You know what else is "unusual"? (cont.)

My wrestling match with General Yammy Hammy over my right to dress up like Tom Jones and dance around the house continued well into the night.
"You want to know what else is "unusual"?" General Yammy Hammy asked me as he pulled my hair with one hand and slapped me with the other. "Your complete lack of musculature."
"You want to know what's "unusual"?" I responded as I kicked his shins and pinched the fat at the back of his neck. "The fact that you claim to be a straight guy, but that I can clearly feel your boner right now."
"You want to know what's "unusual"?" the Hammy asked me as he elbowed my nose and bit down on the flesh below my underarms. "That your mommy still buys your underpants for you."
"You want to know what's really "unusual"?" I asked Hammy while I scratched at his eyeballs with my uncut nails and punched his kidneys. "That you have a combover even though you're not bald. You just like the way it looks."
"You want to know what's "unusual"?" General Hammy asked meekly as his body went limp. "I think you just broke my fucking neck."
Oh, shit, I thought. My mommy is going to slap my face so hard for this.

It's not unusual to dress up like Tom Jones (it happens all the time)

I like to dress up like Tom Jones and dance in front of the mirror. So what? Who cares if a 36-year-old man who lives with his mommy likes to put on tight pants and a short afro wig and crazy sunglasses and gyrate around his room while listening to Tom Jones music? General Yammy Hammy, that's who. He burst into my room last night in the middle of one of my numbers.
"Hell, no!" he yelled. "I don't think so!"
"You ever heard of knocking, General Yammy Hammy?" I asked him.
"I don't need to knock. This is my house."
"Your house?!" I couldn't believe it. "General, the only things in this world that you own are two pit-stained t-shirts, a pair of yellow underwear, and a pair of pants that smell of urine no matter how many times you wash them."
I turned away from him and continued my dancing, but caught a glimpse of him in the mirror fast approaching me from behind.
"You wanna know what's "unusual"?" he asked as he grabbed me in a bear hug. "A grown man dancing around his room like a fruit."
"You want to know what's "unusual"?" I asked him as I turned around so that we were giving each other bear hugs, face-to-face. "The stench that's coming out of your mouth."
We fell to the ground and rolled around while maintaining our mutual bear hugs.
"You want to know what's really "unusual"?" said my mommy, who was watching from the doorway. "Watching you two gay boys roll around the ground like a couple of humping animals."

On This Day in History

August 21, 1959: President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed an executive order proclaiming Pennsylvania the 50th state of the union. When told Pennsylvania was, regrettably, already a U.S. state, Eisenhower belched loudly and replied, "Better make it Hawaii, then."

Our band is starting to sound pretty good

Our band is starting to sound pretty good. There's a chance we may be playing at the Comfort Inn's Margaritaville Lounge next Tuesday night. I front the band, of course, and play the clarinet. Because I have six fingers on each hand, I'm able to play an insanely large amount of notes at one time. General Yammy Hammy plays the glockenspiel and sings back-up. My mommy dances on stage in wooden clogs. Bucky Finger plays a homemade guitar, kind of like the one played by Rudy from Fat Albert's gang. Harvey Corkplower scratches records and does some freestyle, hip-hop dancing. Hockey-helmet Kid chimes in with some mad rapping once in a while, occasionally emphasizing my lyrics with, "All the ladies in the house say, 'Hey!'" or "Yeah, Yeah!" or "Uh-huh, Uh-huh!" Joey Coconut cranks it on the didjeridoo like it's nobody's business. Shirley LaFoiegras keeps it real on the Aeolian Wind Harp. And Paddie McLongjohn's Freak-Show Fat Mother brings everything together with her haunting Shakuhachi flute.

The only thing keeping us from making it big is finding a way to harnass all of the talent assembled here. Otherwise, the sound will send you into an epileptic seizure.

Joey Coconut got elephantitis in his ass

"I heard Joey Coconut got elephantitis in his ass."
"In his what?"
"In his ass."
"In his ass?"
"Right."
"Joey Coconut got elephantitis in his ass?"
"That's what I heard."
"Jesus. How did he get that?"
"I think a mosquito bit him."
"Holy smokes. How does he get around?"
"I don't think he does. I heard he lies in bed all day. His ass is huge."
"How big is it?"
"I heard it was like 125 pounds and too fat to fit in pants. He has to wear a mumu."
"Are you trying to tell me that Joey Coconut got elephantitis in his ass?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
"Really?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Then why did you say he did?"
"I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"Fuck you."

