I should have seen this coming....

Have you ever gotten started on something, it could be anything, and its not going right from the get go?  You do your best to keep trying to keep the train on the tracks but the harder you push and the harder you try to make the magic happen, the more obvious it seems that there is going to be a total train wreck in your near future?

The story I am about to tell is about such a train wreck. 

One thing I learned from my grandpa was, "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy".  This statement was in reference to the success and simplicity of his relationship with my grandma.  It's akin to "happy wife/happy life".  I admired that about him and them and I strived to do the same thing in my life and marriage.

One night I was at work and the wife and a friend of hers came in.  The wife started telling me about this new Japanese restaraunt that she really wanted to try.  Japanese cuisine isn't something that I would normally be on board with, but the more she talked it up, the more important I knew it was to her.  So I told her, "make the reservations and other necessary arrangements and we will go".

The next morning she tells me that we are on for the following weekend.  I let her know that I was totally on board.  (Happy wife/ happy life bullshit, full steam....)  I head off to work that evening and more or less forget everything about this arrangement.  No big surprise, the wife calls me a bit later at work and tells me how much this means to her and how much fun we are going to have and just goes on and on and on.

During our conversation, she mentions the name of the place but it doesn't sound familiar.  The bar was getting busy and I had to get off the phone.  I told her I loved her and was really looking forward to the evening.

I get a break in the action at work and decide to look this joint up.  I mean, she keeps going on and on about it, it must really be something spectacular!  Into the "googler" I type N E T A N Y A H U and hit search.  Obviously I got the name wrong because Netanyahu is the name of the Isreali Prime Minister and not a Japanese restaraunt.  (This should have been my first indicator that this thing would pan out to be a soup sandwich, but it just didn't click.)

So, I give her a call.  I said, "Honey, there is no Japanese restaraunt around here called Netanyahu's.''  She started laughing and said, "Of course not.  First of all, the place isn't here.  It's in Salt Lake.  Secondly, Netanyahu is the Isreali Prime Minister.  What in the hell could he possibly know about Japanese Hibachi cooking?" 

My next replay sent the mood in the wrong direction, naturally.  "Salt :Lake?  Jesus Christ, I thought we were going to dinner and now we have this whole road trip planned.... it better be all you're making it out to be."  As usual, she told me to cool my jets and that everything was going to be fine.

Now, the big day arrives.  I am going to drive 4 hours to eat Japanese food.  I normally wouldn't have given it a try if it was being made in my back yard, but off we go.  We get into Salt Lake, check into our motel room and start to get ready.  The wife packed my nicest white button down, a pair of jeans and my boots for me and of course is going to do her best to get all gussied up.  (She looked fantastic, by the way.) 

She knows I don't like venturing too far away from my comfort zone and I knew that doing so would mean the world to her....  (Yeah, more "happy wife/happy life bullshit....)  So, as well pull into the parking lot, she begins her celebration.  She does this little giggle and clap thing that she cannot control, so that happens and as it does, I feel this impending doom setting in.  I don't know what it was but my intuition was telling me, this was going to end poorly. 

As we were walking towards the door, I tried to talk her into a steak joint that we drove by but she was having none of it.  She started chanting the places name over and over like a 5 year old standing in the Disney Land parking lot.  We walk into the most trendy, Japanese looking place I have ever seen.  The place was spotless and nothing was out of place.  Traditional Japanese artwork on all of the walls, complete with the obligatory bamboo plants in the corners.

At this point, the most Japanese Japanese woman in the world greeted us.  She was a beautiful person but I couldn't understand a thing she said, which is odd because its normally me that has to work as the Dudley family foreign language interpreter.  She said whatever she said and DeeDee just nods and we are whisked away to a big ass room full of big ass grilles.  These guys are cutting shit up, twirling knives, cleavers and machetes and shit... flames blowing out all over the place and it is only now that I think we are in for a good time.

Our hostess seats us at our own private grille, says something else that I can't understand and walks away.  I am watching the chef next to us doing his best to not burn the joint down!  the folks in front of him are "ooohing and aaahing" and he is really kicking some bar-b-cue ass on that grill!  I'm amazed and thought to myself, "this alone is worth it."

