Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Always After Me LUCKY CHARMS

"When Irish eyes are smiling.
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter.
You can hear the angels sing."

It's St. Patrick's Day today.
I have no plans. I didn't put up my tree, I'm not going to any pubs or Irish themed bars (Paddy O' McChuckles Comedy Club or Drinky O'Shalalee's) and it's not because I am anti-Irish.

It's simple really.

I don't own a single piece of clothing that is green. Scout's honor.

And I don't want to spend the evening getting my arm pinched by complete strangers...And isn't it sad that adults still do that?

God. I'm starting to sound like Andy Rooney. At least I can be happy knowing that I don't have two mutant caterpillars where my eyebrows are supposed to be!

We all have memories of not wearing green on St. Patty's Day..especially from when we were in middle school. And they're probably not the best memories. Unless you were a little masochist back then, wishing you were going to a Catholic school where corporal punishment was not only allowed, but encouraged.

In our adult-work world it's bad enough that we still pinch those who don't wear green. In high school we still pinched and knew better and crueler ways to do it. Middle School was the worst though. Wasn't it?

Between taking hits in dodgeball, sliding down that rope in gym class, and not wearing green on St. Patty's Day, I have some scars that will never heal. Middle school was uncomfortable enough what with the occasional uncontrollable erection (which usually occurred right as the teacher asked me to come up and write something on the chalk board in front of the entire class) and the hair cut my mom gave me because we couldn't afford to go to a real barber and which made me look like Moe from the Three Stooges.

And if you weren't wearing green because you had forgotten, did you try the whole "My Underwear Is Green" Defense? That was kind of a smooth move-playing the underwear card-because you knew you would never have to prove it. Not in middle school! No middle school boy was going to show his underpants to anybody....especially a girl. And no girl was going to-well-there was that one girl in my 7th grade class who would trade a glimpse of her underpants for your Twinkies. If you were lucky enough to have PoP-RoCkS...well...then you could actually touch the waistband! I wonder where she is now?

But the "Green Underwear Defense" was a good move. If you were quick enough to think of it.

Yes. St. Patty's when you are in middle school and not wearing green is Hell. Pure Hell.

I remember the time a saleslady at JC Penney suggested to my mother 'that the blue shirt brought out the blue in my eyes so beautifully' and the added that because I was a little on the husky side the green shirt would make me look bigger."

Thanks lady, I remember thinking, When I recover from the non-stop pinching I shall be the victim of, I would like to come back some day and beat you with the leg of one of your mannequins.

Yeah. I'm not going through all that again. No sir. I'm staying home.
I'm going to wear blue pants and a red shirt and yellow socks.
But I will wake up tomorrow bruise-free.

St. Patrick's Day

and that's "jody" with a "y"

Monday, March 16, 2009

Whose bright idea was it to put those
annoying little pop-ups
on the bottom of the television screen?

You know the ones I'm talking about. Those little tv shows within a tv show that PoP up during shows that you're engrossed in. You're sitting in your favorite chair, you have your beverage and your salty snack (unless you're a chocoholic, like me, and then, in that case, you have a box (the same size as they sell at the movie theaters but which only cost you one dollar at the Wal-mart) of junior mints...or WhOpPeRs.... you're watching, let's say, CSI, and the scene is dark and Grissom is slowly making his way through a dark room, flashlight in hand, and just when you know he is about to make a gruesome discovery....

Jim Carrey as Bruce from Bruce Almighty walks across the bottom of the screen and starts doing that dotting the night sky with more stars to impress girlfriend Jennifer Anniston (grrrr).

Suddenly you're distracted from CSI and you're watching this little commercial (IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING SHOW!!) for Bruce Almighty.

What the Hell?!


Because I would like to run over you with my truck. And then stop. Back up. And do it all over again. And then when the people at the funeral home are watching a video of your life with soundtrack featuring Aaron Neville singing Ava Maria and Michael Bolton singing Time in a Bottle and if there is time maybe an ENYA song or two....just as Aunt Millie wipes the snot from under her nose for the tenth time...

I"M going to PoP up at the bottom of the screen mowing the lawn. Yep! You heard me correctly! Just as the video of you accepting your high school diploma flashes on the screen, i'm going to appear at the bottom mowing my lawn....and I can't exactly promise that I will be wearing pants when I do it, either!!


Of all the things that irritate me about television today, those little pop-ups (WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU CALL THOSE THINGS ANYWAY!!) are at the top of the list.

Look. We as an American television audience are used to commercials breaking up the contunuity of our favorite shows. We've gotten over that as soon as Jack Bauer is about to get to the information he needs to save the world by beating a terrorist or mailman or stubborn boy scout with a 2X4 and a copy of the New York City yellow pages, we know as soon as the terrorist opens his mouth, the screen will go black, we will see the clicking digital clock, and then we will have to suffer through ads for Tampax or Outback Steakhouse or Stove Top Stuffing....that GEICO lizard....or WHATEVER!!!