Taking sitz baths does not make me a woman

General Yammy Hammy walked into the bathroom while I was soothing my hemorrhoids in a sitz bath last night. He seemed disturbed by the scene.
"Is your cooter sore?" he asked.
"Do I look like a woman to you, General Yammy Hammy?"
"You do sitting in that sitz bath," he replied.
"There are lots of reasons for taking a sitz bath," I said.
"Yeah, like when your cooter is sore," he said, approaching me. "Get out. No step-son of mine is going to spend his evening sitting in no sitz bath."
We wrestled, me naked and him clothed, until finally he fell into the tub with me.
"You've brought great shame to this house," he said to me, which was funny coming from a man with no teeth or hair who gets beaten up regularly by his 64-year-old wife and who, until recently, lived on the top floor of the local Y.
"And you, General Yammy Hammy, have brought great shame to this sitz bath," I retorted as I reached for my towel.

My step father and I are trying to figure out what I should call him

I never would have believed that my mother, at 64, was still capable of dropping eggs, but based on the news I heard this weekend, she is. My mommy and the old timer from the Y are going to have a baby together and, if that wasn't enough, they ran off last night and got married. So, the old timer from the Y and I had an awkward conversation at the breakfast table this morning about what name I would now call him.
"How about 'Dad'?" he started off.
"No fucking way," I replied.
"How about 'Pops'?"
"No."
"'Papi'?"
"No."
""Floppy Poppy'?"
"What?! No."
"'Uncle Clock Face'?"
"That doesn't make any sense."
"How about 'Old Man Sag Bag'?"
"No."
"How about 'Rock Hard'? That's what your mommy calls me."
"So help me, old man, I will cut your fingers off if you keep that shit up."
"How about 'Steve McQueer'?"
"No."
"Rikki-Tikki-Avacado'?"
"No."
"How about General Yammy Hammy, Commander of the 24th Infantry Division in My Pants'?"
"Yeah, okay," I agreed reluctantly. "I guess that sounds fine."

On this date in history

August 4, 1898: Packard goes for a test drive
On a visit to the Winton automobile plant with his brother James, William D. Packard test drives one of the company's vehicles, accompanied by George L. Weiss, a Winton executive. When Weiss won't stop playing with the vehicle's choke knob, Packard exacts revenge by double-parking on Weiss's Benz Patent Motorwagen, then proceeds to bang Weiss's wife for the next 2 years.

That old timer from the Y is dating my mommy

Do you remember that old timer from the Y who peppered me with his toenail clippings? The one who kept calling me "Curlie-Girlie" because of my perm? Well, that old bitch has apparently started dating my mommy. I walked into my livingroom yesterday and found them arguing, toe to toe. She slapped him so hard that his fake teeth went flying across the room. They stared at each other for a few moments - both teethless now, as my mommy never wears falsies - and then they clutched each other and started ferociously tongue kissing. Their hands were pawing, grabbing, scratching, slapping at each other. Hair was being pulled, mid sections were pumping wildly. "What the fuck?" I asked increduously. My mommy pulled away from the old timer for a brief moment. "Honey," she said as she dragged him toward the couch, "mommy's gonna do some lovin' here, so why don't you be a sweatheart and go sit on the stoop for a few minutes, okay?" I went outside and sat on the front step, trying to block out the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking taking place behind the door. After about 15 minutes, the old timer screams, "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" That son of a bitch stole my line, I thought. "That's my line," I screamed as I pounded on the door. "My line, God damn it!"

My life's most embarrassing moments have a single common denominator: my ass

My ass seems to be involved in just about every one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. For instance, there was the time I was toasting my former boss at his retirement party when I inadvertantly let one fly. The noise was unmistable and there was no way out other than to pretend like it never happened, which everyone knew it had. People in my office started referring to me as the Toot Master, instead of, you know, the Toast Master. "Hey, Toot Master!" someone called to me across the office diningroom the next day. "Nice speech last night. It really blew me away!" I pretended like I didn't hear him. "Yeah," said Shirley LaFoiegras, who was sitting at my table, "it was a real gas!" Shirley laughed at her own lame, predictable joke louder than a typical person can scream, with bits of food and spittle flying out of her cow-like mouth. I broke my old-school glass Coke bottle over her head and stormed out. A man can only be so tolerant.