“Will Work For a Job”

What is one to do for work nowadays…the supreme commanders…or um I’m mean the higher-ups tell us everything is looking better…that there is a light at the end of this utterly dark tunnel (aka anal cavity)…that jobs are falling from the sky in abundance like raindrops…but as we (the unemployed) know that isn’t the case.

I have looked for work within my field of expertise…and in the areas I have the most experience in…but was faced with more slamming doors than a Jehovah's Witness. All this rejection started making me feel like Snoopy…except for me it wasn’t “dogs” that weren’t allowed…it was work.

I have even applied for jobs that I could have easily done blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back and while standing on my head…but just like with an African American trying to gain entrance into the KKK…I was shot down and looked at like I had two heads.

I have applied for so many freaking jobs over the past few months that if I was paid for my time I would be sitting right next to the Donald up in Trump Towers firing people for ratings…thinking about it, maybe I should do it for a living…anyone want me to apply for a job for them.

I jump with excitement to my phone when it rings…like a child on Christmas Eve with hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there…but unfortunately my excitement quickly turns to dismay…when I realize it is not a job offer but  just another bill collector looking for money.

I have come to the conclusion that “work” doesn’t want me…like as if it was an ex-lover I cheated on and/or wronged in some way…I wouldn’t really be all that surprised if at some point in the upcoming days I’m served a restraining order from it.

I’m not giving up though…”work” is like the Russian in Rocky IV…and I’m Rocky…okay maybe I’m more like Rocky from “Rocky and Bullwinkle”…but nevertheless I still have the eye of the tiger baby.

Life isn’t like a box of chocolates…it’s like a buttplug…short, hard and stinks like ass…but don’t give up people it will get better and just remember you are not alone.

MJM

P.S. Republicans…please note that I am not on any kind of government assistance program…I’m just unemployed and actively looking for work…so please step down off your soapbox and put away your guns.

“Inside My Head”

On the outside I look like any other normal cracker, someone who should belong to a country club, be playing polo and sporting a name like Biff, but on the inside is where the monster creeps.

Now don’t be alarmed, when I say monster I don’t mean an evil monster like Dracula, the Wolfman or Casey Anthony, but something more along the lines of Taz from Looney Tunes, wouldn’t hurt a fly and no one understands what the poop he is saying.

My mind is crazy, it needs to be put in a straightjacket and locked away in an insane asylum, never to see the light of day again. There is no method to its madness, it likes to laugh when others frown, it finds humor in things that others see as taboo it thinks up wild and crazy things out of the blue and for no reason whatsoever, it just doesn’t belong in our tight butt society.

I can’t control it either, it marches to the beat of its own drum, it’s like one of those obnoxious little Chihuahua dogs, speaking of which; I bet it would look fabo in the handbag of a hot blonde, not trying to be boastful I’m just being honest.

Let’s just say if my mind was a magazine it would be a cross between Mad and the National Enquirer with a little bit of Playboy thrown in too, just because you know, I am a man (Tim the Tool Man grunt) and it would come complete with crazy stories, off-the-wall humor and sticky pages.

Don’t get me wrong I do love the little booger but I also know what’s best for humanity, the world isn’t ready for him…it…Bob…I’m not really sure how to refer to it, I’ve talked it over with the voices in my head but we just couldn’t figure it out.

What shall I do, should I sniff some glue with the hopes it will screw up my brain and leave me all boring and humorless like so many other people walking around today, should I find the closest pool and leap in head first without looking beforehand, should I only watch PBS and CNN…what the poop is one to do.

MJM

“I’m Fat…and I’m Not Proud”

I know I’m out of shape, well actually I’m in shape…in a round shape that is. 

I love to eat, which I’m sure anyone who sees me can tell by the t-shirt riding up on my belly exposing my muffin top. 

This it’s just a given with fat people and t-shirts, they’re going to ride up on you, kind of like a plumbers pants falling off his ass, it’s some kind of universal dress code.

I’m big, I need to lose weight,but I’m not “have to be moved by a forklift” big, not just yet anyways. 

I can still walk by myself, I don’t need one of those electric scooter thingies, but if I did mine would be pimped out…just saying. 

When your elbows and knees become dimples you know you have a problem, thankfully I’m not there yet but if I keep going the way I’m going I soon could be.

It’s not that I’m oblivious to this and/or pretend I’m “beautiful the way I am” like so many other fat people do, but sometimes I forget it. 

I tend to get a little complacent (or lazy) about how I look and what I need to do to rectify the situation. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m in denial, I’m just stupid.

I don’t have a gene problem either, well that’s not entirely true because I do have a jean problem in a sense, I can’t fit into them that’s the problem. 

I do have an eating disorder though, it’s called fork to mouth, I can’t stop eating and that’s the disorder. 

If I could just put the stupid fork down I would be alright.