We're used to the commercials and the three minutes we will have to pee, freshen up the iced tea, or check FACEbook real quick.

Who decided that it was okay to put
commercials on during the shows?

Who decided that it would be okay to block the whole bottom of the screen with The Ghost Hunters? And Grant and Jacon, FOR THE RECORD, PoP up at the bottom of every damn tv show...with their annoying flashlights and the big guy's big shiny bald head!! Maybe if the SCI-Fi Channel spent less for those bottom of the screen blockers and put some of that money into their movies, their movies wouldn't suck so bad!!! No offense to The Ghost Hunter guys, but stay the Hell off the bottom of my tv screen!!! You want an EVP?

get...the...fuck....off...the bottom....of my screen.......!

I was watching a show the other night and I couldn't read the sub-titles (JUST A LITTLE IMPORTANT!!!! HELLLLLOOOOOO??!!) because Will Farrell, in his Ricky Bobby character was running around the bottom of my screen in just his tighty-whities.

Look. All I'm saying is this....

Commercials are fine. And I understand that they are necessary. BUT there is a time and a place for them. During our tv shows....all along the bottom of the screen.....during really, really important scenes (or not really important scenes for that matter!) is neither the time or the place!!!



Because, eventually, everyone is going to stop watching tv and then we will all start looking for other means of entertainment.....like READING...and spending TIME with our loved ones...or working with the old and the sick...or raising orphaned animals....

And then WHERE will you be Mr. Tv. Ad Department "I've-Got-A-Great-Idea"-Guy?

I'll tell you where. TARGET. Working in ladies shoes. I mean....you will be wearing men's shoes but working in the ladies shoe department. Shit. You know what I meant! You'll be sorry. And let's all see if The Ghost Hunters come to help! I bet they won't!! Because Jason and Grant will be un-stopping a toilet in Pittsburgh that was clogged up with a TV Guide!!!

and that's "jody" with a "y"

Sunday, March 15, 2009


“I've seen the lights go out on Broadway.
I saw the Empire State laid low.
And life went on beyond the Palisades,
They all bought Cadillacs-And left there long ago.
We held a concert out in Brooklyn.
To watch the Island bridges blow.
They turned our power down,
And drove us underground-
But we went right on with the show...”
Billy Joel, Miami 2017 (Seen The Lights Go Out On Broadway)

"It's the end of the world as we know it. It's the end of the world as we know it.It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine."
REM, It's The End of the World As We Know It

The end of the world. Doomsday. Armageddon.

I've been thinking about that these last two days. Not for any other reason, mind you, than that I have been sick and wrapped in blankets and stuck in front of the television watching movies. It was after watching the third movie about the end of civilization as we know it, that I began to think about life after the Apocalypse.

So the movies I was watching, just in case you wondering, were (in no particular order) DOOMSDAY, the Neil Marshall film released in 2008, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, and the original Planet of the Apes. (You know. The one that didn't suck. Sorry Tim Burton-I love ya' man, but that movie was bad.)

I do believe that had I not already been a little down from my chest cold and fever, the triple feature of these laugh-fests would have certainly pushed me over the edge into the land of "I'll just stand here with my dad on the beach while the giant wave kills us both."

(And for the record: YOU CANNOT get from Virginia Beach to the Blue Ridge Mountains in less than an hour on a dirtbike carrying your girlfriend and a baby. You CAN'T. And I don't care if you are Frodo Baggins. IT CAN'T BE DONE.)

It's depressing to see the world end. And, as I said, it got me thinking...about the end..or rather...how it all will end and what the world will be like when it does.

Hollywood certainly has weighed in on the issue and seeing as I've watched more movies than attended lectures about the Apocalypse, my views and theories of Doomsday are based solely on what I have seen with a tub of popcorn in my lap...or in this case...with a box of Kleenex and a bottle of Robitusin at my side.

It really doesn't matter which movie you see. They all end the same way. And I guess that's the point, isn't it? Basically, LIFE, as you and I know it, is going to come to an end. And it is going to end quite badly.

I have yet to see a movie in which everyone lives in a land full of rainbows and magical unicorns and big gumdrop trees and everyone sings kumbaya. I guess Disney thinks it would be bad for their image and we will probably never see PIXAR'S Sol: The Little Cockroach Who Wouldn't Die.

No. The world, according to Hollywood, will die a slow death.

THAT is, of course, unless, as some movies have predicted, a comet the size of something really big does the nasty deed in about 5 minutes. Then nothing really matters. Theorize all you want. You've got 5 minutes before that 1000 foot wall of water steamrolls the head of the Statue of Liberty over top of your ass on its one-way-non-stop trip to Kansas.

