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Bleached ARSEn

There are innumerable ways to augment the body in order to achieve a status that is considered alluring. If it were to be numerical, it would be thirty-six. Yes. Thirty-six is a fine number.

The one I am intrigued by is number 10. Anal bleaching.

I am proposing that everyone should have a bleached anus. It is not just for those who suffer from anal retentiveness. I say, let’s put another coat of color on that chocolate starfish. Let’s put some Clear Eyes on that puckered brown eye. Let’s turn that that o-ring into a white halo.

But how you might ask. Perhaps you do not want to schedule an appointment to visit your local cosmetic surgeon, or maybe it’s just not the same when you rub lotion on your own anus. If that be the case, I have the cure.

Toilets.

Now, if you try to tell me you do not poop, then you have no need for anal bleaching. Also, you are missing out on the eighth wonder of the world: deucing. For those of us who do use the facilities normally referred to as the bathroom, then this is for you.

Fill your toilet with bleach. Number one, it is a cleansing agent. Number two (which is what will provide the trigger to this catalyst), it will bleach your anus. In my experience, feeding the porcelain god can backfire. I say let’s use the backfire to gain results. What is this backfiring? It is when you poop, and the water splashing against your arse. For some reason, it never seems to miss the anus. Have you noticed that? They say water has no feeling, but those droplets of water seem to always zero in on the zero. Maybe it makes your stand up and yell, “Whoa! Homie don’t play dat!” Or maybe, for you freaks, you like it. In any case, what if we could turn that experience into a bleaching opportunity? Yes, it will have a burning sensation, but a white asshole comes at a price.

What will such a product be called?

Bleached Arsen

Bleached Arsen – You know it’s working when it burns.

Extra Joke:

How do you know you are an asshole?

When you go to the dentist for a whiter smile and he recommends anal bleaching.

Keepin’ It Stale

I have been glancing at my blog lately and noticed that the content has gone superfluously stale. I considered adding fresh content to make people content, but the stale has been STALEBLE. Buh-dun-dun. I have such a good thing going with what has been produced in the last few months, I cannot bring myself to change course. So I won’t.

Am I the only one who likes stale food?

Occasionally I get in the mood for popcorn. If you know me, you know that popcorn is not going to be popped into these chops except on a situational basis. That situation lends itself to me popping popcorn, opening the bag, and letting it succumb to the nature of air. Yes, that is right. I will wait for popcorn to go stale. I will leave that buttery bag on the counter and then return to its kernel goodness a day later. Unfortunately, the market for stale popcorn is none. It is a zilch-niche. Which is probably also the last name of a  Polish man who is unrelated to popcorn and this conversation in every way but one.

Popcorn

Popcorn isn’t the only substance that I prefer stale. Ever listen to Doug E. Stale, that guys got jams for days. They’re continuous, monotonous, and quite honestly overused riffs and beats, but if that’s your bag then let me fill it with goodies.

Other items…

Tortilla chips. Expose that bag of Tostitos to the air and they are so much more enjoyable. The crisp crunch is overrated. Let your mouth take a journey on a nice cushioned hay-stale ride.

Rice cakes. It disappoints me to bite into a fresh rice cake. Sometimes I visit store and poke holes in the bags just so I know that when I come back later to purchase them, they will be at an edible state. Some say not to tamper with food. Sheesh, so sorry for improving the product.

Cheetos (Puff variety). These do not last long regardless, so it is difficult to obtain stale cheetos, but on the rare occasions that I do they are scrumdeliciouso!

There is a plethora of items that are better stale, but there is one item that I am assiduously against.

Peanuts.

I had a bag of peanuts once and was not privy to the fact that they have a maturation date. When I cracked open then shell and ate the peanuts I was awakened to the idea that not everything tastes good stale. It was like eating a rubber ball, but without the fun of being able play with it and have it bounce in some insidiously wrong direction.

Why don’t bouncy balls ever bounce your way? It’s like they are programmed to find crevices and escape your grasp, therefore forcing you to buy a new rubber ball. Aw. Nice strategy bouncy ball makers.

Nevertheless the point being in this tango of tangents is that stale can fail, but it often prevails.

And in the words of Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.

A Cowboy Needs a Horse

Have you ever heard of Big Week?

No, it is not the aerial bombing of the 1940s.

And no, it is not the Biggest Losers counterpart – Smallest Winner.

Where I am from, Big Week is Rodeo week. It is held every year toward the end of July and is supposedly the largest on the west coast.

