DAT ASS

There’s a new trainer at my gym with a confounding body type. She has enormous hips and I’m not sure if her ass is fat and shaped by the yoga pants or if her ass is PHAT.

It’s put me in enough of a quandary to write this. “Do she got a booty?” is probably the question that brought our ancestors from the trees to the savannah and eventually bipedalism. I don’t know why I care or am so transfixed by her booty.

I’m a bipolar ape. I’m capable of creating art, being compassionate and being a noble and upright citizen. But I am also capable of judging booties and being all bout dat ass. I think it’s because humans are ass people. The age old question, “are you an ass man or a tits man” is a misdirect. We’re all ass people. The question should be, “besides the ass do you also like big ol titties?”

I’m assuming some of you are perplexed. You’re thinking, “no, I am decidedly a boob person. I love boobs. I’ll take a concave booty so long as dem dirty pillows be dank.” I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong - we are all ass people.

If a woman has breast cancer and has to have a mastectomy everyone supports her. There’s tons of breast cancer awareness ads and countless activities to raise funds for research. But what about booty cancer? What happens when someone has glute cancer? There’s no support network. You’re just some assless freak.

A woman could have both of her breasts removed and we would still love and support her. A dude could have his tits lopped off and we would support him. But as soon as someone loses an ass we’re all like, “fuck that freak.” A person without an ass isn’t even a person.

I think being all about that ass is visceral. It’s what makes me human. I intend to embrace my ass-passion and try to get to the bottom of my trainer’s bottom. I need to understand it. I need to know if that ass is truly fat or PHAT.

Cherry Coke Under the Table

I'm about that age where it seems a little weird that I haven't started a family. I'm a little late to the having kids party. I'm not against having kids but right now I'm just not into it. I'm sure if I accidentally knock up a bartender and I don't have the wherewithal to lie to her I'm pretty sure I could step up to the plate and be the greatest dad ever. In time I may want kids. Right now I'm pretty comfortable with what I have - which isn't a lot.

I have friends who are militantly against having children. It's not that they would just prefer not to have kids or something like that. Deciding not to have kids is actually a pretty solid choice. Some people just don't either see the need to have kids or are content with what they have. There's a million reasons why people don't want to have kids just like there's a million reasons why people want kids. The people that irritate me are the people who are militant in their resolve to not have kids - the people who "fucking hate kids".

A fair number of friends of mine have said they hate kids. Kids are little shits. They're dirty, they're annoying, they're fucking rude. What my friends don't see is how utterly fucking stupid it is to hate kids. Kids are just adults that haven't grown yet. Their brains are still trying to figure out this world; trying to figure out what's socially acceptable and what isn't.

Sure some kids act like bigger assholes than other kids. Maybe the parents are to blame, maybe the kid is possessed by the devil and wants to kill Julia Stiles. It's incredibly childish to hate kids. It's cool to hate the idea of having kids, but actually hating kids, taking issue with their very existence, is pretty lame.

They're just little humans whose brains haven't developed fully yet and who don't understand that plopping their cock out at Denny's isn't the best way to wait for your Cherry Coke to be refilled. Hating on them is childish. Are other people jealous that kids are getting attention and they aren't? Do they think it's bullshit that kids get a free pass to act like pricks and they don't? Do they think that when they were kids they were better? Do they think they're even better than a kid today?

Mother fuckers, I'm going to break it down for you. Hating on kids makes you look like a churlish bitch. "Oh wow. You hate an 8 year old with a lisp? Mad respect, bra! That'll show the little fuck you're better than him."

Look it's cool to hate the idea of having kids. But to constantly bitch and whine about kids and to specifically single out kids and say you hate them is fucking immature and childish. I mean great fucker, you hate the one thing that keeps us going as a species.

Thrusting and Gaming at the Swolie of Swolies

The gym is how I hit on babes. Now I'm not the type of person who will leer at a girl on a treadmill or the type of guy to slip a chick a note in the middle of a routine. No I do my macking more subtly - like a ninja. 

You see I have nothing to offer anyone outside of the gym. I'm not that successful, my Milan isn't a very flashy car, and I have a terrible personality. The only thing I have going for me is my gains. Flexing and lifting heavy objects outside of the gym is generally frowned upon. If you flex at a bar you look like a douchebag plain and simple. If you are too eager to show your strength you look like a tryhard; a tryhard is actually taxonomically related to a douchebag. Douchebag is the Family and tryhard is a Species within that family. 

The gym is the only place where you can flex and lift heavy ass things. But there are degrees. You can't just waltz into the swolenasium and start flexing in front of the mirror and lifting shit all willy-nilly. That would make you look like a douchebag too. What happens if you get stuck under something that weighed too much. What gets chicks moist in the gym isn't the dude who wants to be noticed - it's the dude who doesn't care if he's noticed.

Check this out. Let's say you walk into the gym and you load up the hack squat with a million plates. You hop into the hack squat and instead of squatting you start shrugging your shoulders and grunting like a gorilla. Then after shrugging what you think is a herculean amount of weight you hop off the hack squat machine and start sulking like you're a god damned Sith or some shit. 

Well no one is going to think you look cool. You look like a fucking dickhead (another species that is taxonomically related to douchebag). You might have more weight on the hack squat than God can comprehend but any chick with a brain in her skull is going to know that what you're doing seems wrong and looks insanely stupid. Hell she might even walk over and put on more weight and start shrugging that shit too. That'd be embarrassing. Serves you right though.