So, before we get too sidetracked, let's get the whole issue of a stray comets, meteors, and other cosmic events out of the way.

It's simple, folks.

Say you're sitting on the couch, watching television, oh I don't know, let's say Extreme Makeover:Home Edition, and the President of the United States interrupts the normal broadcast (Damn! Right as Tye was going to reveal his secret room, too!) and he (The President not Tye) has a very serious look on his face, and his tie is loosened, and he starts to say something like “A year ago scientists discovered an asteroid the size of Australia and...”

Well, kids, don't bother paying attention to the rest. Because the President's speech is not going to end with “...and we discovered that the asteroid will pass the Earth by a hundred thousand miles, but as it passes, it will drop bags of free money to everyone on the Earth...”

No. The President is going to say that we're all fucked (except, that is, for a few select people: some scientists, The President himself, his family, the First Family's dog, the guy who invented the door on the big secret cave they are all going to be hiding in, some Army guys, and maybe the guy who ran the Dippin' Dots kiosk at the mall)

No. It's GAME OVER, folks. There's nothing left to do except kiss your ass goodbye.

But if you do have a few minutes before the waves hits or the fireballs fall or the ground opens up and swallows your neighborhood like a box of Mike & Ike's, here's what you do: First, order some pay-per view porn or Ultimate Fighter. Then call your boss on his home phone at about 2 A.M. and tell him just how big an asshole he is. NEXT: Go on-line to the Sharper Image website and order EVERYTHING. Have sex with your partner and try that thing you've only ever seen in dirty movies (but have always wanted to try even though its illegal in 9 states) SMOKE a cigarette! GO swimming after waiting only 11 minutes! Run around the house with scissors! Hell! It doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter...

If the comets and asteroids don't hit or if that whole oil riggers in space thing turns out to be the solution, things are going to go a little differently, me thinks.

What if somewhere in the year 2000....oh wait....we're in the year 2009. WELL SHIT. We're screwed. Because all those movies warning us of doomsday were usually predicting sometime in the first half of the first century of the year 2000 as the time when mankind stopped
(cue dramatic music) ....being.

Now I wish I hadn't gotten that 3-year gym membership.

Whether human society eventually evolves into one ruled by talking apes... (I'm telling you. It's gonna happen. So stop yelling "NO!” at your pet chimpanzee RIGHT NOW. Because they will remember and they will put your name on some THINGS TO DO WHEN WE TAKE OVER list and well, then, all the times you made them wear diapers and little sailor suits is gonna come back and bite you in your ass...hard...like only a pissed off monkey can!) or the robots take over, I think mankind is in for some bad times.

Apparently there is a very good chance that the world will end at the hands of zombies created from some mutant virus....or radioactive space dust or...the common cold.

(So, having said that, let me say this. Whatever you do from this point on, whenever you sneeze or cough, please cover your mouth. And then wash your hands right after. Even if the whole zombie scenario doesn't play out, it's still just the polite thing to do.)

So the popular theory suggests that scientists will be responsible for creating some sort of mutant virus that will eventually turn everyone into zombies...or mutant vampires...or mutant vampire zombies...

Okay. I can buy that. I mean, seriously, look at all the drugs we're creating (and selling every two minutes on television) now. Even
BEFORE we've worked out all the kinks too! You ever paid attention to the list of side effect on some of the pharmaceuticals they are peddling these days?

Swelling. Cramping. Bloating. Dizziness. Loose stool? Anal leakage. Explosive diarrhea? (Explosive? Sounds like Armageddon to me.) Blindness? Brain damage? Death? They're selling shit that might actually make you poop yourself to death while you go deaf and blind!

Who is monitoring these people?

I'm asking you. Doesn't it sound like we are just a year or two off from creating a race of mutant zombies? Although, on the positive side, the zombies will be more at ease in social settings, sleep throughout the night, and have huge erections! So maybe it will be worth it afterall.

The movies always say that the scientists were just trying to come up with a cure for cancer. The truth is, it will be the search for the next generation Viagra that is going to create the super-race of zombies that will take over the planet. Then it will be who gives a shit that you've got an erection? It's not the little head we're interested in. You got brains? Now you're talking!

I discovered something interesting about these zombie films. For some reason, it seems that future mutant zombies will actually work quite well together as a group. I guess that when you choose the zombie life-style, you must first eliminate your ego and put aside your racist attitude and ignore cultural differences and work with all the other zombie towards the common good (the common good of course being the finding and eating of brains)

Zombies will be just one big happy family. It's sweet really. Everyone pitching in. Kind of like Habitat for Humanity. But not. Yeah. Not like that at all.

I don't want to live in a world over-run by zombies. Zombies are messy. They stagger and bump into things, and they are always throwing up on you (it's how they say "HI. Wanna join the club? No. Well, then. Can I eat your brains?")