Cowboy Needs a Horse

Now, I may have redneck tendencies, but I am no cowboy. Disney Sing-A-Long has contrived a list of requirements one has to ascertain to be designated a cowboy. A cowboy needs a horse, a hat, a pair of fancy boots, a set of shiny spurs, and a rope-o-o-o if he wants to be a cowboy. Let me calculate my haul of currently owned items…Carry the two, subtract the W, add pie, pumpkin preferably…Zero. That suggests my attire for such an event is exiguous in comparison to fellow attendees. I end up looking like a Hipster-Wannabe-Cowboy with a plaid shirt, skinny-FIT jeans (there is a difference), and some shoes. Meanwhile, I see men and women dressing to the nines in their western wardrobe. I’ve always wondered, wow, for a country guy (or girl) they sure look spiffy. I’ve wondered how they have kept their clothes so crisp and immaculate. I’ve come to the conclusion it is because they only wear the shit once a year. Now, my town has its fair share of rednecks, but we are more infamously known for our gang affairs. Local law enforcement is just not well versed in managing snapping Broadway gangsters. One would reckon that Jazz Hands 101 be a prerequisite to graduate the Police Academy. Regardless, fact of the matter is this town does not have that many country people. We do have a lot of pretenders. And none are The Great.

I know this to be a fact. I have friends who participate in these rodeo festivities. Friends who are only cowboys for 168 hours. While not the same amount of hours, I liken it to how long it felt when watching James Franco’s movie. It appears to be a lengthy carving of time, but put in perspective with the 8766 hours in a year, it’s rather brief. It does not prevent them from embodying their western clothes and jumping up on that “high horse.” Pun(s) intended. For one week they think they are some badass cowboy. Until I remind them, “You work at Carls Jr., you don’t listen to country music, and you’ve never even ridden a horse. The closest you’ve come to western is selling me a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. Now, which window do I pull up to? The second? Why do you have two windows, but only occupy one? I want to know what’s behind window number one.” Okay, I got carried away with that fabricated conversation, but the drift has been got.

HF

There are exceptions to this rule. Women. I do not care if you have never seen the stars above the city glow. If you want to slap on some daisy dukes, roll up your t-shirt, and rock some boots you go right ahead and do so. There are so many cheap jokes here, I’m talking five cent spittoon cigars worth, but I will take the high road, the one that leads off into the sunset. In a car.

What Say You?

I created this blog to become famous.

I have been blogging for a year and a half.

I’m not famous…Yet.Not Famous

I’m like Zach Stone. Well, not entirely. I’m not famous, but I’m not canceled. Meaning I have not eighty-sixed my aspiration. I have instead taken to WordPress to ask for some advice.

Facebook

  • Should I create a Facebook page for my blog?

I have analyzed the layout of several different blogs. Some have chosen to adopt the sociality offered by a Blog Facebook page. Others have crossed the desert plain and pick up their viewers mano a mano. I’ve done a mixture of both. I post my blogs on my personal Facebook and I frequent other blogs to spread the Good Will-you come and check out my blog. That way, it is the, “I scratch your back, you give me a foot massage,” ordeal. So far I have come across very few foot massagers. I tell them to not mind the calluses on the heel; that it adds character, but to no avail. I suppose I am curious as to how illustriously a Blog Facebook page contributes to the traffic of a blog?

Stumbleupon

  • Does Stumbleupon draw a crowd?

This is not a new tactic for me. I have posted my blogs on Stumbleupon to help speed the traffic of my blog. Last year, it worked well. In every circumstance, I was gaining fifteen to twenty more views from Stumbleupon. I think they are on to my self-promotion though. Since 2013, I have probably had anywhere from fifteen to twenty views from Stumbleupon altogether. I know these Stumbleupon views do not bestow a consistent fan base, but they look oh-so-pretty on the bar chart. Just ask the ladies, or men. Do they want a 10-15 view length bar? Or do they way a 100-200 view length bar? Cosmetics are important in the world of blogging. I am curious as to what other people’s strategy is for approaching Stumbleupon. Have you found it worth your while or has it wiled away your worth?

  • Should I change my blog name?

The name Titillating Thoughts has done me well during my blogging lifespan, but perhaps it’s time to give it a stronger pulse. I want my blogs pulse to relate to, “I’m overweight and I just ran twenty minutes, I may die right now.” That’s a powerful, erratic pulse. The methods in which to achieve this would be to come up an easily searchable, catchy name that relates to my posts. My honest thoughts on this are:

  1. Hilarity Ensues OR The Ensuing Hilarity OR Am I Funny Yet?
  2. The Funny Pseudologist OR A Silly Pseudologist OR The Honest Pseudologist
  3. The Face of Facetious OR The Face in FacetiousModel

Those are some of my top contenders at this point in time. I am unsure if it is possible to keep this blog, but change the name, but if so, those are some possibilities. What say you?