So what's a bro to do? Be smart, use proper form, and use the god damned hack squat like it's supposed to be used. You need to be smart about what you do to get her attention. You can't just see her mid-set and dart over to a more glamourous workout. That is if you see a beautiful cardio bunny gazing your way and you're in the middle of calf raises it isn't smart to stop doing calf raises, grab a bunch of dumbbells and do curls. She's going to know somethings up. 

It also doesn't help to have shitty form. A guy doing shit reps or not doing squats properly is going to look ridiculous. He's not making natural movements. Everything you do in the gym should make biomechanical sense. You look incapable or wounded if you don't have perfect form. So work on form so that when there is a honey at the gym you can bust out a perfect set, get some gains, and maybe make her stir a little bit.

Whatever you do don't drop the weights or grunt to grab her attention. I drop the weights when I'm playing with the deadlift, but that's what it's meant to do. I'm not trying to make a lot of noise, I'm just doing shit they way it's supposed to be done. Same deal with grunting. I'm not grunting to draw attention. I might let a little grunt out when I'm pulling 425 for deadlift. But if you grunt all the time or scream "FUCK" after each set she's going to think you have the maturity of a child or some deep-seated personal issues. No chick wants to bang a dude with anger issues or a dude with the maturity of an attention seeking 12 year old. She might be willing to bang a dude who is physically capable of lifting something kind of heavy and not being dramatic about it.

This is how I choose to hit on babes at the gym. Sometimes I just want to run up to them and start curling things and ask them if they'd ever seen rotator cuffs as big as mine, or if she wants me to show her my thrusters. Unfortunately I know how that would end up. I'd end up with a slap to the face, I'd lose my gym membership and I'd have to start doing bodyweight exercises like one of those uppity ass marathoners. 

Publishing a Childrens' Book

I’m a bastard. I’m a bastard with a heart, but I’m still a bastard. That all said, I’ve been shopping a children’s book the past couple of weeks. It’s been a trying experience since it’s always been a dream of mine to write books for kids.

The main reason why the publishers aren’t interested in my books is because they aren’t sure who I’m writing the book for. I keep telling them I’m writing for the 6-8 year olds and they keep coming back to me and telling me the things I cover are too mature for that age group.

It’s hard not taking offense to that criticism, even though I see their point. I just feel that if I was told certain things when I was in that age group I would have had a leg up on life. For instance one of the topics I cover in my book is what to tell a cop when he asks to search your car. I think it’s utterly important that children know their rights. Now, I don’t think little 6 year old Jimmy Tiwiliger is going to have six blunts in his back pack – I just want to create a foundation of knowledge.

I cover some other racier thing, but again, these things are really meant to inform the kids. For instance I have an entire chapter on parties. I focus primarily on what constitutes sexual assault and rape. Did you know that a drunk person cannot legally consent to sexual intercourse? I don’t want little Tommy Tindersnacker to find this stuff out the hard way in college.

There’s even a section in my book regarding personal appearance. Now, my audience shouldn’t be hitting puberty for another couple of years, but I include some sidebars on the best ways to shave your pubes and what hair removal agents to steer clear of. Again, creating a foundation of knowledge is incredibly important. I don’t want little Danny Diggler getting second degree chemical burns on his scrotum because he decided to use Nair one day.

The publishers seemed interested in the message of the book, but continually questioned the audience. I was adamant that I wanted this book to be published for the 6-8 year old demographic. They countered that it would be best if it was re-written and re-targeted for the 18-30 demographic.

I’m still consistent in my belief that this book is best suited for young children. The kids of today are growing up faster. We’re ingesting hormones that are making our kids hit puberty quicker. Maybe today a 6 year old doesn’t need to know how to shave his balls; and maybe today a 7 year old girl doesn’t need to know how to calculate how many drinks it would take to get drunk. But it’s not the kids of today I’m concerned for. It’s the children of tomorrow. The uber-seed who are reaching puberty before they get out of diapers are the kids for whom I am writing this book.

Just like their ABC’s, cursive and arithmetic, these kids need a foundation of knowledge. I know I wish someone would have told me Nair was going to burn the hell out of my balls. I want to be that guy who can sit down with a kid and frankly say to them, “if a cop wants to look in your car you tell him no. If he persists you ask that fucking pig if he’s got a warrant.”

Swole-nasium

I was beast-modeing it at the Swole-nasium tonight. Just getting wrecked with the weights. It was leg day, and between sets I was screaming at all the hotties, “look at my fucking legs! They’re wrecked. My legs are like the fuckin’ Straits of Gibraltar with the Colossus of Rhodes danglin’ in between them.”

Between shouts and barking at women I noticed a fellow follower of the Swole. The dude was doing alternating dumbbell curls - except he was doing them inefficiently. He was rocking his body, and holding the weights wrong.

I had to help this Swole Bro. Without my tutelage this Swole Bro would get frustrated and give up. Between sets I sauntered over to him and was all like, “bro, look at your fucking shoulders man. We can get you yoked as fuck. What are your goals?”

He was like, “I want arms like yours”.

Immediately I got a slight chub. Damn right he does. I’m fucking jacked.

“Bro, I can help you get there. Let’s look at the form you’re doing for biceps curls. You want to engage your core. Grab a lower weight, and let’s work on different type of curl. This way is just one way to get biceps so big Jesus will come to earth and be all fucking “Over the Top” on your ass. But it’s cool, Jesus was a bro too, so he’ll understand.” So I taught my gym bro how to do bicep shit, and I told him to get his triceps involved in that shit, and what programs to try.