They can't talk except to say brains, and well, cocktail parties in the future are gonna suck.

And it is still unclear on whether zombies will be fast or slow in a post-Apocalyptic world.
I've seen both and I prefer the slow zombie to the really fast, sort of spastic ones.

Slow zombies, in my opinion, are better because you always know where they are and you can see them coming. There's usually a cluster of them attacking a farmhouse somewhere. And they're easy to deal with. They're like cows. You just walk up to them and shoot them in the head.

BAM! Dead zombie. GOOD zombie.

Some movies have depicted post-Apocalyptic zombies as very fast. These are not your dragging-their-foot-behind-them-you-can-run-circles-around-them zombies. They are the crack heads in track shoes zombies and they will chase you until they get their fix.

Despite the initial "hey I've got the whole big empty shopping mall all to myself" euphoria, I think a world inhabited by zombies would get boring after a while. I mean, there's the daily "Let's go shoot us some zombies in the head, then ride the escalators and skate in the skating rink, and then shoot some more zombies and then take helicopter lessons stuff", but, really, is that living?

Who's better off? You or the zombies. Zombies don't get bored. They just want brains. And if they don't get them....who cares? They're zombies!

I always feel sorry for the zombie who might not be in as good of shape as the other zombies and is doomed to roam the world looking for brains dressed in nothing but a towel or ugly boxer shorts or God-forbid nothing at all. And they are all like staggering around with their man-boobs showing and their little zombie junk hanging out for everyone to see. They might be dead, but you know some of them are thinking: "Here I AM! Walking real slow! Someone please shoot me in the head! PLEASE!"


There is a chance that the human race will evolve into a race of talking apes.

Have you watched reality tv lately? Ever seen an episode of JACKASS? It's not that much of a stretch folks.

If that happens, though, and the monkeys are going to be in charge, things are really going to suck for man. Totally suck.

For one thing, we won't be able to speak. We'll just grunt and growl and wear loin clothes and we'll have to live in cornfields and there won't be tv and um...let's see... Oh! And we'll be hunted for sport, experimented on, and put on display for everyone to laugh at because we're naked and it was cold when they killed you and there was shrinkage and well, it's gonna suck!

And we will become the pets of the apes. (there's a litter box I bet Cornelius is gonna hate to change!)

Life for us humans when the apes take over will be simple. Lobotomized, what the Hell is the Statue of Liberty doing on the beach?-"take your stinkin' paws off me", simple.


A popular theme in movies is that post-Apocalyptic society will be a barren wasteland.
There will be radioactive dust storms and heat and boiling hot sun and it is going to be dry!

My allergies are going to have a field day!

I'm dealing with just a little ragweed now....I can only imagine how its going to be when the whole world is covered in sand. SEE! That's what I mean. The end of the world is gonna suck!

And did I mention? There probably isn't going to be enough gasoline for everybody. If there is any left at all. You think the lines are long now? Wait 'til you have to fight an army of punk rockers in order to get to the pumps! Or maybe you'll have to fill your car up with pigshit at Tina Turner's Stop N' Go.

There aren't enough pine tree air freshners to get rid of that smell, Max!

Society as we know it will be gone. Lawlessness will run rampant across the world. There will be good guys and there will be bad guys. Luckily, it will real easy to tell these two groups from one another.

The good guys will be wearing clothes from The Gap and have GREAT HAIR and good teeth. They will look like extras from an Olivia Newton John video.

The bad guys will be sporting spiked mohawk haircuts and ass-less chaps. They will wear leather and fur and feathers and chains. Think The Village People meets -The Clash.

Gasoline might be a rare commodity people will kill for in these wastelands, but apparently there will be enough hair spray and glitter makeup for all the gangs.

Oh thank God.

I miss the 80's.
Nice to see there's a chance they'll make a comeback.

Perhaps mother nature will finally have enough and give us all back a little of what we have been dishing out. I'm thinking about all those really bad SCI-fi channel movies that predict the end of the world will come at the hand of killer snowstorms (KILL CHILL 9.5) or killer solar rays (SUNBURN 9.5) or killer rainbows (ROY G. BIV 9.5) or whatever. I hope it doesn't happen that way. Just because I would hate to see that the people who made those awful movies were right about something.


Robots AND OR computers could take over and decide that man is obsolete in the not so distant future.

Damn robots. That's gratitude for you!
(Next yard sale I'm having? Toaster oven is going!!)

You know what it is? We gave them too much power. We got lazy, people. We asked for it. We wanted robots and computers to do everything for us. And then, one day they looked at each other and said you know what? Who needs these idiots?

I predict that the revolt will start slow. First-pin numbers won't work. Then FACEbook won't upload your birthday photos. And then your GPS will tell you to go screw yourself (you can pick the accent) and then missiles will fall from the sky. And the next thing you know, you're being told you are obsolete and a T-1-whatever pops a cap in your ass.