  • Is buying a domain name worth it?

Is it…Is it really?

Is This The Real Life…Is This Just Fantasy?

Simpson beer

As a young tike, I remember watching The Simpsons. I was always intrigued when Homer would stroll into Moe’s Tavern and order a beer. Moe would grab an icy mug and fill it up with Homer’s favorite Duff beer. The head of the beer flowing over the rim of the mug; exuding a succulent presentation. It always made Homer content to be downing the cold beverage. The foamy goodness of the beer head reminded me of the sugary texture of cotton candy (or “fairy floss” if you are from down under). I yearned for an opportunity to drown my taste buds in it. When the day arrived on my, ahem, TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY, ahem, I ordered a Newcastle Brown Ale at a local pub. The beer had a good head on it, and all my childhood memories of the Simpsons flooded my mind. I lifted the glass to my lips, feeling the condensation of the glass on the palm of my hand and the droplets of fizzled beer splashing about.  I tilted my head back and took a big gulp.

Yucky. Yeah, men say yucky.

My dream fell into ruins. It turns out that receiving head is not superlative in all scenarios. In fact, beer head is actually the worst part of a beer. Do I blame The Simpsons for such a travesty? No. I blame A&W Root Beer. The frothy foam that I indulged in as a child did not transcend with the alcoholic beverage. Damn you A&W…But four or five more of these Newcastles and I’ll forgive you.

This may be more common than not. I build up an experience in my mind and when it does not translate into reality, disappointment ensues. To list a few of my other disappointing sights to mouth translations:

Hunny

  • Winnie the Pooh’s “Hunny” vs. Honey

When I was five or six, I use to go over to my cousins house and play in the backyard. There was a shelf attached to one of the fences in the backyard, and on it rested a pot quite similar to that of Winnie the Pooh’s. I remember we tried a bunch of acrobatic circus-foolery in order to achieve the pot. After a few years went by, our height improved, our acrobatics did not, but we were able to reach the “Hunny” pot. We opened it up, and it was just an unused planter pot. I mean, we should have known. It didn’t say “Hunny”, and what were we expecting to find from a pot that had been left outside for two to three years to brace the weather? I don’t know. What I do know, is that when I finally did get a good look at honey, it looked nothing like the scrumpdeliciousness that Winnie the Pooh coveted. I felt like Eeyore; hope for the world had ceased to be.

TMNT Pizza

  •     Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Pizza vs. Pizza

Okay. I do not have much to say on this one. Pizza is pizza, and it is exquisite, but I am still searching for the pizza that pranced around in my dreams. I imagine someone who makes that sloppy-cheesy-yums-the-word pizza, could open up a pizza store called “Cowabunga!” I’d go there…frequently.

 Barney

  • Barney Birthday Cake vs. Cake

This one is the most obscure of all the ones mentioned. I use to own a videotape of Barney’s birthday. It was a colorful VHS tape. Purple or orange…It doesn’t matter. What matters, is that they made a layered cake on the video. While, I know the kids did not smooth it out to perfection as it was shown in the video, the cake still looked delicious. Since then, I have seen better cakes. Cake Boss anyone? Buddy is amazing. But still…The the cake in that video is burned into my head and was another item that I searched for as a child.

I can’t be the only one who would love a Simpson beer and Ninja turtle pizza followed by a Barney cake with “Hunny” filling for dessert.

Do you have food or other items that you are still searching for from your favorite shows?

Call Me Mr.

On Friday, I received some exciting news.

I have been offered a teaching position at a high school.

Interaction between teacher and children, funny class in schoolI am thinking he just asked who wants candy. Otherwise, that is way too many hands.

After believing that I would be dining in the soup kitchen, and working on my 300 line, “Tonight, we dine in Hell,” I will no longer need such devices. It is a fantastical sensation. To put down my hedge trimmers and no longer need to lock down my landscape position in front of Home Depot. It is a relief. Plus, I was not corralling the highest amount of praise for my Sonic the Hedgehog lawn design. I guess interest in Sonic died with Sega. I’d mow a Mario, but it is not in my drawing repertoire, in fact nothing else is. That, and it would most likely end in a racial depiction of an Italian with a crooked moustache. Nobody wants that.