Then I sauntered back to my rack and busted out some fucking deadlifts the likes that no one has seen before. I could feel the gym getting more humid as the cardio-bunnies started to stir and froth in their yoga pants.

Anyone who comes to the gym and has the dick or clit to pick up a weight is my immediate Swole Bro. Weights are intimidating. Before I go to the gym I write two notes. One note is to my family telling them I love them and that I want Danzig at my funeral. The second note I stuff in my shoe. It tells the first responders to delete the browser history on my computer.

Not only are the weights intimidating because they’re heavy, you got fine meaty specimens thrusting every which way. To get over that fear of lifting your first weight you gotta recognize that almost everyone who lifts is the kindest bro out there. They love lifting are in heaven. Like a masochistic heaven, but a heaven nonetheless. They like talking about lifting, form, and programs and shit. But most importantly, bro, they’re there to focus on themselves. Unless you’re doing shit that is going to wreck your back, or you seem lost or discouraged, the bros are going to leave you alone. I swear they won’t notice you. If they’re like me they’re too focused on being too small, and not being the biggest dude on planet earth.

I haven’t written on this blog in a long while. I realized that the kids today just don’t read long, meandering articles. Kids want things to be fast and easy to consume. Well, you know what? Fuck kids!

Well, okay, DON’T fuck kids. That’s a figure of speech. But screw this whole 140 characters or less crap that I’ve been trying to do. It’s back to long, silly articles about things that interest me:

Me

Women

Getting women on me

Weightlifting

Getting women to weight lift

Getting women who weight lift on me

That all said, I’m re-christening this a Brog (Bro-Blog). I’m going to write about the stuff that interests me as well as bro things like:

Lifting Shoes: Can’t I Just Be Pretty?

Free Weights vs. Machines: It’s like comparing sex to getting your foot run over by a moped

Supplements: Why is my pee glowing?

Crocs vs. Sandals: Which one makes a squishy sound more? (Not all are on lifting)

Your Taint: Why you need to keep it fresh

Athletes foot: Your foot is your ankle’s taint

Come join me on this new adventure. Or don’t, you fuck.

Dan's Guide to Internet Dating

It would appear that a lot of people are getting dates from the Internet. With that comes problems. Like, what happens if your date isn't what she said she was? What if the guy sent you pictures of what he looked like 40 years ago?

Here's my humble guide on how to handle a first Internet date.

Firstly scotch guard everything (including the trunk). It wouldn't hurt to scotch guard your clothing either.

Bringing trash bags, and duct tape shouldn't be out of the question either. What happens if she gets belligerent, one thing leads to another and she's dead? You don't want to get the cops involved, do you? No, you do not.

Always bring a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant on a date. Not for the morning after... no, just in case she needs it. Because nothing ruins a date like a ghastly odor.

Oh that reminds me, buy the odor resistant garbage bags.

It's always a good policy to keep lying to the woman. So I recommend keeping literature in your car that makes you appear to be smarter than you really are. Sadly you'll need to steer clear of certain types of literature and books. Namely avoid medical books, anything about serial killers, children's books, and racist propaganda.

If she turns out to be a beast, it's okay to buy her two meals and excuse yourself from the date. Being open and up front about your distaste of her will be greatly appreciated by your Internet date. The food is a nice gesture, since she probably finds solace in food.

Always keep a fresh supply of cement, quicklime, and gardening sheers. You never know when you may need it... for gardening...

Never pick up your Internet date at her place. Always meet her somewhere. What happens if your car breaks down? You're stuck with that on the side of the road.

I would also steer clear of having your Internet date pick you up. Do you really want them to know where you live? I know I don't. I have enough ugly girls trying to break in and kill my pets. You don't need that drama.

Never hit your Internet date. Not because it's wrong to hit girls, but because she may like it.

If your Internet date has a jealous ex boyfriend, don't worry. The guy is probably really weak from playing WoW all the time, and will probably just end up hurting himself.

If your Internet date is actually attractive, try to find out what's really wrong with her. She may have a penis, or she may be an amputee. Amputees are people too, you just don't want to be making out with her and realize her ass fell off.

well, hopefully this helps, ya'll.

Target Gurl

So the other day I decided to go to Target, and see if I could chat up Target girl. Now for those of you who don't know who Target girl is, all you need to know is she's the girl for me. She's super friendly, fit, and just the sight of her makes your teeth feel white and clean.

In order to talk to this girl I had to get something, since she primarily worked the cash register. I mean, I don't want her to think I'm some sort of weirdo who only goes to Target to hit on her. It's true, but she doesn't need to know that.

I wasn't sure what to get, so I thought about some of the coolest things I could get that would either impress her, or give her clues about my personality. Last week I bought deodorant, and a razor from her. I wanted to show her that I was a man who believed in smelling nice, and liked to have a freshly shaved face once in a while.

A few weeks before that I bought season one of the A-Team, and season two of Modern Family. I wanted to show her then that I had an appreciation for older television shows, and that I am also up-to-date on what's funny now. Not only that, but I have enough money in the bank to buy something that I could already watch on Netflix. I wanted her to see that I still felt there was value in supporting the things that you like.

