was required. Before the mainstream of the cell phones this took some effort. I remember excusing myself from dinner with my folks to leave a message on my buddy’s answering machine. They were sitting at the table directly across from me and I had to tell someone. The look on my fathers face was priceless when I told him the story. My mother was not happy and told me to stop being a jerk and leave to two of them alone. Secretly, I believe, she thought it was funny too, but never would she admit it. It soon become common practice to report sightings of any odd persons, especially midgets, with out delay.

This little campus game has today become the main source of contact I still have with my old college pals as well as my present circle of “friend”. We now refer to it as Midget Tag and have even established game rules and prizes. The rules are very simple and the prizes are never the same. For now I will leave you to ponder this. It is yours to ridicule or partake in, but on Wednesday I will post the rules and an invitation to play. I will even provide prizes to the winner.

Until then, keep you eyes open and look down.

*Picture of Midget Kizz borrowed from (retrieved on 6-12-06/ content/item/ 12618.html)

Sunday, June 11, 2006

The Beautiful Game

As you may or may not know, the World Cup has started in Germany. I know what any guys thinks: “Maybe I can watch NASCAR. I'm sure there's something on Lifetime that's good. Oh, I know, I'll clip my toe nails.” But, don't turn over to reruns of Desperate Housewives just yet. Before you jump off the World Cup wagon consider some important factors in this game.

First, this game is “The World’s Game.” It is expected that over 1 billion people watched the opening game, Germany vs. Costa Rica, and at least as many will watch the final. How can a billion soccer fans be wrong?

Next, let’s look at some of the players involved in this tournament. Being an Anglophile, I’ll start with the English team. Just about everyone in the world knows who David Beckham is. He is probably the most famous man in the world.

Finally, perhaps the most important thing to watch for in the World Cup is to watch for the player’s wives and girlfriends. (You thought I’d forget didn’t you?) Returning to Beckham, we all know he married Posh Spice (Victoria Something or Other). But, let’s not forget some of the other European Supermodels that these guys marry. I’ve taken the liberty of picturing a few below.

Of course, we’ll start with Victorian Beckham, but she’s not all.

Cheryl Tweedy is girlfriend of English defenseman Ashley Cole, and she happens to be part of an all-girl band called Girls Aloud.

Linda Evangelista is a classic beauty. She is also a retired model and is married to French goalkeeper, Fabien Barthez.

Pictured here is English forward Wayne Rooney, and his mom (oh, I mean girlfriend), Colleen Mcloughlin. He’s only twenty.

Are these women hot or what? And, there's always a chance that during a stop in the game some camera will pan over to get a quick shot of Cheryl Tweedy or Sylvie van der Vaart. Heck, I'm not gay, but Dave Beckham himself isn't exactly an ugly duckling.

This photo array is just a small sampling of the hotties that grace the arms of these over-paid athletes. Go to Fox Sports for a nice little slide show where I found my material, and see them all.

This is the Testosterone Pundit reminding you, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Father's Day Gifts You Only Dream About

Ok, it’s Saturday morning and for the second maybe the third (I can’t remember) weekend in a row it is raining. I have absolutely nothing to write about. So I thought I would share with you what I want for Father’s Day. Maybe someone who actually likes me will buy me something off the list.

#1. You have got to see this friggin’ thing up close. No normal person needs such a monstrosity, but this goliath size grill would make me the hero of the tailgate. Big enough for something like 50 burgers and two midgets. Stock up on the Lipitor this grill is every carnivores dream.

#2. Every outdoor party needs cold beer and if I can role the keg around with me even better. The only thing that could make it better is if came with a barrel of Harpoon UFO and a few cheerleaders to pull beers for my guests.

#3. The Sima XL Theater SXL-12 is an outdoor inflatable home theater. A freakin’ 12 foot TV screen made for your backyard. It has 100 watt speakers and is weather resistant. Unfortunately this is only the screen; you need to drop another grand or so for the projector.

#4. The Grill and Chill T.233 is the ultimate tailgate experience. I have wanted one these for the past four years. The newest model has a family size gas grill, huge cooler, beer tap, cutting board, power assemblely and marine stereo. It attaches to a standard trailer hitch and has a crank down base to move anywhere you want upon arrival to the stadium.

#5. I don’t quite know why, but how about a 7 foot fiberglass statue of the man of steel. What better way to demonstrate that you have absolutely no regard for money. I really can’t even begin to explain why I want it. I would just love to see the look on my neighbor's face when I make superman the focal point of my front yard. He would be so pissed off; I can hear him now bitching to his wife. That alone might actually be worth the $5,ooo.

Please feel free to add to my list...

Friday, June 09, 2006

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

According to a recent news report, a convicted murderer being detained at state penitentiary in Massachusetts is suing the Department of Corrections for a sex change operation. The man, Robert Kosilek (who calls himself Michelle) says he will commit suicide if he doesn’t become a woman. And, a psychiatrist has backed him up on this, claiming that Kosilek has a “gender identity disorder.” Moreover, because he is a guest of the state, he claims that it is the state’s responsibility to pay for this procedure.