By becoming a teacher, I receive a contract. It is a one year contract that dictates what I will be required to do. Teach, obviously.

I am treating it like I am an unrestricted free agent. People do not just happen across a gem like me, alright? The Alexandrite. Game time was fast approaching, and they realized they had a gap to fill in the roster. Enter me. I go in and sign this contract today. I have it all thought out. I’m taking my agent with me to negotiate a good deal.

Hint: I am the agent.

Hint #2: I’ll be accepting the first number they throw at me.

Also, like any good free agent, before I sign, I want to be courted too. I want to feel the love. In the teaching world, courted equates to someone holding the door open for you once. Secondly, I want a signing bonus. And by a signing bonus, I mean high fives throughout the office. Are low fives back in? Hugs, maybe? I’ll choose my targets wisely. Ladies…

In truth, I am excited. This is a great opportunity for me to begin the career of my choice. The past five years have come to fruition and I am now a full-pledged teacher.

Oorah! Or whatever the Marine equivalent is for teaching? Apple!…?

Third-Degree Thursday

Flaming Tater Tot

I’ve been in pain the past couple days. It started on Tuesday. I was eating tater-tots. I do not care if you are four or eighty-three; tater tots are magnificent. They are like the french fries east coast cousin who is too hood for fast food. Anyway, I had just excavated a handful from the pan of sizzles upon which they rested.  I took one of the golden brown potato marshmallows and tossed it back. Figurative tears began to stroll down my cheeks. (Us real men are not criers; we’re BAWLERS. Oh…wrong type of ballin’.) They were tater-HOTs. I refrained from burning the roof of my mouth by quickly gulping it down my throat. There was no spitting it out; I was already committed to the feud. Upon me doing so, the burning sensation followed. It felt like Courtney Love was parading around my esophagus, it was a HOT mess. When the tater tot finally settled in the pit of my stomach, I knew irrefutable damage had been done. Unlike a rough whiskey, I had literally burned my throat. Hence the title: Third-Degree Thursday.

If I was a prostitute, my oral presentation would be shot shot shot shot shot shot; everybody! It hurts to swallow, and I may have blistered the lining. This is a newfound phenomena for me, but it will not be forgotten. Well, that is until the pain goes away.

Is that not curious? We have all eaten something well before it has reached an edible temperature. Some of us may have taken a bite, achieved that conclusion, and continued to engulf the food. We have all suffered the mouth burns, maybe some of us with lip burns, but that’s unrelated. The fact of the matter is, we are creatures of habit. A hot cookie is a tasty cookie. I’m not waiting for it to harden like my heart. Bagel bites need to be eaten straight out of the microwave. I do not have five spare minutes to blow on them like a chump. That’s why I am using the microwave. (Note: That’s not really why I am using the microwave. I am just a horrible cook, and processed bagel bites in the microwave is the salient option.)

I guess what I am really advocating is for people to stay away from burning sensations. Wear a condom.

Wait…

That’s all wrong.

Stay away from hot food, keep it above the throat. Otherwise your esophagus will say esofuckthis.

The Answer to Life is…Ugh! Lost it.

I began this with the intent to write a relatively creative entry. This post was to be “Freshly Pressed” material. If only you could envision my vision I could envision you envisioning my vision…It would be a beautiful thing. Unfortunately, that idea has dissipated and I am left with a scattered strand of cranial matter. I have good reason for this mishap.

A fly.

Fly

There are over one hundred and twenty thousand species of flies. Each genera or family is as annoying as the last. Am I being harsh by condemning these bugs to the title of annoying? No. When you have swatter specifically designated to handle flies, that should signify that something or someone needs an attitude change. I’m talking to you flies.

I do not mind that they land on my tasty treats. It is disgusting, but it is not going to prevent me from devouring that cupcake. While we are on the subject of cupcakes, does anyone else love cupcakes more than a slice of cake? What is it about cake in a cup that makes it more delectable than its sliced counterpart? I digress. It also does not bother me that they, quite fittingly, fly by ear canals and update me with the latest buzz. (That’s just a little fly humor.) It does not even bother me when they try to make sexual advances by crawling up my legs and caressing my arm hair. Each and every fly movement I have described has had an intended destination or purpose.

The most despicable trait a fly has is being an interruption to my peripheral vision. This is the fly that flies in oblong circles. What purpose does this fly serve? It has about a fourteen day life span, yet it will spend a significant portion of that circling the center of my room an in identical pattern. I know it will never land on me, it will never bother my food, but yet I find it to be the most disturbing type of fly.