Another Japanese woman elegantly approaches with menus.  She asked if we wanted cocktails, which naturally we did.  DeeDee order some Triple Zombie or some damned thing and I ordered a Japanese Lager...  it kicked almost as much ass as the chef at the next table.  The drinks arrive and the lady kindly explains how things are going to happen.  Again, I can't understand so I am taking DeeDee's lead on this.  The next thing I know, we are confirming the fact that I ordered Filet Mignon and seafood....  I nod and said, "Your damned right."  DeeDee ordered the same thing.

Moments later, the most Japanese looking guy in the world comes out pushing a tray with all kinds of shit on it.  He nods and smiles and starts preparing the grille.  He's saying shit that we don't understand, throwing knives in the air and banging some spatula looking thing on the grille.



They must have given us the best guy!  People around us where watching this guys routine.  He'd say something, point at something on the tray, throw that shit in the air, chopping and screaming... twirling other sharp things.  It was awesome.  The guy kept trying to ask us if we liked stuff, but I'd just nod and smile. 

The guy cuts up a pepper and an onion with super human speed, stacks it up and squirts oil in the middle.  It made this little volcano thing, which was also bad ass!  This dude was a hibachi ninja!  The more he did, the more awesome he got!  We were both enjoying the show but DeeDee was over the moon impressed with everything. 

At this point, the vegetables are kind of precooked, so he moves them to a cooler part of the grille.  He pulls out 2 nice looking filets and starts his acrobat/ninja spice routine.  Shit was flying everywhere and then in bionic fashion, the guy manages to cut both steaks into 1/4 inch thick slices, screams some Japanese shit and throws it on the grille.  A huge flame erupts, knives and cleavers are getting thrown around again and then he pulls out the shrimp, lobster and scallops. 

Now, all kinds of crazy shit is happening.  This guy was moving around so effortlessly, but so incredibly fast, it was just amazing!  More flames... more knives... it was just awesome.  The next thing I know, I am taking a sip of my beer and the chef looks at me and says, "You rikey shreeemp?'  I look at DeeDee, I look back at him.  Again he says, "You rikey Shreemp?" and I finally get what it is that he is saying... or at least I thought I got what he was trying to say.  I nod my head and in a split second, the guy picks a shrimp up with the end of his knife and throws it at my face!

The shrimp bounces off my forehead, bounces off my bad ass white buttong down and hits the floor.  I have a 2nd degree grease burn on my head.  DeeDee and the chef are laughing and now, all of a sudden, this guy speaks real good English with a strong Japanese accent.  When he stops laughing he says, "You awful.  You no coordination.  I fro shreemp, you catch in mouf.  You no catch in mouf, you let bounce off head!" 

Now everybody in the joint is laughing at me, DeeDee included.  She did however notice that it was time to jump into full intervention mode.  I said, "Hey Suzuki, I had no idea you were gonna throw shit at me.  Nobody told me, you just start winging prawns around the god damned room like I am your trick pony and am supposed to somehow understand your ass." 

Well, Suzuki or whatever his name is is now laughing harder.  DeeDee is trying to console me and do first aide on the grease burn on my forehead while I want to fight a hot greasy shrimp throwing ninja who is armed with more knives than a cutlery store.... 

The beautiful hostess comes running up with another cold beer.  It was like she knew how to deal with a big idiot like me.  (Beer always works....)  The chef plates our food, bows and then excuses himself.  As he walks from behind the grille, he pats me on the shoulder and says, "You berry good sport but you no coordination." 

By this time, even I saw the humor in the whole thing.  I apologized for my shitty behavior and we all had a good laugh.  As it turns out, the food was absolutely fantastic!  I don't know what he did to that steak but it was one of the best I have ever had.  The name of the joint is Teppanyaki... not to be confused with Netanyahu.  Why I call it Netanyahu, I'll never know.  I am going to go back for another steak and I swear to God, the next time anyone throws a shrimp in the air, even if it as at Sea World and its intended for a lion seal, I am going to catch that son of a bitch and not ruin another shirt!

Hearing problems:

I've come to the point in life where I have to admit, I have a hearing problem.  My parents thought I was half deaf for years.  They would tell me "don't do that" then I would do just that. Their response would always be "Are you deaf?".  Nope, not deaf.  Stupid, yes.  Dumb ass ignorant kid thinking I knew what was going on.

