This Weeks Sponsors

Jimmy hats fo' yo' hangdown.

I am a big believer in keeping it real, that is why I am proud to be associated with this weeks sponsor, Black Power Condoms. I don't use them myself, I don't see it as the man's responsibility to protect himself (or his bitch) against the HIV or the clap. That kind of thing is best left to your ho. If she don't want to get pregnant, then she should be the one carrying the rubbers. Like I said, I believe in keeping it real.

I don't enjoy looking down and seeing my length coated in black rubber either, and Mrs. Waring assures me that she feels the same way, although I did catch her looking wistfully at a picture of Sammy Davis Jr. the other day. I will have to monitor that situation closely.

Anyway, they gave me a free pack in return for pimping their product and after one half hearted attempt at a posh wank (I think it was the shock of seeing a black penis in my hand that caused me to lose interest and give up), I used the rest of the pack as balloons for the kids Easter party.

The packaging is a little disturbing. The black panther looks a little startled, possibly by the ferocious look on the womans face as she hunts for sexual gratification, the kind she can only get from a man who is wearing a black rubber johnny.

Aren't brack people funny?

Love Is.......?

A free donut?

First off, let me point out that it is barely 20:30 (military time) on a Thursday evening. Tomorrow, morning I need to be wide awake and in the shower by 05:30 (also military time). I am already 2/3 the way through my second bottle of wine and things are getting a bit jibbery wongery, so excuse any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. Not that I give fuck anyway.

I tend to stay loyal to my people.

That is why I frequent the same donut shop whenever I need donuts. I am not a big eater of donuts, mainly because one is never enough and I can never eat just one. 20 minutes later I am fuller than a fat ladies shoe and in dire need of a shit thanks to all the sugar. All that said, I buy donuts weekly for my 'team' and for meetings. This week has been particularly heavy on the meetings so this morning at 05:55 (again, military time) I entered 'Happy Donuts' with a smile and an order for 4 dozen mixed. This brings my total this week to 9 dozen or 108 individual donuts. This represents $40.50 in revenue to Happy Donuts, which given that the cost of goods sold to them is approximately 2 cents per donut, equals $38.34 in profit. They should be called 'Fuckin' Ecstatic Donuts'.

Anyway, 'Happy Donuts' is owned by a nice young asian couple. I don't know their names yet. I have been bad. Usually, I attempt to get someones name on our first meeting, but at that time in a morning all I want is a cup of coffee, pleasantries can be exchanged later. So, this young asian couple, let's call them Bob and Joan, just bought 'Happy Donuts' as a "going concern" from the previous owner. A filthy, disgusting, chain smoking slope who went by the highly unlikely name of "Dave". This guy was a disgrace to the donut trade. Dirty fingernails, always scratching his balls and his scalp, spitting into the rubbish bin and so on. To make a long story short, he was exactly the type of man you would hesitate to buy a donut from, but the donuts were not for me and my 'team' were non the wiser as they happily ate their way through a maple bar and thanked me for being such a benevolent boss as to bring them donuts. On the inside, I was smiling.

So, "Dave" sells what was simpy known as 'Donuts' to "Bob" and "Joan", who promptly changed the name to 'Happy Donuts', no doubt in an effort to rid the place of its demons. They have done a great job, cleaning the place up and have perfected the art of service with a smile, especially "Joan", who always seems extra pleased to see me.

Now, I believe, or prefer to believe, that no one else on earth craves the white mans junk more than your average asian chick. They don't have much to play with when it comes to their own race. Most coloured lads are more interested in the white chicks, just to prove a point, and don't give a fuck about the yellow girls. Hence their fascination with men of my, shall we say, calibre. "Joan" is apparently no exception, despite the presence of "Bob". Her eyes dart immediately to my crotch and a playful smile wanders across her lips as she bids me "Good Morning".

So, this morning, while "Bob" was warming up a ham & cheese croissant in the microwave for another customer, "Joan" whispers "I give you free apple fritter" and winks at me somewhat covertly. I whisper back "Thank you" with a seedy smile and a dirty grin, "keep the change." The change was only 5 cents so it was money well spent as far as I was concerned.

"Joan" isn't much to look at. Probaly doesn't weigh more than 110lbs in a wet pair of panties, but there is something there. Something undefinable that says "I ruv you rong time Mr. Eddie", that I can't resist.

Next week I will attempt to see what 10 dozen will get me. Hopefully something a little sweeter than an apple fritter. A happy ending to my happy donut maybe?

Dentists, Cell Phones and American Idol

I haven’t posted since Saturday. This is not good. I have wanted to post, had ideas to post but just never got around to doing it. It’s already Wednesday and I am wondering where the week is going to.

It isn’t just posting that is suffering, I don’t seem to be getting much accomplished at work either. Paperwork is piling up on my desk to the point where it usually gets knocked accidentally into the bin, at which time coffee is accidentally spilled on it rendering it useless. My desk looks nice and clean and organized for a few days and anything really important will no doubt find its way back there.

Today has been a fuckin’ waste. I had grand plans for today. Today was gonna be the day that I got on top of things, got organized and set myself up for a relatively relaxed end to the work week. Naturally, things did not pan out the way I had visualized they would.

Most of the morning spent in the fuckin’ dentist’s chair. Bad news is I need a root canal. Good news is, he said my prostate felt just fine.

Balance of the morning at the fuckin’ Verizon store exchanging a new cell phone which does not want to send picture messages. Got a new phone after standing there for 45 minutes listening to the poor assistant trying hard to explain to an angry, poorly educated and extremely ugly Armenian girl why her bill was $600. She seemed to be struggling to connect all the international calls she claimed she didn’t make to Armenia with the relevant charges on the bill. Anyway, I got the phone exchanged, should have checked it at the store, didn’t, got back to work and found that I am still unable to send pictures of my balls to my daughter’s kindergarten teacher. It’s probably a good thing really.

All this, when I should have been at work being productive, put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and made hard work of dealing with imbeciles and being empathetic.

Lastly, American Idol, I don’t watch it. I don’t watch any of those shows. I physically can’t. I would like to suggest a spin off though, possibly on pay-per-view, as I believe the demand for it would be worthy of such an event.
‘Farting Idol’, why not put peoples flatulence to the vote of the American people? Get America’s finest parpers, quackers, queefers and honkers up against each other in a weekly TV spectacular. They can fart along to their favourite tunes, rip an arpeggio or two, squeak out messages in morse code or simply go for broke with the best rip snorter they can muster up. You could have an outtakes special comprised of people who followed through or drew mud while over exerting themselves. This is a fuckin’ winner.

Tell me you wouldn’t pay to watch this and I will call you a liar…..