Another time I wanted her to know that I had a nice car, so I bought leather seat wipes. I also bought hummus and pita bread, with some rice, and a medley of vegetables. That was to show her that I knew how to prepare food.

Unfortunately as soon as I walked in to Target I forgot that I came to talk to Target girl. So I panicked a little, and tried to remember what product I needed. In order to jog my memory I decided to wander the store.

As I was wandering I came across some Hello Kitty duct tape, and just had to buy it. Then I picked up some trash bags for some yard work I was doing, a cute little stuffed animal for my nephew, and some baby oil since I was going to paint the deck later that weekend (baby oil is good at removing latex paint).

As I was walking up to the checkout I realized the reason why I came. I was there to flirt it up with Target girl. Frantically I went searching for something, anything, to impress her with. I looked at food processors, something called a melon baller, TV's, weird self help books. Then in a moment of misbegotten clarity, I decided to pick up a big box of condoms.

My rationale for this was she would think that I was a firm believer in keeping sex safe, was disease free, and was of the middle class. The reason why I chose the big box of them was because I wanted her to think that I wasn't out of practice, and that I had a good social life.

As I proudly took my items up to the counter I realized my horrific mistake. I was getting Hello Kitty duct tape, trash bags, stuffed animal, baby oil and a lot of condoms. At worst I looked like a child predator. At best I looked like a slut.

When I got up to her, she noticed, and I came clean.

"I can explain, the stuffed animal is for my nephew, trash bags are for the garden, the baby oil is to remove paint, and the condoms are for... uh, a shelter. The Hello Kitty duct tape, however, is exactly what it appears to be."

Summerfest Memories

I'm going to Summerfest tomorrow. Going to watch my friends play on the Refugee stage, for the second summer in a row. It's always fun hanging out with those guys, even though I'm sure most of them will probably be violating the terms of their parole by leaving Madison.

I remember last year talking to Davy as he was disabling his ankle monitoring bracelet. We were discussing the finer things in life, like wine and the finest of cheeses, when we I realized he was leering at magazine cover with Dakota Fanning on the front.

"How many years in prison do you think I'd get if I kidnapped her", Davy said, wiping saliva from his mouth.

"I'm not sure, dude. I think that'd also be a federal crime. Are you sure you want to mess with that?"

Davy's shoulders sunk, "aw, I guess not."

Back then Joe was single, and he was in the middle of writing a pamphlet on making love during that time. I tried talking to him about the logistics of getting back home, and he would just describe vile, sex acts. In retrospect I think that was Joe's way of shutting down, and not letting anyone in. It was a dark time for Joe. His pet guinea pig died, and his weed dealer was on vacation.

Drew was kind of the same as he is now. But I remember with particular clarity that he was in the process of sexting a 16 year old Dutch foreign exchange student. Sickened by his pedophile nature, I was determined to set him straight.

"Drew, what the hell is wrong with you?""Dan, part of society's problem is that we threw out an arbitrary number, and said anyone younger than that number is off limits. When, in actuality, we've been fucking anything that could give birth since the beginning of time. Besides, this girls 16 now, but in 2 short years she'll be ready. I gotta mold her like Jell-o. Girls are like glove, paco. You got to break them in, or else they're of no use for you..."

Mooney at that time was just starting to get into wearing fashionably unfashionable hats. Most of our conversations centered around modern socialist philosophers, and the best type of pith helmet for a man on a budget.

Jeremiah, the quiet one of the group, spent most of his times back then reading books. Not normal books though. He would read erotic re-tellings of the Harry Potter books. While reading he would write between the margins, what Lord only knows.

One time I happened upon one of Jeremiah's books unattended. I was curious to read an erotic Harry Potter book, since I had never done so. It was then that the dark side of Jeremiah's brooding nature revealed itself.

Drawn in great detail on one of the pages was an enormous sketch of Jeremiah nude, having sex with Mars, and ejaculating flames on tiny Inuit villages. His subtle racism of the Inuit people became quite overt since that time.

Josh was the drummer back then, and his wife had just popped out kid number 2. Oh wait, no, she was just about to pop out kid number 2. I remember this vividly because he was busy drunkenly telling everyone who would listen. He spent 3 hours talking to a ground squirrel, attempting to show it pictures of his daughter, and ultrasounds pictures of his soon-to-be born son.

Chandon was by far the worst offender. Not a dame could walk by without him staring at them with that perverse grin on his face. His brow furrowed, a full can of PBR tipped as beer spilled to the ground in a steady cascade. He just sat there, mesmerized. I asked him what he was looking at. His response, after several moments, was, "dinner."

Top 25 Things I Say to Women

Top 25 Things I say to women:

1. Don't wince
2. Don't make it weird
3. Pregnant women on Papau New Guinea can lift at least 50 pounds of potatoes on their heads. All I'm asking is that you push my car down the road half a mile so I don't waste gas. What? It has wheels.
4. Either lose, like, five pounds immediately or get the hell out of my office.
5. I'm not paying you $25 for a date. Because that makes me a john...
6. What? I should be mad at you.
7. They ran out of beer. Here's 5 shots of whiskey... hurry up.
8. That doesn't get me off anymore. I'm into something... darker.
9. Can we get your sister in the mix?
10. Look I'm sorry. Well, okay, I'm not sorry.
11. I love you. Now about those pictures I asked for...
12. Act like you enjoy this. You're ruining the moment.
13. I'd date you, but what if we got married and had kids? I couldn't look my kid in the eye and not feel guilty for marrying a woman who gave them such unfortunate faces.
14. Just drink it. It's not like you'll remember anything anyway.
15. I like you... um, I take that silence as, uh, sniff. I gotta go work out.
16. Try not to touch my leather seats with your bare skin. It... sickens me.
17. We're not going on a date. Because your mouth is huge. What happens when we kiss? I'm not going out how male praying mantises do.
18. Why am I nude? Why aren't you?
19. I think I misread the pamphlet...
20. I killed this plant for you.
21. Look at this... look at this... look at this. Awww, aren't bunnies cute?
22. That too
23. I wish you wouldn't kick me in the groin so much. I'm not complaining. It just hurts after a bit.
24. Quick question... hair straightener, is it okay to leave on next to a stack of magazines?
25. Please, stop talking about the guys you banged... I just met you.

My Time at Copp's

I'm in a foul mood, so I'm going to take it out on your eyes and your brain.

A few months ago I was leaving the Copps on the east side of Sun Prairie. I like going to that one because it's close to the high school, and well, high school girls have two things going for them: functioning metabolisms, and they have this faux sluttiness fueled by their insecurities.

I mean, who wasn't insecure a little bit in high school? We all were. That's why there was drama, that's why we wore clothes we swore we're never going to wear again.

Anyhow, so I like to look. Creepy? Not really. I'm not going out of my way to scope them out, I'm not going to try to bang them. Nah, I just want to see what an 18 year old girl looks like when she's not puking her guts out at a frat party.

So anyhow I'm leaving Copps with my Diet Coke, Perrier, and chocolate milk. Have you ever left a room and then all of a sudden been startled by someone just outside the door?

Well, that's what happened. Just as I was coming out of the doors I see these two high school girls. I accidentally checked them out, and accidentally gave them feedback in the form of a "hey what's going on, little lady". I didn't say it out loud, but my eyes screamed it pretty loud.

I felt pretty awful. I didn't mean to do it. I mean, my brain is programmed to react to boobs, and we consider people with youthful appearances to be beautiful. So I had no choice, it was all automatic. It's not like my brain is able to check their ID's, or make an assumption of age before it goes all "check that shit out".

Sadly, what's worse about this story is the reaction I got from the girls. They checked me out too, and their eyes screamed, "hey guy, what are you doing later?"

We share a nervous laugh, and I made my way to my car. Vowing not to go there again.

I guess I do have boundaries. Being eye-fucked by, hopefully, 18 year olds, makes me feel dirty. Dirty enough to call the police and try to turn myself. Seriously.

After I texted Joe Golemb, "Uh, dude, eye-fucked by younglings... am I going to jail?" I went to the Sun Prairie police, and asked them if I was going to jail. I explained what happened, and all they did was say, "Nice... just nice."

My Pet Peeves

Pet Peeves:

• Pants on a warm day
• Putting socks on
• Making sure the shampoo covers my entire head
• People who have 40 coupons, and don't bother telling the cashier until after everything's been totaled.
• Finding a package of OREOS, only to find 1/3 of an OREO is left in the package.
• Falling down stairs while holding a box
• Waiting
• People who don't get a joke, and try to correct me
• Cellulite
• Hats
• 50 year old hippies with curly hair who won't let you brush their hair
• Aging
• Going on a first date and realizing in the first five minutes that the bitch be crazy boring
• Eating most of a cupcake, only to find out on the last bite that it was moldy
• Using the gym bathroom and noticing someone peed all over the seat
• People who stop in the crosswalk
• Honda Civics
• Honda Fits
• Smart cars, and people who think they're awesome
• Going to ladies night, then realizing it's a gay bar
• People who give me their philosophy on life while they're drunk at a bar on a Wednesday afternoon
• Girls that don't tip me after a date
• Sunburn and bad tattoos
• Hearing a boring story twice
• Hearing any story that doesn't relate to me
• People who don't understand how great I am
• People that light off a twenty minute barrage of fireworks at 2:30 in the morning
• Old people yelling at me for doing something foolish, then asking me why I did it. I'm young, and in love, that's why I burned the word "Fuck" in your lawn, old man
• Being proved wrong
• Finding long strands of hair in my milk
• Having someone tell me the book was better than the movie. No shit.
• Road trips that end in Detroit
• People who use the same five machines at the gym for over an hour, but use only two, until you come over

This is What I Do

The other day I came across a campus tour, and decided to lend a hand. I grabbed a red-shirt, found a gaggle of touristy looking kids and lead them on, what I like to call, Dan's Tour of the UW Campus, and its Auxiliary Bars, Head Shops and Porn Stores in Driving Distance.

I didn't really know much about the history of the campus, nor did I really know where the Chem building was. But I did teach them valuable lessons on what bars had the best drink specials, where you could score coke, and how to spot a coastie.

A lot of the kids didn't really seem to enjoy my lessons, and those kids were nerds, so I didn't care. What I did care about was this nubile looking brunette who kept giving me the doe eyes. I figured the best way into her pa... heart... was by losing the rest of the jerk-offs on the tour, and getting her drunk. Very drunk.

I couldn't get her drunk right away, since as you recall, I had a bunch of incoming freshmen to contend with. They started asking me all sorts of lame ass questions about the library, and the professors, and where John Muir's dorm was. Maybe they were just interested in the school they were going to go to in a few months, or they were trying to get between me and the nubile brunette.