This is way different.  It happens all of the time with my wife.  She will say something and I will mishear it, then repeat what I heard.  Most of the time it is completely nonsense, but I don't appear to have the ability to stop for a second and really try to analyze what I may have heard.  For instance, my wife might say something like, "I'd like to go to dinner tonight."  What I hear is, "I'd like to go to dinner and fight?" 

Then, my dumb, bad hearing ass will say something along the lines of, "We don't have to go to dinner and fight.  We can do that right here.  Why would you want to go do that in public?  We don't fight anyways!  What's your deal?'  She will look at me, shake her head and say "I didn't say anything about fighting."  Then I get this look on my face.  I just lack the ability to say in my head, "No way did this person just say that." 

Now, I told you that in order to tell you this.  This happens in other places as well.  20 years in the bar business and 30 something years of listening to rock and roll,  my hearing is toast and it happens every where.  Now, its happened at work with my boss. 

Big shout out to my boss, by the way.  Great lady, smart and has managed to keep her hearing.  Thanks for not firing me yet.   The other day, we were having a phone conversation about something.  What the boss said was "Not her."  What I heard was "Fuck her".  My boss wouldn't say that, but my mental mind went off the damned deaf tracks again.

I repeat what I thought I heard.  "Fuck her?"  (Unbeknownst to me, the boss has me on speaker phone and is trying to multitask.)  I hear a group of people start to laugh, and I couldn't help myself.  I said, "Well, I'm not for sure how fucking her is going to solve any problems.  On the contrary, I see this causing all kinds of problems for both you and I.  I really don't want to fuck her.  There has to be another avenue we can take in order to find some kind of resolution."

Now my boss and everyone else within ear shot knows whats going on and none of them can't stop laughing, and I can't shut up.  "Never in a million years did I ever think I would hear you try to pimp me out.  Honestly, I think we need to take into consideration this woman's opinion.  I just can't walk by and fuck someone without some kind of consequences.  And isn't it rather presumptuous to even think this other person would be okay with the idea?"

At this point, my boss is laughing so hard that she goes into a coughing fit.  Other people are trying to catch their breath and I am sitting here wondering, "What is so damned funny about this hair ball proposal?"  My boss Tina regains her composure long enough to tell me to stop, then she finishes laughing.  She said, "I didn't say fuck her.  I said not her.  I have you on speaker phone and everyone in the office is laughing their asses off.

My reply, "Oh good.  Now this is going to come across like I am some kind of weirdo.  I just don't hear well, people.  "Not her" sounded an awful lot like "fuck her"... do you get that?'  The laughing resumes.  After another minute of laughter on that end of the line, someone decided it was time to regain our collective composure and find some kind of a resolution.

I said, "For the sake of things, I think we are far better off doing nothing in comparison of me fucking someone.  I mean, I'm not that good.  Well, I mean, I have been having sex with my wife for 30 years now and she hasn't left, so I guess that is a feather in my cap.  But thinking I can just go over there and fuck us out of this situation is more than I care to commit to at this point.  Can you point me in another direction."

My boss says, "Yes... hearing aids.  You need help.  Stop talking, don't go fucking anyone and give me a few minutes to focus on the issue.

Well, its been a couple of days now.  I might have embarrassed the shit out of my boss and she may have lost confidence in me or perhaps she just wants this little memory to just go away.  I wish it would.

P.S.
Don't worry boss and wife.  I am going to keep it in my pants and I promise I will look into hearing aids after I have just a tiny bit more fun not hearing this correctly.

Getting "busted" by your parents....

A recent text from my step-mother cracked me up.  She reminded me of an incident which was not funny at the time but is hilarious today.  I swear, this is the type of thing that could only happen to me.

I'm pretty sure that most of us have been in trouble for doing something that our parents told us not to do.  This story is like that, but worse.  This is a story about getting "the most busted" you could ever, ever get.... and I did it.

The year was 1985.  It was my senior year in high school.  I was up to all kinds of shenanigans in those days.  From the outside looking in, it must have looked like I really enjoyed school because I was doing everything I could to ensure that I would have to return for another year.  My folks were keen to it and this naturally caused a little friction within the Dudley family.