I recently had an experience that made me realize it was time to get back in shape, time to lose all the extra weight I have been carrying around with me, get rid of my spare (monster truck) tire.

Some friends were in town and wanted to ride the go karts. I tried to explain to them that when I got they would just be karts, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

Things went ahead as planned, at least for them, they were all racing around the track in go karts having a blast and I was sitting off to the side watching all the fun because I couldn’t comfortably fit into them.

Now I'm sure I could have wedged myself in the seat if I tried hard enough, made myself look like about ten pounds of garbage in a five pound bag. 

I also would have to be greased just to get out, but I decided against it to save myself some embarrassment…and to save the wheels on the kart from popping off like the buttons on my pants.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself and I’m not trying to blame someone or something else for my weight issues. 

No one put a gun to my head and told me to eat all the junk I’ve been eating, and to be honest if there was a gun involved, and if it happened to be dipped in chocolate and deep fried I would have probably eaten that too. 

I tell you who I do feel sorry for though, and that is my pallbearers because they are going to have their hands full (literally) with me if I don’t lose this weight.

I must let you go now so I can get off the computer and go do some exercise before it’s too late, for me and for anyone around me if I happen to fall down.

MJM

"Women, the Weaker Sex, I Think Not."

Women…not only are they fun to look at and to play naked wrestling with…but they are indeed the stronger sex.

Now for all the boobs out there (pardon the pun)…and I’m not talking about a woman’s chest here, but the stupid mindless buffoons who can’t put together a complete thought without the help of a Magic 8 Ball…I’m not just referring to physical strength but the overall complete package.

Take for example child birth…men couldn’t do that…I mean we cry like babies at the first sign of a cold.  Think about it…we all know God is no fool…that’s why he had Eve make Adam eat the apple…it wasn’t to “curse” women because he knew they could handle child birth…he just didn’t want men to endure it because he knew all we would do is whine about it.

Women also run the world…I mean who else but a woman could jump on the pole (the one at the strip club not the one in the pants…get your mind out of the gutter) and have men throw money at them like confetti in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Let me try to make it rain while dancing on the pole…I would go to throw my legs up around it and end up sliding down and falling flat on my back right on the stage.

Fame…Look at Monica Lewinsky all she had to do was give the president a Ben and Jerry’s to become famous, now a man on the other hand has to try to shoot the president before anyone would remember his name. I can guarantee that more people know who Monica Lewinsky is then know who John Hinckley, Jr. is.

Advertising…when companies need to sell their product…who do they call on…a bunch of half-naked hot chicks that’s who…and us like a bunch of mindless sheep run out and buy what they’re selling. Stupid Axe body sprays…that crap doesn’t bring the women running…at least that’s what a friend told me anyway.

The bottom-line is this, woman are by far the stronger sex...men (for the most part anyway) are a bunch of punks...most of us could never go through what woman have to endure without crying like a newborn baby…it takes more than muscles to be strong...just saying.

MJM

“Toilet Troubles”

What is one to do…when after dropping the kids off at a public pool (using a public toilet) they either leave debris (aka skid marks) in the bowl or clog the toilet…and there is no toilet brush and/or plunger available to them?

Do you just run out of the restroom and hope no one sees you, maybe even go as far as to wrap your head in one of those toilet seat covers like some kind of make shift mask with the hopes of concealing your identity…of course using one that isn’t already used…unless that is your thing, then have at it.    

I recently found myself in a situation such as this…

After using a public toilet I noticed I left some chocolate on the bottom of the bowl and since there was no toilet brush in sight I had to come up with a plan to get rid of my mess. I was also in one of those single person public restrooms with people outside the door waiting to get in, so I knew I couldn’t just leave it without the risk of being called out and even humiliated.

I figured that maybe by flushing more toilet paper down the crapper it would eventually knock the debris loose so it would flush down, getting rid of all the evidence of my crime…all that is except for the nasty stink that lingered behind.

I must have spent about an hour or so tossing in toilet paper and flushing the commode with the hopes that it would clean up the mess I left so I could walk out proudly with my head held high. The whole time people were knocking on the door and wondering what was taking me so long…I would tell them I was having explosive diarrhea and scream out in pain to scare them off.

I was having no luck scaring off the crowd outside the bathroom or getting rid of the brown smears on the bottom of the bowl, so just like what any other logical thinking person would do when in a situation like my own; I started throwing more toilet paper in the bowl…I figured the more toilet paper the better my chances were.

I started balling it up and flinging it in the toilet like a major league pitcher putting one over the plate and with just as much speed and accuracy…then it happened. I flushed the toilet and instead of the water going down it started rising, it rose so high that it started coming over the bowl...and needless to say I started freaking out.

Not wanting to get my feet wet…and all poopied…I jumped on to the counter and sat there like a gargoyle atop a castle while trying to figure out my next move.