I decided the best way to shut the tour group up, and get distract them while I went to my car and banged the brunette, was to take them to a bar, and get them hammered.

Sounds easy, right? Wrong. These kids must have been from out of state, because right before they entered the bar they hesitated. Classic newbie move. When you're going into a bar, and you're underage, you should never hesitate. That's a sure way to get carded. Thankfully it was a campus bar, so no one cared.

I knew that these kids had probably never touched a drop of booze in their life, so I bought the first round for all of them. One pitcher of Schlitz, and a for the lady I ordered a Bastard on the Beach. If you're unfamiliar with Bastard on the Beach, look it up. http://hubpages.com/hub/five-most-alcoholic-drinks

I knew this girl would be all over me by stage two, The Dying Bastard, so I tried my best to separate myself and the girl from the tour group. It was going just fine until this walking Aeropostale ad comes over and starts telling me how awesome I am.

Now, I love me some compliments, but not when they get in the way of me taking advantage of a naive 18 year old. No sir. That is number one on my list of pet peeves, followed closely by girls that say "no".

But this kid isn't leaving, and he's coming dangerously close to my prey. It's about there that my Columbo investigatory skills pick up on what's going down. This kid is her boyfriend.

No matter, I say to myself, you've wormed your way into tighter positions. It's just a high school romance, their love isn't real. Besides, the pickings are still easy. Sure the younger guy may have been there for her when she got her first abortion, and sure he may still have hope in humanity, but I'm no slough. I have a car, a backseat, I can buy booze, and I have a cooler life than they could ever dream.

So I do what I had to do. I bought the guy a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea, and pointed him towards the sluttiest girl in the tour. Thank God for rum, because the kid started taking some sips, and before any of us knew it he was talking about the Porsche his daddy bought him for graduation.

God damn it, a Porsche? All I got for graduation was a Wal-Mart gift card for $3.50.

There I was alone with this girl. Then I realized she drank all of the Bastard on the Beach. She was lights out, slurring, purring, and just about everywhere. Then she uttered the words every guy like me hates to hear, "w-where's my b-boyfriend?"

"Cheating on you in the alleyway."

"That prick, his daddy bought h-him a Porsche, y-you know?"

"Well, I bought myself a Milan. Want to see it..."

A Day in the Life of Dan

10:41 AM - Wake up, take a few moments to wait for the room to stop spinning.

10:53 AM - Room has not stopped spinning. Say, "fuck it," stumble out of bed. Rifle through piles of clothes, Perrier bottles, and pillows. Slam protein shake from fridge next to bed.

10:58 AM - Realize it's a weekday, and I need to get paid. Look in mirror to see if I need to take a shower.

11:03 AM - Still looking in mirror.

11:07 AM - Jump into shower, shaving face will need to wait until tomorrow.

11:10 AM - Deodorant: check. Ears clean: check. Hair pomaded: check (I can't believe pomaded is a word...). Teeth brushed: check. Floss: fuck it.

11:11 AM - Must find keys! Grab Greek yogurt for lunch and V8.

11:17 AM - No keys yet. Plead with God. Curse. Weep.

11:18 AM - Curse God.

11:19 AM - Take back what I said about God.

11:21 AM - Keys found out door.

11:22 AM - Look at MP3 player, think about what music I want to listen to on the ride in to work.

11:24 AM - I guess I can listen to Streetlight Manifesto again.

11:25 AM - Begin commute. Sext random girl. Hey baby. If I said you had a great body, would you send me pictures of it?

11:50 AM - Driving down East Washington in Madison, curse at all the terrible drivers. Flick off Subaru with liberal bumper stickers and Vermont license plate for going 25 in a 35.

11:52 AM - Have Subaru I flicked off pull up next to me at stop light. Try to find something to fidget with...

12:18 PM - Turn onto Park Street, and head towards St. Mary's hospital. Begin looking for a parking spot in the residential neighborhoods.

12:25 PM - Still looking for a freaking spot. Come up with silly Facebook status: Titanic Titties Titillate Titular Title Characters

12:28 PM - Parked, get stuff together, stagger into Alumni Hall.

12:31 PM - Look at clock... wonder out loud, "how did it take me 3 minutes to walk a half a block?"

12:32 PM - Get stopped by acquaintance. Talk about her kids.

12:43 PM - Make my escape, run up the two flights of stairs, and walk to my office.

12:46 PM - Look at watch. Wonder how it took me 3 minutes to get up 2 flights of stairs running.

12:47 PM - Enter office, say "hello" to Randy, and commence small talk.

12:48 PM - Small talk is over (we're guys, we don't need half an hour for small talk). Turn on computer. Try to remember password.

12:49 PM - On third attempt remember password. Check mail. Check Facebook. Send Facebook sext to different girl, I thought I saw you on the way in to work today. Turns out it was a hairy Italian. Get your mustache shaved, bitch. (Some girls are really in to abuse).

12:53 PM - Finish work. Hop on Internet. Look at pictures of cute animals. Curse every once in a while to make it look like I'm doing shit.

1:35 PM - Boss comes in, close YouTube video of Panda sneezing, maximize window containing spreadsheet.

1:36 PM - Listen to boss talk. Nod head. Be praised for coming in earlier than normal. Listen to boss talk about children. Try not to tell her about the time I saw her kid shoot up heroin, and kill a hooker.