I got suspended that year for fighting, insubordination and a couple of other things.  I got run out of a few classes because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.  It was awful and I know I caused a lot of gray hairs that year.

It got to the point where the strategy of trying to keep me engaged long enough to graduate changed.  The repetitious ass chewing "Come to Jesus" meetings morphed into a more subtle form of encouragement.  Instead of pointing at all of the things I was jacking up, my family was pointing at the things that I was doing right.  Some of the family bought into it.  Both my dad and I did not and of course we were standing in opposition regarding the subject matter.

One particular evening, dad gave me a call to check in.  He noted "Mt. Charleston is getting a record amount of snow tonight.  Will you do me a favor?  Please don't ditch school and drive your hot rod up to Lee canyon to screw around in the snow?"

  It sounded like a reasonable request and the thought hadn't crossed my mind, until he mentioned it.  I said, "Oh, no sweat dad.  I have a test tomorrow that I cannot miss". The conversation ended with what appeared to be a mutual agreement.

The next morning, I had forgotten about the agreement and decided that I could indeed afford to take a day off to play in the snow.  I gathered up a few fine friends, some rubber tire inner tubes and headed to the hills in my 1974 Plymouth Satellite.  (Not a great vehicle to be running up a mountain road covered in show and ice.)

As we left town and headed north, it was obvious that it had indeed snowed.  In fact, it was snowing harder than I had ever seen it snow at the time, but we were committed to a good time.  None of us had ever ditched school to play in the snow!  This was huge!

We make the turn to head up the canyon.  We are slipping and sliding all over the road, yet still making steady progress.... until the Highway Patrol was turning everyone around.  So yeah, I had to figure out how I was going to deal with the Highway Patrol with a bunch of my idiot miscreants in the car with me.  I didn't know it at the time, but that was the least of my concerns.

The Trooper pointed to a turn around spot a couple of hundred yards up the road.  He said, "What in the hell are you doing up here in that piece of shit?"  Naturally I said, "Hey, this is a nice sled.  We will make it if you let us go."  He in turn replied, "Turn that hunk of shit around and head back to school."  Well... those were direct orders from the law.The road was indeed blocked by numerous other law enforcement agencies and about every god damned news team in town, complete with their state of the art cameras.  As directed, we turned around, waved at the cameras and headed back into town.

I can't remember what happened with the rest of the day.  I'm relatively sure that we didn't make it back to campus.  I do remember mom coming home from work and asking me how my day was.  It was pretty good, so at that point I hadn't lied.  A couple of hours later, dad calls.  Mom answers the phone and they have a cordial discussion and mom says, "Your dad wants to talk to you."

"Hey son, how did that test go today?' he asked.  "I think it went pretty good, dad."  Dad said, "Well, that's great news.  Hey, do you guys have the TV on?"  I said that we did and he asked me to change the channel to channel 8 and give him a call back at the first commercial break.

I hung up the phone and walked over to the TV.  I told mom, "Dad wants me to turn the channel to channel 8 for a few minutes, is that okay?"  She said sure and asked "What for?"  I told her that I had no clue.  As soon as I get to channel 8, the nightly news was reporting from Lee Canyon and its record snow fall and the video showed them turning everyone around.  And guess whose big ass car, head and face made the nightly news????  This guy!

Do you know that feeling when you suddenly realize that you are going to have explosive diarrhea?  I had that.... and I mean in a bad way.  Now, I had been busted before and I took my whoopins, but I had never, ever been busted by the nightly news in front of the whole town while my parents watched me on the frigging news!  I knew that the ensuing conversation that evening were going to be colorful.

Mom had first crack at me.  She ripped me up one side and down the other and then kindly reminded me that I had to call my dad back and report in to him.  I sat down and dialed his number.  That explosive diarrhea feeling set in again and it felt like I had a full load on board.  Dad answered the phone laughing.  Not what I expected, but I thought "Is this the laughter of a mad man, moments before he kills his only son?".  "Did you catch that?" he asked.  Before I could clear the shit out of my throat he said, "Fucking idiot", laughed and hung up.

I didn't talk to my dad for a few days and this may have been the most fantastic parental move my dad ever came up with.  For those few days, I made sure that my ass was in school, turning in all of my homework, studying, getting the best grades I could because I just knew my dad was going to hop out of one of the janitorial closets in school and kill me in front of everyone.