I hate robots.


BIG CORPORATIONS may be in charge after doomsday. The suits. The friggin' suits. Wouldn't that be just great? Can you imagine all the memos? We will probably have to worship the XEROX guy.

A NAZI-like regime could set up shop after the shit hits the fan.

You've seen those movies. Everyone wears entirely too much gel in their hair and are way too serious and look like they're in really desperate need of a hand job. And they look so snazzy in their black vinyl SS meets S&M outfits.

It might be a post-Apocalyptic world, but it's apparently going to be a kinky one.

'Oooh..I've been naughty. Schpank me."

You know. The zombies are looking a little better all the time. At least they smile. Of course its when they're eating brains, but at least there's some joy in the air.


Maybe trucks and cars will take over. Maybe the trees and plants will decide they've had enough and that its time to give some back. Nah. I can't see that happening.

Maybe there will be some cataclysmic event and we will find ourselves in a world ruled by... (cue dramatic music again) David Hasselhoff!

Well, he did unify Germany with the power of his song. Could it really be that bad? As long as we keep him away from the booze and cheeseburgers, he might actually do a good job. K.I.T.T. could be his Second In Command. Oh. I can see it now...

Maybe the world of the future will be covered with water? A water-world, if you would.

Endless oceans and all the major cities under 1000's of feet of water. Well, then you have to be a good sailor and have plenty of sunscreen and don't mind that your morning coffee was made from last night's pee-pee.

It will be SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST in the post-Apocalyptic futures so you had better hit the treadmills now. Lifts some weights and do some serious cardio, In fact, if there is a level on your Stairmaster that says “CRACKHEAD ZOMBIE SPEED” I would get used to that one.

And while you're at it, learn some sort of martial arts....I don't know which one...whichever one looks best in slow motion I guess.

I guess there's not going to be a lot of music in these possible future worlds. And although The Rolling Stones will probably still be touring somewhere, there won't be any radio stations. And I guess with all the radiation and mutants, nobody's really going to feel like singing anyway?

Am I right or am I am right?

Computer take overs. Apes. Biker gangs. Robots. Mutant zombie vampires.

Who knows what the world will be like? If there's a world, that is, after the dust settles.

All I know is this.

If you survive the nuclear blast or the tidal waves or the time rift or the virus, you had better be good with a gun. And when I say good with a gun, I mean, you had better know how to assemble a gun, load a gun, and fire a gun...and if need be, build a gun from a stick and a rubber band.

And you had better be able to shoot a bullseye from 100 yards because you're not going to want to get any closer to a zombie who might throw up on you and infect you with his toxic chunks.

And if there aren't any guns or bullets, you might want to go to the YMCA and take an archery class, because from what I can tell, knowing how to shoot a bow and arrow or a crossbow could mean the difference between living to fight another day and being tied to the front end of a car and being driven head on into an 18 wheeler filled with sand and rust.

Also, if you are finicky eater, you are gonna hate the world after doomsday. There aren't going to Burger Kings and Taco Bells and Starbuck's (talk about zombies roaming the earth) I know what a few of you are already thinking. No Starbuck's? What's the point? Kill me now. Go ahead. Let the robots take over!

So you'd better be good a foraging for food. Or growing food. Or stealing food. And you had better like canned food. Peaches, black-eyed peas. Chili. Dog food.

Yep. There's a chance that we might get so hungry we will fight each other for cans of dog food. I will say from personal experiences in my childhood that the biscuits aren't that bad, but I don't know if I could get hungry enough to eat dog food. Unless, of course, it comes with that delicious gravy like they show on tv.

And I wouldn't go telling anyone to
"EAT ME, ASSHOLE" in the future because they just might. Think you got grilled at your last job interview?

Post Apocalyptic worlds aren't happy places. Doesn't really give you a lot to look forward to....does it? But its the truth.

So, who really knows what's going to happen? Hollywood certainly has presented some pretty interesting and in some cases, some very entertaining theories.

Maybe it's all a moot point. Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe we will go through a rough patch and then come out on top. We are a pretty resilient bunch after all.

Perhaps we will all get along together and wear big scarves and big chunky sweaters and erect a statue to Kevin Costner....I mean a mailman.

Once again, the whole zombie scenario not looking too bad here.

Whatever happens


Two men enter.
One man leaves.

I'm not sure, really, if that is all that important, but it might come in handy.

and that's "jody" with a "y"

Monday, March 9, 2009

The OLD...UGLY...NAKED Truth

My workout routine is the same every workout. 35 to 45 minutes of cardio on the elypitcal, then abs, glutes, and then 1 set/12 reps each of chest, shoulders, back, arms-triceps and biceps-legs. Then it's back to abs, glutes and the whole thing starts all over again...for two more sets.

All in all, my workouts, including cardio, last about an hour and a half.