1:59 PM - Say good bye to boss. Look at Facebook. Send chat message to girl from this morning, Did you get my sext? Uh, yeah, Dan. Can you stop doing that. Not gonna happen. You're an asshole, and I hope you get dick cancer. Won't happen, God loves me. Oh yeah, how do you know that? Because I was born a man. Listen, I'm getting hungry. Later...

2:05 PM - Pull out yogurt and V8. Slam V8. Look around desk for spoon.

2:06 PM - Make way to reception, steal spoons without receptionist noticing. Avoid eye-contact with people.

2:07 PM - Make sure Katie and Amy aren't in their office. Steal soda from fridge. Rifle through their desks, steal office supplies.

2:08 PM - Crack open soda, plop open yogurt.

2:09 PM - Clean yogurt spray out of eyes. Curse cows.

2:10 PM - Finish food. Bored. Tell Randy I'm hitting the dusty trail.

2:13 PM Get to car. Realize I left my keys in office.

2:16 PM - Get back to office to hear my co-workers talking about how fat my head has gotten. Nervously grab keys from desk.

2:19 PM - Hop in car... try to figure out what band to listen to on ride home.

2:21 PM - Streetlight Manifesto it is!

2:35 PM - Make impromptu pit stop on the way home to Copp's.

2:38 PM - Grab Perrier, seasoning salt, and Diet Coke. Pay in fast lane.

2:39 PM - Wonder how I was able to do all that in one minute... realize it's because I'm awesome.

2:40 PM - Take long way home, speed. Think about hot bitches.

2:55 PM - Get home. Change into gym attire, and plan to run.

3:00 PM - Sleep.

3:59 PM - Wake up to cat licking nose. Burst awake, and get started on supper.

___________ This Shit Is Hard to Write______ I'm so Sleepy________ I'll Finish this Tomorrow___________________

The Virtues of Pineapple Juice

This is an e-mail I sent at work, talking about the virtues of pineapple juice. Ya'll should read it, because pineapple juice is awesome.

Word. There's some pineapple juice in the fridge, yo. It's all good and shit. It's got 75% of your daily vitamin C, loads of other nutrients your body needs to fight bitches like the flu, the cold, the dehydration, and most importantly the need. Fight the need for getting down and dying from things like cancer, strokes, heart disease and that sugary bitch diabetes.

Grab a dixie cup, shake the pitcher, and pour that delicious health tonic in. Worried about calories? Pfft, ain't hardly a thang. Worried about sugar? Girl, it's all natural. Worried about lookin' like a fool? Drink this elixir and everybody else gonna look the fool, dawg.

Get your guzzle on, because this is the future. If Black Beard had access to this we'd be speaking pirate right now. Jesus drank this stuff, and we still talkin' about him. You know who didn't drink this? Jonathan Wilfred Ashleigh. Who is he you ask? Exactly.

Word

Top 25 Things I Instantly Regretted Seeing on the Internet

Here's another request from Chandon. A list of things that I instantly regretted seeing on the Internet. This one will be hard because Chandon also requested that I do this list with a minimal amount of porn references. Since the Internet is 90% porn, I have my work cut out for me.

1. A video of an elephant being hung
2. Blue waffle
3. Picture of an octogenarian at Wal-Mart in fishnets, sagging everywhere, with tons of hairy moles
4. Pictures on Facebook of a girl being felt up. The story goes, a few years ago, I was dating this girl, and I was going to take her to the Field Museum in Chicago. Well the day we were supposed to leave, she told me that she wasn't feeling the best. So we didn't go. The next day up pop these pictures of her on Facebook at a party, getting groped and making out with other guys.
5. Watching a 15 minute video of a kid with down syndrome trying to push a cart up a small flight of stairs.
6. Any before and after picture of Tara Reid. She used to be so pretty
7. Picture of worms living inside of a wound in some guy's skull
8. Two words: Mouse Sandwich
9. The scary metal version of that Rebecca Black song Friday.
10. Kathy Griffin comedy special on YouTube. Oh God, it was awful
11. Kid who snaps his leg doing gymnastics
12. Video on hospital website of some kid getting a fish hook taken out of his eye
13. BMI Pain Olympics. It's not porn... it can't be.
14. Fat girl playing Wii bowling
15. This Emo girl going off on "pretenders". It was horrible, I felt my sperm dying.
16. Guy peeing into his own mouth
17. Pictures of Snooki getting arrested
18. A Craigslist ad where a 'straight' guy wanted to jack off another 'straight' guy
19. Pictures on Facebook of a girl I accidentally gave a black eye to.
20. Pictures of me drunkenly putting my hand dangerously far down a girl's shirt
21. Morbidly flat chested girl, with huge muffin top, and back fat dressed as Princess Leia in the slave girl costume. I love that costume... that girl made me regret that.
22. Anatomically correct costumes worn by a family of 4
23. Guy with elephantiasis
24. Goatsie
25. Woman eating entire jar of Mayonnaise.

Top 25 Things I Instantly Regretted Putting in My Mouth

I guess I'm taking requests now. Chandon Vicarious (Kunz) has asked me to name 25 things that I've instantly regretted putting in my mouth. This is actually going to be a journey. I've already blocked my family from reading this. This is going to be a little embarrassing, but here goes it.

I tagged people in this, fear not, if you were tagged you weren't one of the top 25. I just tagged you because in some small way you may have been involved, or can give valuable insight.