After doing some extensive research (typing it into Google and choosing the first option that relates to my question), I have limited it down to three reasons why they do this. The first of which is mating protocol. They are sexing it up. They choose to do this in the center of the room because they are exhibitionist. They have twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes to live, they are going to do it up big. Circular exhibition insex. They also like reminding you of the fact that they are getting some and you are not. If this fly were in a bar, it would be the first bar-fly to get some. Bad joke. I’m full of them.

The second reason has to do with finding a perch or food. Now, I am unclear as to when they make their move. Is there fly code? Is there a certain time frame or circular motions they have to complete before being allowed to rest or eat? Or are the ones still flying the Caitlin Upton’s of the egg? Maybe they are just wanting to fly through life. If it is a perch they are looking for, the entire room is full of them. As for food, if you haven’t found it in four hundred rotations, it is not there.

The last reason is that they want to interrupt my thought process. Simply put, they see the twinkle of brilliance in my eye, just my left one, and they want to extinguish it. They saw that “Freshly Pressed” was only a circle away and they committed their life to preventing me from obtaining that award. This last reason is dipped in no scientific reasoning, but I believe it to be 100% accurate. Otherwise I have no excuse for my lackadaisical entry or why I have not been Freshly Pressed.

Cartoongate

A tribute I did to those Nickelodeon shows we grew up with…

The Rules of Disneyland: Rule #3

The final rule of Disneyland is upon you. For those who had not the ample amount of time to wait for the latest and greatest to be pressed forth from my fingertips, I apologize. Here is to hoping that you followed the third rule unintentionally so.

(If you missed Rule #1 or Rule #2, you know the drill. Finger the O  O and away you go. If you haven’t read any of them, a threesome awaits!)

The reason for the delay is due in part that in contradicts the principle of Disneyland. Think for a moment, why is Disneyland such a wonderful place? Who enjoys its attractions and fantasies more than any other demographic? If you have an idea of who that is…Then the third rule should shine with unprecedented clarity.

3. Do not bring children to Disneyland.

Disneyland Cry

Arriving at the park and witnessing the excitement that is curling at the little one’s mouth as they enter the home of giant mice is wonderful. It affords one the chance to relive their childhood and experience those gratifying moments once more. Children believe the rides they are on are authentic. To give you an example, I took my five-year-old nephew on Star Tours. We weaved through the line, exposing ourselves to spaceships and launch zones. When we finally arrived at the entrance to the ride, he was reveling in his excitement of finally being able to go to space. See for him, this was not a ride, this was an adventure into the depths of space that only Disneyland could provide. Cute right? We reminisce about our own memories of Disneyland and all its splendor, but…

Children are not that cute all the time.

The downsides to bringing a child to Disneyland:

  • All emotional phases must be reached. That was rule number one. For a child, that cycle spiral…And that spiral is downwards. Expect the whiney and angry phases to become more prominent as the night progresses. By four post meridiem, expect to be yelling, “Shut the hell up! We stood in that long ass line, you’re going to hug Eeyore!” (Why Eeyore? Because as a child, I have a traumatic experience with Eeyore. I was denied a hug. A hug I so rightly deserved. Eeyore…That dopey ass donkey. Hm. I guess calling him a donkey in this instance is just repetitive.)
  • You will not be able to experience all the rides. If you are married to a little person, you may be accustomed to this. If not, then your child will only serve as a hindrance on your path toward the Temple of the Forbidden Eye. If you are a family of three. One of you will have to stay with the child while the other rides. Maybe that works out. It gives you a chance to escape the disaster that is: bringing kids to Disneyland. Or escape that wife that never quite recovered from pregnancy. Too much? (Jokes friends…Jokes.)
  • Children want everything. They remind me of the seagulls from Finding Nemo…Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! No… You should have thought twice before you just had to have that fourteen dollar churro. Now wait with your mother while I buy myself a pair of Mickey ears for thirty dollars that I will wear twice, bring home, and never have any desire to wear again.
  • No children = no strollers. I have single handedly proposed a plan that would save thousands of lives a year.
  • You do what the children want to do. I mean, you give life to the bugger and now it expects you to do everything it wants to do? It wants you to live for it? I can only handle the Small World once. Anymore and I’ll be hearing Mad World!

That’s a pretty solid list. It strongly advises you against taking children. I lay down concrete examples of what can happen if placed in that situation. It is setting yourself up for a miserable vacation, but…

All I could think about while creating this list was: I can’t wait to take my future children to Disneyland.