When we did eventually talk, I asked my dad if he was still mad.  He again laughed and said, "No, shit no.  I used to do stupid shit like that and it would be completely ignorant of me to think that you wouldn't try something similar.  Besides, I wanted you to sit there with your mom and watch the news.  Kind of like a bonding experience, you know."  I was dumbfounded.  he closed the conversation by saying, "I'm sure your mom ripped you a new asshole far better than I could have in this situation. You lived through it.  I need to give you some advice though and I need you to really listen to what I have to say.'"  I remained quiet and he said, "I don't play all of the silly games you play.  I invented them, and I got busted for all of that and then some.  Make me one promise.  The next time I tell you to not do something and you think its a great idea to not listen, please make sure you don't get busted by the nightly news doing what I asked you to not do."

I did dad one better.  To this date, some 34-35 years later, I haven't made the nightly news for doing anything!  I think dear old dad would be proud of me.  I'm also glad that my step-mother is still around to have a laugh with me about this. 

December Hateful: Day 2

Okay people.  It's day 2 on the December Hateful list.  I was driving in to the office this morning, enjoying a cop of coffee and trying to think of something that I hate enough to actually write about.  I had nothing.  I don't know what the deal was.  Maybe a lack of caffeine.  Anyways, I continued the rest of my voyage without any thought.

As usual, I stop in at one of the local convenience stores for the days provisions.  As I enter the building, I notice this odd looking couple just standing in the middle of the store and they were wearing their pajamas.  When did this become an acceptable thing?  I gave them a good looking over to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me and sure enough... his and hers flannel pajamas, right out there in public for everyone to see.

Now, these people were positioned in such a fashion that it wasn't going to be easy to maneuver around them and get to the products I was going to need.  As soon as I realized this, I made a sharp right and headed to the restroom in order to recycle the coffee I drank on the way in. 

I position myself in front of the throne and begin to take care of business.  I finish up, zip up, buckle the belt and head to the sink to wash my hands.  I wave my hand under the automatic soap dispenser, get an appropriate amount of soap and wash my hands, just like momma taught me.  I grab a paper towel, dry my hands, again proving to momma that I am a big boy and reach out to grab the door handle.

That's when it happens.  There is something on the door handle.  I don't know what it is and that scares the shit out of me.  I remember the idiot dude in his pajamas out in the front of the store and I picture him having some kind of perverted, convenience store bathroom sex ritual with the door handle.  I'm convinced that this is what happened but am hoping he is one of those special sickos that just likes to walk around and lick door knobs, as if that might be better. 

Back into the bathroom I go, gagging.  Now I break out in a hot sweat.  Are these 2 pajama wearing degenerates Al Qaeda and have they just successfully liquid anthraxed my ass?  I am so grossed out by the viscous fluid on my hands that I cannot rub them together, so I just keep waving my hand under the soap dispenser until I have about a half of a quart of this foamy soapy shit all over the place. 

I have the water cranked on full blast, as hot as it can get.  I keep cussing, crying and gagging, hoping this shit will get off my hands but its not happening.  I grab a wad of toilet paper and paper towels and try to remove the stuff this way.  Guess what?  That ain't working either.  This stuff is like a semi transparent baby shit.  Towels and toilet paper isn't picking it up but rather just moving it around.  Now I am really grossed out and manage to puke in the urinal.

Had I not just puked on the urinal mint, I would have picked it out of the pisser and scrubbed down with that fucking thing, but no way was I going to add coffee puke and urinal mint juice to this blatant act of terrorism.

Back to the sink!  I've got my coat and shirt off, and it looks like I am getting ready to take a bath in the sink.  I broke the air freshener dispenser off the wall and discharged the entire can all over my hands and arms.  In my fury, I accidentally sprayed  some of this shit into my left eye and now I find myself half naked, half blind, staggering around a convenience store cussing to myself.  I managed to trip over my coat and I land on the floor.  Now I am wallowing around in all of this sick shit and I begin to think of all of the fine diseases I am about to pick up.  Typhoid, the plague and ass herpes all cross my mind.  And at this point, I am sure that I will be dead by noon.