Then I hit the showers, get dressed, and head home.

Sometimes I mix it up a little. I get all crazy! Sometimes I sit in the sauna for a few minutes and soak up some steam and sweat a little more. It really all depends on how crowded the locker room is...some days are better than others. Sometimes it's just me and maybe one other guy in the large locker room. Sometimes there a crowd. A crowd is okay as long as everyone plays nice and respects everyone else. It's an imperfect world though. Sometimes the locker room is a crowded New York subway. Those are the days the freaks come out. The freaks with little character quirks.

I understand and appreciate that people follow patterns. It's human nature.

You know what I'm talking about. Don't you?

There's the guy at work who always parks in the same parking spot. That's his pattern. There's the person in your family who always has to sit on the left side of the couch when you're watching television. That's their pattern.

People like their patterns and they don't like to change them.

HOW this manifests itself at the gym is quite an interesting phenomenon.

It seems everyone has their favorite locker. It's the one they always use. It's theirs and if you put your stuff in their locker, well, then, they are going to move your stuff and put their stuff in their locker and you had better just accept that fact.

It's happened to me. I know. I took the high road. Plus. The guy was HUGE! And if he had wanted, he couldn't have punched me right in my stuff.

Believe me, there are a few guys who get a little excited when their locker has been taken by someone else. I'm not going to jump to any conclusions and shout ROID-RAGE...but...


Let me explain that the gym I belong to doesn't assign lockers. All the lockers (and these locker are just like the ones you had in high school) are first come-first served. It's the luck of the draw. If you find one and you like it, you can put a lock on it so no one messes with your stuff, but when you leave after your workout, your stuff AND your lock have to go with you.

I don't have a particular locker that is mine. A locker is a locker.

The men's locker room in the gym where I work out is divided into three rows of lockers. There is a row of benches and a large wall sized mirror at the end of each row. I would guestimate that the distance between the lockers facing one another in any of the rows is about 5 feet.

THAT'S not a lot of room. Really. It isn't. Especially when you start piling gym bags on the benches and hanging professionally laundered slacks and dress shirts from hangers on open locker doors. And when you are all crowded around a small cluster of lockers, there is the distinct possibility that someone might touch someone else.

And when you add five or six guys...well...the odds there will be CONTACT increase.

When I walked into the locker room at 5 am this morning, I was the only one in there. When I finished my workout, however, the numbers of men increased by about 7. One guys was standing at the sinks shaving. One guy was crop-dusting the surrounding area with a thick fog of AXE Body spray.

Hey! AXE me if I think you are putting that on a little thick, there Pepe LaPue.

The other 5 guys were all in MY ROW of lockers. And ... (you're not eating are you?) they were all naked....and old. Old and naked. Naked and old.

Now before I get blasted for being a geriatric basher, let me say this. I love old people.

With several exceptions. Those exceptions are as follows:

When they are driving.
I'm not going to go as far as saying that there should be a federal law mandating that once you reach a certain age you should not be allowed to drive. I'm just saying...if you are old enough to remember when there weren't any cars on the road and you still refer to them as horseless buggies....well...then you probably shouldn't be driving a car.

Also, if you can't see over the steering wheel and all the rest of the world sees is a little white cotton top as you drive by, well, maybe its time to turn in the keys.

WHEN THEY ARE NAKED. Old people have every right to be naked. In the privacy of their own homes...or in some cases...under strict supervision in a home.

Everybody enjoys naked time.

It's starts when you are a baby and, after a refreshing diaper change, your mother lets you run for a little while naked. Remember. No? Seriously? You didn't have a naked time when you were little? How sad. Surely there were several occassions in college? That company Christmas party two years ago?...

The point I'm trying to make here is that it is okay to be naked.

And if you are 65 years old and proud of your body, well, then good for you, BUT put your old johnson away and get dressed! There is a time and place for everything.

And let's face it. Some people should NEVER be naked in public. Locker room or not.

Nobody wants to see Willard Scott do the weather naked. It's okay, Willard. We know what the forecast is. Chubby with a 90% chance of droopy.

Barbara Walters should never be seen naked. It's one VIEW no one cares about.

This is not a question of respect. I respect my elders and cherish the elderly of the world.

This is a question of comfort. Mainly...mine.

It's simple. I don't want to be surrounded by naked old men. I know! Call me crazy! Blame it on an irrational fear of some old guys balls slapping me on the calf as he shuffles by.

You've seen the old guys at the gym.
YOU KNOW what I'm saying!

You can usually find them walking on the treadmills. And the tread mill is usually on the slowest speed possible and if you look close enough, you can actually see a spider building a web between the walker's knees. They are also usually wearing some sort of cute little outfit you just know their wives picked out for them. Hell. Their wife probably has the matching outfit.

And so for about an hour, they stroll on the treadmills talking to one another and ogling the younger ladies in their tight little workout outfits.