Of course, his contention is that by not providing him with the operation, the Correction Department is engaging in “cruel and unusual punishment,” which is outlawed by the Constitution. The state has provided him with hormone therapy, laser hair removal, and psychotherapy, but they have stopped short of the surgery saying that he will be at risk if he stays at the state pen for men, but, if he is moved to the women’s penitentiary, he will be a risk to the women. (I doubt that, but he is serving a life sentence for strangling his wife.)

In my expert medical opinion, this guy is not suffering from any sort of psychological issues. In fact, he must have the biggest set of you-know-what in the world to be able to go public and tell the world he wants to be a woman while he’s living in a prison. Can you imagine the terrible things other inmates would do to him? I’m guessing that he’s been separated because of this.

I don’t mean to degrade the guy. Let him do whatever he wants, but don’t make tax payers pay for it! This would not happen in Texas. I can bet that if some convicted killer ever asked for a sex change that the other inmates would be happy to do it themselves—free of charge. If they didn’t do it, the guards would or some local sheriff. This would never have gone to court. Since gay marriage was made legal in Massachusetts, every freak and weirdo has come running to get their cases heard by the liberal courts.

It doesn’t cost me any extra money in my taxes if two men want to marry. What does cost me money is when some legal loophole seeker thinks he can take advantage of the system. My guess is he doesn’t want to be in the general population at Walpole State Pen, and he knows they’ll have to separate him forever after this because he will get killed if they put him back now.

Here’s what I think we should do… Let the U.S. military use his genitals for target practice. With some luck and a couple of 500-pound bombs, they’ll blow him to bits, and he can join Abu Mussab al-Zarqawi in hell. And Satan, Hitler, and Jerry Garcia can take turns showing them a good time.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

(Note: Thank God that son, Zarqawi of a bitch is dead!)

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Things That Suck

It sucks that this young lady does not live in a glass house next to mine.

Soda machines that charge $1.25 for a drink suck. Who the frig carries change anymore? With the advent of the debit card I’m lucky if I even have cash on me. That sucks! And how about those poor fat high school kids across the country that scrape together 5 quarters, they can’t even buy a real soda anymore. I mean give the poor fat kid a break. He can’t get laid. He only has 20 minutes to choke down 4 over cooked mystery meat sandwiches, a few bags of Doritos and a box of Little Debby snack cakes and our government is going to make him chase it with a diet soda.

My ex-girlfriend from high school could really suck. Not really a looker, but I was a fat kid chasing Little Debbie with a Coke. You’ve got love a girl who appreciates a good sense of humor and a lobster dinner.

That telemarketer that called last night at 9:30 and woke up the dog…who woke up the baby…who woke up my wife…who yelled at me for waking up the baby. I thought my number was on that hoax of a no call list, but my phone rings constantly and I have no friends. When I told the women, who was convinced my name was Ray, I was on the no call list she said that it didn’t matter. She could call because she worked for a survey company and wasn’t selling anything. I told her she still can’t call this number. She replied per whom? Per me! YOU ASS!!!

Arriving home from a week long ski trip; after a 5 hour drive during which you were unable to stop for food because you ran out of money. You and your buddy knowing there are left over burgers and hot dogs in the cooler in the trunk and planning to fire up the grill as soon your home. Upon arrival you race to the cooler grab the victuals and rush inside to get everything ready (by the way it’s 2 AM). You lovingly place the food on top of the cooler and leave the kitchen to light the grill and take a leak. When you return salivating to retrieve your banquet you find the dog has just polished off the last your breakfast.

Monica Lewinsky…I bet you thought that was a dead reference.

Having to take a dump and finding that the only bathroom with in 4 square miles has been made unusable by some jackass before you. You take the family or girlfriend to a little coastal town for the day. You have stopped at every hot dog cart and roadside snack stand possible (see Family Trip Survival Guide) and now that fried chili cheese dog you ate for breakfast is knocking on your backdoor. You notice that down by the public parking lot next to the bike rental place is the only public bathroom in town. Desperate and no longer concerned with the normal dangers associated with pooping in a public place you bolt for the single stalled palace. Upon arrival you find that a tribe of baboons must have had a feces fight moments before you arrived. Now that Sucks!

Please feel free to add to my list. It’s always fun to laugh at another's pain.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Worst Job Ever

Since Britney Spears’s child’s numerous near-death experiences, the pop diva has fired all of her house staff and hired new ones. Among the new house staff is a “manny.” What’s a manny? Simply, a manny is a male nanny. For the slow guys in the room, that’s man and nanny put together: manny.

How can this be bad, you ask. You get to hang out with Britney Spears, probably see her more “normal” (by normal I mean naked) than anybody other than her husband (and maybe him, too). You probably get paid a lot of money, and all you have to do is take care of a kid who’s barely a toddler. What could be wrong with this?