I somehow manage to get my shit together and get dried off and semi cleaned up.  I get my shirt back on, put my coat back on and leave the restroom, and guess who is standing in front of me?  Pajama boy!  I nudged him out of the way, grabbed my provisions and made my way to the counter.  The clerk asked, "Is everything okay?" 

And that is what got me!!!  I replied, "Man, you know god damned well that everything is not okay! You heard me cussing, gagging, puking, and falling down and breaking things in the shitter.  I come out of the son of a bitch looking like a used up hooker who took first place in the bukake catching contest and you are going to ask me "Is everything okay"?  Yeah, pal... everything is wonderful.  Give me the usual and I am out of here."

Before I exit the store, the pajama people do.  Apparently the just came in, did some sick shit to the door handle, hung out and awaited their victim and then left.  Out of all of that, I hate the stupid question.... "Is everything okay."

Here it is, hours later and I still don't feel okay.  I suppose I will make it.  Perhaps a go fund me account will help and I can install a 400 lbs vat of that hand sanitizer shit on the Stunt Truck for any other unfortunate encounter I may have in my future.  Maybe I will just go have a glass of whiskey and a good cry.  "Is everything okay?"  The only answer to that question from here on out is, "Fuck you."

December hateful.....

December Hatefuls: Day 1

Christmas music.  I hate it.  In my opinion, there is only 1 good Christmas song and it is Chuck Berry's "Run, Run Rudolph".  In my head and perhaps only in my head, that is a fact and the whole hearted, fully thought out truth. 

But its not so much that I hate Christmas music that has me pissed off this morning.  Nope.  I read an article in the newspaper this morning about a radio station that has decided to drop playing at least one song because it might offend someone in the #metoo movement.  That's what I am most hateful for today.  This radio station doesn't want to offend the 7 idiots wearing vagina hats that doesn't like that song.

I remember a day when, if a song came on the radio that you didn't like, you turned the dial.  That's it.  Nobody was offended.  Nobody felt the need to write a 1000 word essay into their local newspaper's op/ed page revealing their true feelings about how a song could be so hurtful. 

I did research on this.  I asked 100 people, "If a song comes on the radio that you do not like, what do you do?"  Not one person said, "I find time to be offended."  Not fucking one! 

We've gotten to the point in this country where we are looking for things to be offended by then think  everyone else on the globe has to understand and offer up some empathy statements.  If shit like a horrible Christmas song offends you, you aren't paying attention.  If shit like a horrible Christmas song offends you, do something useful and go fuck yourself.  Nobody wants to hear you talk for 30 minutes about how you find the song "Baby its Cold Outside" offensive.  Nobody.

Better than that, how do you find the time to to be offended by a fucking song?  Why do you feel it necessary to take time out of your day, to form an opinion, stew on it, let it get you so worked up that you deem it necessary to demand that people hear you out?  Nobody cares... its you... its a dumb fucking song.... turn the station or shut the radio off.  Quit complaining or I am going to send one of Santa's elves on steroids over to your house to kick the ever loving shit out of you with an ax handle.  When that happens, you can be offended.  Until then, shut your god damned yule hole and be thankful.

My name is Brice Dudley, and I approve this message.  If this offends you, nobody cares. 

Sneezing and peeing at the same time.

I didn't think you could sneeze and pee at the same time.  I have no idea why I thought that.  I guess I never tried or the opportunity never presented itself, until this morning.  As it turns out, you can sneeze and pee at the same time and I don't recommend it.  It's more than the body can handle first thing in the morning.  Here's what happened.

The morning alarm goes off.  As per usual, I hit the snooze button.  As soon as I hit the snooze button, I realize I have to pee.  I'm not ready for that yet as I am still lying in bed trying for another solid 5 minutes of sleep.  (Like that will make a difference.)  Well, guess what?  You can't get 5 solid minutes of sleep when you have to pee, so I get my grumpy ass up and walk into the bathroom.

I step up and assume the position.  Now standing in front of the throne, my mind can't make the plumbing work.  It's preoccupied with trying to figure out why the toilet paper thingy is located as close to the toilet as it is.  I stand there and tell my mind and penis, "Everything is going to be okay.  We are awake.  We are out of bed now and we can safely take a whiz."  Still nothing.