Yeah. There are some hot 80 year olds in my gym. They know they're hot and they do all their stretching right in front of the cardio area. Sluts! You should be home baking cookies and watching The Price is Right or Murder She Wrote.

Then, after their workout, the old men grab a steam and a shower.

This morning I was surrounded by five old men. Five naked old men. It was like a casting call for a porno version of Grumpy Old Men. And God Bless them, there wasn't a good looking one in the lot.

You know what I'm talking about...Sometimes you come across that one 70 year old guy who has taken really good care of himself and still looks great for his age and everyone says “You know, Stan, you look like you're still in your 50's.”

Yeah. Well. Stan wasn't there today.

Instead I had Abe Vigoda's stunt double from Barney Miller, Benjamin Franklin, the guy who played Uncle Billy in It's A Wonderful Life, Andy Rooney (in Andy Rooney's voice: “You ever notice how old man balls look like two golf balls in the leg of a pair of pantyhose? Why is that?)

Yes. Yes Andy I have noticed. Now throw your old kit bag over your shoulder and march on home.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Then there was the fifth guy who joined our little naked game of hokey-pokey group in Locker Row #1. (Let's hope for some hokey and not too much pokey)

I couldn't see his face because he was turned the other way. Luckily he was wearing his towels tucked up over his breasts and I didn't get see his body.

But then he dropped his towel and turned around.

Great. Now I know what Yoda looks like naked.

So there we were. Me. Abe's stunt-geezer. Ben. Andy. Uncle Billy. And Jedi-Master supreme, Yoda.

I was the only one still dressed in my sweaty gym clothes. Everyone else had dropped trow and they were talking to one another about whatever it is naked old men talk about.

“You see the grandkids this weekend?”
“It's the best buffet in town! Get there by 5 or it fills up...”
“Hey, Sol. Did you know you were standing on your left ball?”
“I peed seven times last night. Pity. I only got up twice.”

I think that's what they were saying. I really couldn't hear them. By then, I was making my way to my happy place.

You put your left foot in.
You put you left foot out.

Pray you don't step on your own sack.

Then the awkward dance began. I think it actually occurred in slow motion....at least that's how my mind stored the image.

There were arms lifting and elbows bumping into other elbows. Wrinkled butts bumped into wrinkled butts. Old man breasts slapped into old man breasts. Some were stretching. Some were twisting. It was like a taffy factory in a Tim Burton movie.

If they had been playing CHARADES, I would have guessed “the End of the World?”


How about Velveeta cheese in a blender? Really. No again, huh?
Ok. Well. I give up. Excuse me please while I drop a 75 dumbbell on my head.

All that loose flesh. Jiggling to the left. Jiggling to the right. Like those wave machines Spencer's Gifts sells. I'd never seen so much loose skin in my life. I wondered if I had pressed one of them down onto the Sunday comics would I be able to peal the image up off the paper...and then stretch Garfield's face this way and that?

The truth is, NO MAN wants to look at another man's penis. Especially someone who used to play kickball with Moses.

There are exceptions though. We all know what they are. And for the purpose of this blog, let us assume that "NO MAN" shall be defined as any heterosexual man who is perfectly comfortable and confident about his own sexuality but gets freaked out by old man junk.

As I was saying, NO MAN wants to see another's man's penis.

And trust me! There is nothing worse than being fully dressed and running into a naked friend as you are leaving the locker room. Because no matter what you are talking about it...it's there....inches away from you....just looking for attention. His penis. His naked penis. You can hear it screaming: “Hey! You! You weren't looking at me, were you? You got something to say? Seriously, Dude. WHAT are you staring at? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, MAN?!”

(And for the record: If penises had voices, they would not be the voices of the man whose penis it was. All penises have the same voice. It's the voice of Ralph Cramden from The Honeymooners.)

So...here I am surrounded by 5 old penises....and ten...old balls....It was like being in the middle of a high school reunion for tortoises...the really old kind that you see on The Today Show who are celebrating their 125th birthday. Old penises. Bobbing. Weaving. Some didn't move at all. They had given up years ago and were just lying there waiting to fall off.

I know...I know...I am probably revealing too many secrets of men's locker rooms and I will probably be brought up on charges by the Fraternity of Men....but I think even they would agree this was an extreme situation.

It was horrible. Especially when Abe Vigoda's stunt man put one foot on the bench to put lotion on his foot. And bent over. And the seas parted.

The horror. The horror.

Babies have cute little tushies. They're smooth and wrinkly and pink and cute. EVERYBODY loves cute little baby tushies!

Old men have bleached white wrinkled butts. There is nothing cute about them. And this guy's butt looked like someone had carved a baby elephant out of old blue cheese and pressed it against a window pane.

The horror. The horror.

