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Monthly Archives: April 2009

I went to a party last night where I was the only guy; obviously a good thing, even better considering it was a party with a lot of my friends from work. Thus, I knew everyone there and most everyone there was comfortable enough to give me lapdances.

And then they had three male strippers come. An event of that scale was, to say the least, terrifying. Luckily, the hostess assigned a chair for me in the kitchen with the lights off (while the stippers removed their clothes in a stripping fashion in the living room). And there I sat for all 45 disgusting minutes and listened to things like, “I think he got it in L—-‘s mouth,” “Oooh, don’t bite it, girl,” “I love me some white girls,” and “They playin’ d— games. I was okay until they started playing games. No one wants to play d— games.”

But then there’s the awesome part. Things like the d— games (yeah, I know. I don’t censor myself anywhere else, why would I censor the word “dick” now? Because it’s not my d— and I was just three or four seconds away from seeing someone else’s d— thrust in my friends’ faces, which also) drove some of the girls out of the living room and into my lap. 2/3 girls that I have a crush on in that store sat on my lap while the third was the white girl that the gentleman who dances for a living likes (Dude Self-Preservation Tactics 101: crushes on multiple girls means your heart is only partially broken when one girl finally lets the bomb drop. DSPT 354: This may keep you STD-free but also just about permanently single. DSPT 355: This is why they invented pr0n).

And afterward they just had to stick around and say goodbye to everyone individually. And promote a Mother’s Day Stripfest (…really? Who told you that was a good idea? I usually just get my Mom a card). And give out their Private Numbers (“Sex Parties. Girl’s Night Out. Just Because.”) while wearing a towel. Then reverse-strip and then say goodbye more (girls get hugs again). And then congratulate the only guy at the party with multiple handshakes and by saying things like, “You’re the man, dude,” “You had a party of your own in the kitchen, didn’t you?” (Fact.) or “Awesome party, right?” And then it finally settles in: they totally used the same hands they’re giving you handshakes to lube up their d—s. Uggghhhhhhhhhhhh (Insert Vomit here).

So on the one hand, this party was extremely traumatic because I nearly saw professional dancing men in a nude setting and yet it was also partially awesome because in one night I got more lapdances (and lapsittings–not a word–) than I’ve ever had in my life. I guess that means I had an awesomely traumatic time…right? (DSPT 467 {Honors Seminar: Acceptance Through Denial}: Allow your memory to block out the dudes and reconsider all the showers you took in the following 24 hours. Now reexamine each time you spent in a chair with a girl gyrating {or sitting} near your dick and congratulate yourself for having a plain old awesome time and for not leaving dollar bills strewn across the apartment. [Editor’s note: Except for those three G.Washingtons. Asshole.])

Alright, so I lost a week to Rescue Me. Things happen. Coincidentally, if you’ve never watched any Rescue Me, none of this will make any sense.

Things I apparently need to say more often: “Kiss my bony white Irish ass,” “Prick,” “Asshole,” “Tan Balls,” “Shithead,” “I’m Irish so [insert stereotype here],” “Go to Hell,” “Whiskey,” “Halligan,” “Probie (School).”

I have to be really honest, too; considering how I’m not as morally inept as Tommy, I think I could make a really good firefighter (and perhaps a great Leuitenant). So that’s of my chest. Anyway, I’m really glad they finally stopped the slow motion montages at the end of each show in the first third of the third season. I could only handle so much more Look!-Look!-Tommy-Fucked-Up-His-Life-Again! or Look!-Look!-Everyone-Fucked-Up-Their-Life-A-Little-More-This-Episode! set to really awesome music like TV on the Radio or The Afghan Whigs.

And I know Tommy’s obviously the anti-hero but that man sure knows how to save a life. I know I’m stating the obvious, but it’s pretty clear that he’s really only at his best when he’s two seconds and a wrong turn away from a face-melting. And that’s why Leuitenant Kenneth “Lou” Shea is my hero. Not only is that guy fucking hilarious but his baseball metaphor in finale of the fourth season was perhaps the most brilliant thing that’s been said the entire show. And sure, he’s not exactly the most reliable of people outside the job but his life is nowhere near as fucked as Tommy’s. There’s no guilt-for-sex-with-dead-cousin’s-wife-thing or a huge Oh-fuck-I’m-helping-raise-a-kid-sired-by-my-wife-and-brother-thing hanging over his head. Sure, after Candi stole $26,500 from him he was a collosal mess and part-time bum, but he fixed his life after that filthy whore got arrested. He’s consistenly the funniest guy in and out of the firehouse. Tommy’s funny but his life becomes more and more of a shamble every time he turns his head (N.B. any time Sheila appears, Alcoholism, Valerie, Beth, [another girl], the hardness issue with Nonna, [some other girl], etc, etc.) or when he punches someone in the face before thinking. Finally, Tommy may sleep with more girls than everybody in the show (except maybe Franco and only in the first three seasons) but that pretty obviously doesn’t make him the manliest man in the house of manly men.

On star power: Did anyone see the powerhouse line-up coming? When I started watching I was like, Wow, this show’s awesome. What’s going to happen in Season Two? And then, Holy shit, Season Two’s awesome what’s going to happen in Three? And then, mostly for both three and four, Where the fuck did all these stars come from? Susan Sarandon? Really? Good God, that’s Marissa Tomei. On basic cable. And here comes Artie Lange. Gina Gershon and Amy Sedaris in the same episode? Get the fuck out. No wonder the guy who played Johnny Gavin jumped back on board in the second season. Apparently I was not the only person who really liked Seasons One, Two and Three.

Predictions for the season premiere (or at least to be set in motion) on Tuesday: 1. Funeral scene for Dad. 2. Bob’s out of the picture and Janet sleeps with Tommy. Again. She doesn’t seem to learn, even after that whole rape thing. 3. Sheila continues to act apeshit crazy, threatens to tell everyone Tommy’s been using Jimmy’s jacket in his spare time; probably blackmail to get the baby back. Insert creative solution here and she won’t, of course (probably because he’ll get rid of the jacket to avoid Section 8 charges, which means she’ll go on meds because she’ll think she’s finally lost a bolt too many). 4. The Valerie thing becomes more serious but then collapses because her whole “No Touching” thing’s not really up Tommy’s alley. And because Tommy’s fucking Janet. 5. Ghost Tommy continues to make Real Tommy want to believe in God more. Or just do more prayers. 6. Natalie gets married to the Chicago dude and Franco retaliates by founding a brothel. Except he’s not really a pimp as much as the guy that all the brothelettes sleep with. Alicia catches a whiff, moves Keela back to France. 7. Mike (sometime “Probie”) finally goes all-straight and becomes…some sort of “Man.” 8. Tommy fucks up. Someone dies. Chaos ensues. Punches Black Sean at some point for dating his daughter. Considers retiring. Doesn’t. Relapses again. Complains about 9/11 more (but with good reason, of course). Attains new booty call. Ends said booty call. Regains role of Biggest Badass in a Fire Ever. Maintains role of Biggest Asshole off the Job. Etc. Etc.

That’s all I’ve got. Asshole.