Allow me to explain. First and foremost, you have to hang out with that douche bag, Kevin Federline. I’m guessing Britney keeps him on a pretty short leash. But, could you take orders from a guy like that? I couldn’t. In fact, I might have to beat the hell out of him. I will have to add him to people I want to see get kicked in the nuts. What a freakin’ moron!

Next, you have to spoil some punk kid who’s probably going to grow up one day and think he’s the male Paris freakin’ Hilton. What’s going to happen when, in fifteen years, you get to see your little boy all grown up on the Internet banging three cocktail waitresses at the Taj Mahal in Vegas. Wait, that may not be a bad thing. I guess that means you trained him well.

I don’t mean to bag on Britney. She’s just as trashy as K-Fed is, but I’d take a shot at her if she rolled by. (That’s an invite, Britney, in case you’re wondering.) I do mean to bag on Kevin Federline. I know more than one (or one million) guys have done their fair share of wanking to Britney’s videos. He strikes gold, and what does he do? He acts like a total piece of white trash straight out of the trailer park in Kentucky. Doesn’t it take you back to a time where a guy with a car could get just about any girl at the Shoney’s Big Boy? It’s time to class up a bit, you idiot!

Alright, enough about that retard. As you can see, I have a completely irrational hatred for him. I guess I’m jealous. I’ll leave you with a lovely picture of his main squeeze. Good wanking!

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia...This Post is Not About Hot Chicks

Today is June 6, 2006 and surprisingly I have not heard much media hype. There is a remake of the Omen opening tonight and I have heard of a few mothers worried about giving birth to the Devil. Other than that I am really disappointed. Where are all the freaks and Chicken Littles of the world? No mass hysteria, zombie dwarfs, or Boston homosexuals bursting in to flames. I want to see the wrath of someone other than my wife, my boss or the homeless midget that lives under the Orange Line underpass (ok, there is not an angry midget residing in a train tunnel, but one can always dream).

I figured Ozzy Osborne, Keith Richards and Tom Jones would rise from the dead. I was hoping that devil babies would burst from wombs brandishing swords. Isn’t rapture supposed to be upon us? Maybe this is why Bush is becoming a bit more vocal about his opposition to gay marriage. Does he really think this little stance is going to keep him out of hell?

Locally an autopilot radio station 93.7 Mike FM reports to have been taken over by Lucifer. Oddly enough the station prides itself on existing without DJ’s and claims to play everything. Moreover, the last song that I heard this evening was The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Now I ask you; would Lucifer really play a song where he lost a golden fiddle to some redneck kid named Johnny?

In closing I would just like to point out that this particular post has nothing to do with babes, broads, or boobs. Recently, my cohort was told the two of us sound like chauvinist pigs with no real interest in anything but naked chicks. To prove that we are capable of writing about something other than tits and ass (not that we are interested in much else) there will be no pictures or mention of hot big busted girls eating hotdogs naked in this post. Please understand that it will be a cold day in hell when a future post does not contain a photo of a half naked chick doing something.

Sorry to those of you who visit us just for the chick pics...this won’t happen again.

Monday, June 05, 2006

The Best Show You're Not Watching

Okay, there are about five people in the United State who watch the BBC on a regular basis. Most people think it’s crappy British stuff, and they couldn’t be more right. However, there are two reasons to watch BBC-America: swearing and nudity.

There are quite a few shows on BBC-America that are worth watching: Coupling, The Robinsons, and any Monty Python’s Flying Circus episodes. However, the top-drawer, best show you will see on BBC is Footballers’ Wives.

There are several reasons why this show is so exceptional—sports, swearing, over-the-top drama, but the most important is one I’ve covered already: nudity! You can guarantee that as soon as there’s too much melodrama going on, someone will come out of their clothes. Add to that, hot English babes with hot English accents, and what do you have? Probably the best show ever made.

I have only seen the early seasons of the show. All of the cast members who were on in Seasons 1 and 2 are long gone in more recent episodes, but you can still catch the old episodes on the telly. Zoe Lucker (pictured with Susie Amy, courtesy of FHM)) plays Tanya, the wife of the team’s captain. (Note: I don’t know the name of the team and don’t care.) Susie Amy plays Chardonnay (yes, that’s her name), the hot model who is horribly disfigured when her boobs are set on fire.

This is based on a soccer team, but it has nothing to do with soccer. It’s all about the chicks. It’s like Desperate Housewives, but with hot English chicks and actual, real nudity.

The show itself is terrible. It’s as if the producers of the show stopped in at your house, dropped their pants, opened their stink holes in your face, and blasted away for about forty-five minutes. That’s how bad it is, but every second of it is worth watching and smelling. Trust me!

So, tune into BBC-America and find out when the next installment of Footballers’ Wives is on. And, leave the volume up for this one (so you can hear the hot accents and girls swearing). You won’t be disappointed.

And remember, if there’s grass on the field, put up a tent, throw some steaks on the barbeque, and play some two-hand touch football with the sorority girls having a carwash across the street.

The Testosterone Pundit