Now with the water flowing out of the bowl and onto the floor…like a brown waterfall…it started saturating the floor and moving closer to the bathroom door.

I knew that there was now no way out, I was going to be found out if I stayed in there any longer, so I wrapped a toilet seat cover around my head…threw open the bathroom door…and ran out of the establishment like as if the police were after me…never to return.

MJM

“Moving”

No one truly enjoys it, that is unless you’re doing it for a living and/or moving on up like the Jefferson’s.

My family moved a lot throughout my childhood…and no it wasn’t because we were military brats…it was normally because we were either being evicted, running from the law and/or just plain old out stayed our welcome. We moved so often that we become professionals…we could move a full-size house in no time flat…like as if the cops were after us…and in most cases they were.

We had the speed aspect down, but as far as being organized, well that was another story altogether. The majority of the time the packing all took place the night before and you were lucky if you saw a box, mostly everything was packed in big black garbage bags and/or pillow cases…and sometimes even in other pieces of furniture such as the microwave and/or dressers.

My mother (aka the foreman) would always be standing off to the side barking orders and criticizing what the workers were doing; things would be strapped to car roofs by means of duct tape and/or extension cords and all the while we were all yelling at each other for no other reason than that they were holding a beer instead of a box…just another move in the life of a white-trash family.

Our moves were never “on up”…ours were normally either back to start (like in the game of Sorry) or even in some cases, worse off than when we started. I can recall many times where we went from a house like the Brady's to a shack like the Bundy's and everything in-between.

We even had a few short stints on beaches and in parking lots too…we used to joke about who got the master bedroom (aka the dumpster out back). Our many moves have brought us to some very interesting places across the country, like Pennsylvania, Iowa and Florida for example…and if you’ve ever been to any of these places I don’t need to tell you that as a young kid it was a little bit of a culture shock…the people just aren’t the same from one state to the next.

Thankfully as we got older and moved on from the cuckoo's nest the moving subsided…we actually started establishing roots...and no I don’t mean the kind that show in your hair when you wait too long in-between dye jobs.

MJM

"Masturbation"

Masturbation...why is it such a taboo subject...why are people afraid to publicly admit that they enjoy partaking in it…if we have an itch do we not scratch, if we are hungry do we not eat, so it goes without saying, when we are horny why not pleasure ourselves?

People need to loosen up and not be so uptight...now I'm not saying we should resort back the whole free love era of the 60's...nor am saying I'm all for the whole everyone humping everyone else like rabbits mentality of today...but being a little less tightly wound could be very beneficial for your health and wellbeing...and not only that, it's also an incredible stress reliever.

I remember when I first found out about masturbation…it was during one of the many showers my parents forced me to take, and of course I went in kicking and screaming…however, once I started soaping up a certain body part and it grew like Pinocchio’s nose when he lied I knew I was on to something.

Admittedly at first I wasn’t really sure what was going on…but with some practice I became a real pro. Needless to say from the point on my parents never had to fight with me to take a shower…I was taking five or six a day…I felt like such a dirty little boy…on so many different levels.

It's a whole lot safer than playing a game of naked leap frog with just about everyone and anyone you meet, not only because of the chance of an unplanned pregnancy, but also because you could be a participant in a game of STD tag that you weren’t even aware you were playing. I’m not saying we should all become celibate, but a little less free humping with random strangers you met at a bar wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.

Honestly  it scares me because condoms aren't safe enough...if I don't have at least a Hefty trash bag and a roll of duct tape available I'm avoiding going in like as if it was a haunted house and I was Scooby-Doo…or at least until Ziploc starts making condoms…yellow and blue make green.

We also had some very useful products come from the mind of a masturbator, for example Photoshop. Men were using a version of Photoshop long before the advent of the computer, except we didn't call it that, we called it sexual fantasies.

We would see an attractive woman, one who we knew we had no chance with, and we store her image into our memory banks…maybe give her the outfit we saw on that chick at the mall (aka that hot mannequin we saw in the store window) and then have her do that thing that we saw in that movie (huh huh)...and voila we now have had a "good time" with her, without her even being involved...and/or us being brought up on charges.

Also, wouldn’t you prefer to come home to find your significant other masturbating because they had some urges that needed to be satisfied, rather than finding them in bed with someone else…well unless of course that someone else happens to be a chick, then in that case I may just sit in the corner watching and handle my own business.

Call me a punk if you want for not trying to get in on the fun, but if that did happen I would not dare try to, of even want to for that matter, join in their sexcapade. I’m not stupid; I know I have a hard enough time satisfying one woman…what would make me think I could handle two.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have had some pretty wild fantasies but for the most part they are all within my limits and totally obtainable, needless to say, you won’t be seeing any of my fantasies in the” Letters to Penthouse” section...I know I’m not all that exciting, but I don’t like to set the bar too high…that way one day I may actually accomplish something.

MJM