I scratch my head with my other hand, cuss about the dumb position I find myself in and then all of a sudden it happens!  Happy days are here again!  In the matter of a few seconds, we (my penis, my mind and me) are producing a good steady stream.  My bladder relaxes and now all systems are go. 

Since things appear to be going in the right direction, I begin to contemplate the days events.  As I am putting the day into its proper perspective, I feel as if I may sneeze.  This is the precise moment that I figured it would be impossible to pee and sneeze at the same time.  I figured a good sneeze would momentarily shut down the plumbing and then it would get back to operation right after the sneeze. 
Well, that isn't what happens.

As the sneeze builds up pressure, the bladder does try to adjust its pressure in an attempt to work as a counter balance.  The most primal part of the brain says "Yeah, keep going.  This is your most brilliant idea yet."  The newest part of your brain says, "You might die...  You don't know... Nobody has ever tried this shit before and if things go awry, don't worry.  I'll take care of you."  It's calming and nerve wracking at the same time.

You're body convulses and you bend slightly at the waist.  Then it happens.  You hear what sounds like the muzzle blast of a 12 gauge and you immediately pass out from the pain.  As you start to come too, you wonder why your chin hurts and you wonder what it is that is dripping on your foot.  Your hearing comes back next, which is most unfortunate because now you hear yourself moaning while lying on the cold bathroom floor.  Your vision begins to come back and confirms that you are indeed lying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, hand still on what's left of your penis.  You sense of feel starts to come back but you can't tell if its your penis you have a hold of or a stump, but you hope for the best.

You then realize that the stuff that is dripping on your feet is urine soaked toilet paper.  You want to call for help, but you don't want anyone to find you in this most compromised position, so you have a good cry for a few minutes.

You remove your hand from your genital area and muster the strength to take a look at it, hoping to high hell there is no blood.  There isn't and for a moment, you're relieved.  Then you fully realize that you are still in excruciating pain.  It feels as if someone jammed a red hot, straightened out metal coat hanger up your pee hole.  You don't want to believe that.  Nobody wants to believe that but then you start to think that you have have prolapsed your urethra.  I don't know if that is even possible, but at this point it sure as shit feels that way.  Now a sense of embarrassment sets in.  You think, "I am going to have to go to the emergency room with my wang in one and and my prolapsed urethra in the other and have to explain this horrible shit to the entire emergency room staff while they laugh at me. 

Now you roll over on your back.  It seems as if the smoke has cleared and that the dust is settling and you start to relive the incident in an attempt to figure out why your chin hurts.  You finally take a look at your penis and realize that its okay.  Well, its not okay... its still a stupid looking penis, but everything appears to be intact and where you remember it being.  You notice that your urethra is not on the floor like an uncoiled ball of yarn and you give big thanks to that.  (I'm not a religious man, but I gave thanks to the powers above for not making me have to carry the insides of my urinary tract in a grocery bag, into the emergency room.

You think about your chin again.  It really hurts.  You allow yourself a few more minutes sitting naked on the bathroom floor trying to put the whole thing together.  You know, for future reference.  You gain your footing and again assume the position and relive the entire event, step for step, dumb emotion by dumb emotion.  You determine that a profound amount of torque was produced from the pressure build up when the plumbing trying to shut down, the sneeze released the torque in a flash which caused your knees to buckle, which in turn caused your chin to hit the toilet rim. 

In the explosion, you've managed to piss on the toilet tank, the wall behind it, the wall next to it which held the toilet paper roll that ended up dripping on your foot.  You also realized that you somehow managed to piss on the ceiling and the mirror behind you.

You stagger out of the bathroom.  You make your way to the kitchen and start some coffee.  your always faithful pooch comes up along side you, looks you dead in the eye and does his best to offer you an apology for the rough start to your day.  You reach down to pet him and find out that he is mysteriously wet too, and that grosses you out, so you puke in the sink because you think of the word "moist".  You send the dog outside because you can't even look at him now, and make your way back to the scene of the crime for another good cry.

You begin to clean the crime scene.  You're glad that nobody in the world will ever know about this, unless you write about it in your blog.  Then you think about your loved ones on the other side.  What would they have been doing.  Both of your grandpas are laughing so hard, they are crying.  Both of your grandmas are crying.  You dad calls you a fucking idiot.  Your mom....  She is trying to figure out exactly what in the hell happened that allowed you to piss on the mirror that was directly behind you. 

