Sex and Gyros

I don’t know what’s more gross. The fact that my buddy got on some chick last weekend after about knowing her for about 10 minutes or the fact that this girl messed around with him after he just ate a gyro. Seriously, that’s just wrong.

A gyro is something you eat as a last resort. Nobody in their right mind would eat a heaping pile of lamb meat, onions, and cucumber sauce unless they were a 100% sure they would not be making contact with another member of the opposite sex for at least 24 hours (I usually go 48 to be safe). It’s a forbidden fruit. It always seems like a good idea but you almost always regret it the next day.

In a way though, it’s kind of like that test that Wayne brought up in Waynes World. “If you blow chucks and she’s still there, she’s your, if you spew and she bolts, it was never meant to be.” Classic.

I think it would be a good test to bring a date to the Parthenon for a change. If she still sticks around after watching you shovel all that food… well, half of it getting it in your stomach the other half on your face and hands (has anybody in the history of mankind ever ate a gyro without making a complete mess, I’d like to meet the Greek that thought this would be a good idea), and reeking like onions for the rest of the weekend, then I say hold on to her like the treasure she is.

If you have any doubts after that, there is always the dutch oven test too

Everything you wanted to know about getting Pee Shy

(in my best jerry seinfeld voice) “What’s the deal with getting pee shy?”

Pee shy. Gun shy. Stage Fright. Call it what you will, I’d like explain this phenomenon out and maybe somehow a solution will present itself.

Peeing was never a big deal to me. It was kind of relaxing. I used to be able to enjoy a good piss and maybe some pleasant conversation with my urinalmate next to me. “So how about them Packers last Sunday, huh?”

Incidentally, if I wanted to watch a film about the Fantastic Four, I would watch highlights from Super Bowl XXXI.

Anyways, back to my situation, one day I was in Van Vleck hall for some reason and the whole building was completely cleared out. Way too quiet for me but I thought I would have the bathroom to myself at least. So I’m doing my thing when all of a sudden this dude comes in and walks up to the urinal right next to me. There was like 7 other urinals to use and he picks the one next to mine! Who the hell does that? I started really thinking about the situation, I mean I was just confused. That’s where the trouble begins; when you apply complex thinking to a process that occurs naturally and automatically in the human body. Yup, don’t do it.

So now whenever I go to the bathroom, I get this spidey-sense for what is going on around me. I’m trying to think about waterfalls and running through a forest and all that nature shit, but all I can think about is what other people are thinking. “Is this guy behind me waiting for me? He’s probably wondering why Im just standing here. Goddammit I can’t perform under this kind of pressure! Im outta here.”

I know I’m not the only one with this problem otherwise we wouldn’t have names for this condition in our lexicon. I suspect there are even people that have obtained absolute mastery over the problem. These are the guys you see at Monday’s at bar time peeing in the sink or in the garbage can because they don’t want to wait in line. What’s your secret?

So ladies, I hope you learned how primitive we really are and fellas, if you got any solutions, I’d like to hear them. I think the problem stems from over analyzing the situation which I tend to do a lot even away from the john so any advice to shut down my brain for a few moments would be great.

I swear to God, the older I get the more sophisticated my bathroom humor becomes…

I once gave lip to G. Dubya - True Story!

So I am kind of new to this whole blog thing so I figured I'd start out with a humorous encounter I had with our current President of the United States.

So back in 2000 when Bush was running in the Republican Primary Elections, he made a stop in my hometown Ashwaubenon at Pioneer Elementary School (real gimmicky, I agree). Anyways, he gave his canned speech and then took questions from the crowd. I raised my hand and asked what he plans on doing on the skyrocketing cost of college education? He responded in typical politician fashion i.e. completely skirting the issue with “I want to lower taxes for the middle class so everyone can go to college yadda yadda yadda.”

So afterwards, Dub’s going around shaking hands and, recognizing me from the question I asked, approaches me, shakes my hand, and asks ‘Where are you going to school next year, son?”

I respond “The University of Wisconsin, sir.”

Bush says, “Oh that’s a great school, me and Laura are still figuring out where we want to send our daughters.”

Recognizing the opportunity, I put my hand on his shoulder and reply, “why don’t you send them to Madison, I’ll show em’ a good time.”

Then, in his patented smirk, he says to me as he walked on, “Yeah, I bet you would.”

Okay, so it may not be the greatest story in the world but I think it’s damn funny and I got plenty more of them. Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of the saga that is me.


Me.