1. Moldy elephant ear (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fried_dough)
2. Calcium crust from a filter at Pet Smart
3. A scary black man's mouth. I didn't put it in there... he did. It was rape.
4. This super strong jalapeno pepper
5. There was this girl who had extremely bad breath, and when I kissed her I regretted it
6. A very green, celery, whey, and some other plant smoothie
7. Post-coital labia with a fresh taste of latex
8. My dog's tongue. My older brother and sister said they would give me $5 if I let our dog Mindy eat a piece of macaroni and cheese off of my tongue. It's been almost 20 years since that happened and I have yet to see a dime.
9. A drill. I was getting a cavity filled, and the anesthetic didn't take.
10. I forget the reason, but I tried fitting a large bottle in my mouth once. Instantly regretted it because my jaw popped.
11. A bee
12. Deodorant. My first few semesters in college I was a little disoriented in the morning. A few times I would accidentally put tooth paste in my hair instead of hair gel, or poke my eyes with Q-tips. One morning I tried using my deodorant as a toothbrush.
13. Stress Coat. Anyone who worked at Pet Smart... I'm fucking tagging you. You all were there.
14. A turnip
15. A cockatiel's head. Okay, I instantly regretted it because a manager saw me do it. If you must know, the bird was alive, and actually was pretty cool with it. He was also very tame... I was young and stupid. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cockatiel)
16. Another time working at Pet Smart I was cleaning out filters and fish poop and stuff splashed into my mouth
17. Still at Pet Smart, I accidentally got dead fish juice in my mouth. It sprayed up at me... and the thing had been dead a while.
18. Long Island Iced Tea. Anyone who was at Fat Jacks, will remember that. I'm tagging you bastards too.
19. Venison. I love Bambi
20. Road salt... the stuff they put on roads in winter. Joe Golemb and I grew up together, and I must have been a 6th grader. We were sitting near the doors waiting for our parents to finish up drinking at the bar to pick us up, when I see Joe holding this white thing. It looked like candy, and Joe was always bringing weird candy and shit to school, so I thought it was some sugary treat. He offered it to me for some reason, I popped it in my mouth, and you know the rest.
21. A live wire
22. A humming bird. No shit. I was in my yard one day, trying to figure out the garden hose situation, and all of a sudden there's this violent, bizarre fluttering in my mouth
23. Cat litter
24. Anything from Fat Sandwich. I love that shit, but I regret it later.
25. This Iraqi girl I was making out with once asked me to let her feel my tongue. I felt both violated, and stupid instantly.

So much more. Well, if you have any suggestions on what I should write about next, either post it to my wall or in the comments or sext me. I don't think any other topic will be as uncomfortable to write than this.

I'm Not Shallow; I Just Don't Want Dead Babies

Why does everyone think I'm creepy? Okay, don't answer that. Why do people I don't know think I'm creepy?

So I went to the mall to snag some clothing with which to show off my enormous biceps. As I was browsing, I hear over the intercom, Security camera to section C.

I look around, and notice, I'm in section C. The only person in section C. Then I notice three employees congregating a distance away from me. They were making uncomfortable glances my way.

What the...

I decided to casually make my exit, all the while wondering what it is about me that gets people so worked up. Maybe it has something to do with the way that I go through stores. I do act like a hummingbird with ADHD and OCD when I shop. I'll walk up to a rack, feel a shirt, sit there and think about how I would look in the shirt, and how it would fit. Then I move on to another display across the store. Then I come back, fester, and move on again. I'm particular, what can I say?

Don't Taze Me

Why does everyone think I'm creepy? Okay, don't answer that. Why do people I don't know think I'm creepy?

So I went to the mall to snag some clothing with which to show off my enormous biceps. As I was browsing, I hear over the intercom, Security camera to section C.

I look around, and notice, I'm in section C. The only person in section C. Then I notice three employees congregating a distance away from me. They were making uncomfortable glances my way.

What the...

I decided to casually make my exit, all the while wondering what it is about me that gets people so worked up. Maybe it has something to do with the way that I go through stores. I do act like a hummingbird with ADHD and OCD when I shop. I'll walk up to a rack, feel a shirt, sit there and think about how I would look in the shirt, and how it would fit. Then I move on to another display across the store. Then I come back, fester, and move on again. I'm particular, what can I say?

My Mentoring Service

Nothing says "I love you" to a girl than taking her on a breath-taking tour of Italy. Unless, of course, she's not your girlfriend; barely knows who you are; and repeatedly begs you to let her go home and see her family.

This is just one of the many life lessons I had to learn on my own. But you don't have to fumble through life like I did. For only $15 a day (or a case of beer) I'm willing to be your mentor.

Guys, girls, things in-between; I'll mentor anything! You name it, I'll mentor it.

You name something foolish, or self-destructive, and I've done it. Spent too much on a friend? I did that. Drunk dialed some random chick? I did that so many times, I'm on a police watch-list.

Don't feel like paying me $15, or a case of beer? I'm willing to barter. You got old video games? That's good enough for me. Got whiskey and mouth wash instead of beer? That's fine by me. Got boobs? Jackpot!

Don't let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass you by. At least let the $800 I spent on some girl mean something.

I see some trepidation in your eyes. "How can someone so terrible at life, be relied upon to be an effective mentor?" That's a very reasonable, yet dickish, question to be asking me. I'm actually at messing up my life. I'm actually an amazing advice giver. Don't believe me? Who do you think told the Beatles to make music?

Not me, but I would have, had I been alive back then.