You crawl into the shower, one hand rubbing your chin, the other holding your genitals and then it hits you.  You never thought of peeing and sneezing at the same time because that shit is not ever supposed to happen! 

Like every other dumb ass thing you've ever done to yourself, you remain thankful that you survived.  You finish your shower, get dressed and head to work grateful that the first stop is not the emergency room.

On the ride in, you do all you can to convince yourself that it could have been worse.  You could have had to poop first thing.  (Note to self:  It is not a good idea to see what will happen if you sneeze and poop at the same time.  EVER!)

My Very First Product Review:

Hi everybody.  I've got to tell ya!  I'm pretty excited, folks.  Someone wrote into the main office and asked me to do a product review!  I've never done this before so I am thrilled to be able to give you the straight dope on this product.

Before I actually get to the review, I'd like to take a second and say thanks to all of the people who write in and ask me questions about products that might seem to be out of my realm of expertise.  I am honored that you value my body of work, my world travel and my honest opinion about things.  it really makes an old boy feel good.  Thank you again for writing in and keep these requests coming!

Now, on to the product review.  Give me a second.  It seems as if I misplaced the all of the guys information.  It's on an index card and I just had it.  I set it down right here.  Oh, wait.  Here it is.  This is a question from Skjot Amundson from Bemidji, Minnesota.  Skjot says, "I'll be moving into a college dorm next year and I'd like to know what you think of the George Foreman Grille?"

Well Skjot, I'll be happy to get to that question in just a minute.  Before I do, I'd like to review another product and maybe it will help you, your family and friends out a bit as well.  The product I am speaking about is the fucking alphabet!  People are taking way too much liberty with the thing and it appears as if your parents are no exception.  I am assuming that your name is pronounced "Scott".  Am I right?  If I am, then why didn't your parents spell it that way?

I went as far as to use the Googler and look this ridiculous shit up.  You know what the Googler said?  It said that "Skjot" was a rare Norwegian spelling of the more traditional "Scott" and was given to royalty and Viking Warriors.  That leads me to this, Skjot....I feel dirty even saying your name right now....  Are you a Viking Warrior, Skjot?  If you are, you'd better be about 6'5'' tall, weight about 300 lbs, have long hair and a beard so unkempt that it looks like a pack of animals lives in the son of a bitch.  You'd better be walking around with a sword, a shield and a fucking club made from the heart wood of an ancient oak tree or some shit, and you'd better know how to pillage!

If you don't look like this and look more like a hipster wearing skinny jeans with the legs rolled up and wearing a flannel shirt, I hope some redneck comes up and takes his style back and drags your ass to the DMV to change your name on your drivers license.  Instead of Skjot or the more traditional "Scott", you need to change your name to Biff or Tad or Chaz or something else ridiculous.  Frankly, this shit is nothing short of fraud... you're not a Viking!

I'm so God damned mad now that I can't remember the stupid question you asked.  Where is that index card with the question on it?  Oh, I threw it in the trash, SKJOT!  Skjot?  Are you shitting me?  Skjot.  Okay, it says here that you are going to college and that you want to know if the George Foreman Grille is a good product.

Well, here we go.  Yeah, its probably a great product for cooking a burger, chicken breast or something like that.  Maybe even a grilled cheese, you know.  But a fucking Viking cooked shit with fire or ate the shit raw!  These were semi primitive battle whores that were talking about, not some dip shit millennial who could fuck up a bowl of Shredded Wheat!

Leave that product alone, you dumb ass.  I'm afraid you'll go to a frigging frat party, get loaded on cheap beer and come back to the dorm and try to do your hair with the fucking thing.  Look!  It's got moving parts and gets real hot.  It's above your pay scale.  Get yourself some crayons and a safe space, you dip shit!  Leave cooking and anything else food related, to anyone else other than yourself.

Well folks, that's it for now from the "product review" portion of this head ache.  I need to find a good glass of whiskey and a camp fire after answering that question.  Keep 'em coming in though.  I want all of you to be fully informed, even if you spell your name incorrectly.

Until next time....