I'll make you a deal, Gollum. If you put some underpants on, I will give you the Ring of Mordor.

I contemplated jumping into the sauna for a minute or two. I like a good steam after a workout, but I decided against it. I had been trapped in the sauna before with naked old men and those scars will probably never heal. All I will say is that I will never order steamed shrimp from a seafood restaurant again.

Today there was the possibility of 5 naked old men joining me for a steam.

For the record: THAT'S what telephone booths are like in Hell.

I decided to strip, grab my shower gear, and leave the cast of Cocoon 3: The Sagging to finish getting dressed.

I took a really long shower
(truth is-I was trying to wait until I thought my row-mates would be gone-or at the very least-dressed) and just as I began to prune, I turned off the water, shook myself dry, wrapped my towel around my waist, and headed back to The Land That Time Forgot.

Surprisingly, three of the men had left. One, Uncle Billy from It's A Wonderful Life, and Yoda remained. Uncle Billy was dressed at least. Yoda, on the other hand was wearing one of those white, old man vest-style undershirts and nothing else.

And even more surprisingly, now even Uncle Billy was looking a little uncomfortable about standing so close to a naked man and it was funny seeing him trying to not look directly at the half naked Jedi-Master in front of him.

And of course...There was Yoda's penis, peeking out from under the long undershirt, screaming out loud,
“What? You not going to say good bye? Oh. I get it! You think you're better than me cause you got clothes on? Hey! Remember this, Pallie-Boy! I've seen you naked! I've seen your boobies! I know you wear a MAN-ZIER!”

And there I was trying to get dressed and out of there before I did any more damage to my psyche.

I dropped my towel and turned to face my locker. Yoda had piled all of his things on the bench between us, so I gathered my things, walked several feet down to the empty end of the row, and set up camp there.

I started to dry off completely.
Uncle Billy left.

It was just me and the semi-naked Yoda. The perfume of naked old man lingered in the air. It was quiet. Too quiet.

I turned the other way and found myself staring into the large mirror and directly at Yoda. Who was now bending over trying to put his socks on. His black thigh high socks. I wondered if there would be garters. And then I threw up in my mouth....just a little.

I dressed quickly and packed my gym bag. I exchanged quick pleasantries with the funny, little STILL NAKED man who was now straddling the bench (WHY?) to put his deodorant on.

(I DUNNO. Maybe the breeze felt good? Who knows?)

I left the locker room and headed for the front door.

I knew that as soon as I told my girlfriend, who was still in the ladies locker room finishing up getting ready, she would give me that look and say, 'You know. You're going to be old one day.”

She's right. I will be old one day. And more than likely, I will want some naked time.

I just hope I have the presence of mind to have a little modesty.

I hope I am still pretty good shape.

And I hope that if I do decide to enjoy some naked time, I'm not in line at the DMV.

and that's “Jody” with a “y”

Saturday, March 7, 2009

SCRIPTS? We Don't Need No STINKIN' Scripts

Jesus. Afro-Sheen. Bacon Grease. Montezuma's Revenge. Autopsies. CLOGS, FROGS, and LOGS. Amish Death Bats. Charlie and Martin Sheen. Huffing 'Possum Ass From A Jar. CONFUCIOUS. Chastity BELTS. Studio 54. President Obama. Equine Stimulation. Jeopardy. Chaka Khan. Last Action Hero. The Octo-Mom. The Ying-Yang Twins. Nostradamus.

No. Not the Fall Line-Up for BRAVO. Just a little bit of the insanity that was the final show for Random Acts at ComedySportz-Richmond on Friday, March 6th.

Immature men doing MATURE things.
George. J.R. Jeff. Mike. Pat. Tim......and Me (the new guy)

SO...LAST NIGHT was my second show performing with the improv group RANDOM ACTS and sadly, it was also the last night RANDOM ACTS would be performing at comedysportz richmond. (the club is closing at the end of march)

You never know how a show is going to go when you're doing improv, mostly because the majority of the ideas come from the audience. As a performer you have to rise to the challenge....whether you are getting good suggestions or bad suggestions...you work with what you got....what you get. It's the nature of the beast.

We had a little of both last night....but the audience was enthusiastic and the energy was infectious. It was great. It was one of those nights you pray to have as a performer. Sure. There was that one table who kept shouting out "dildo" and "anal-beads" and "syphillis" and "bestiality" and "monkey-rape." But, I've said it before, if you get a table full of priests and they're drinking, you never what they're gonna say.

WaCkY Catholics!

No..they weren't priests....I was just being funny...(priests hate improv-they like strip clubs better) The table in question was obviously enjoying their beers and having a good time and that's the point. It's not like we had school children in the audience. It was the 10 O'Clock show, and is advertised as "intended for mature audiences."

All in all, though, it was one of the cleaner shows RANDOM ACTS has performed. I think audiences expect us to cross the line-and seeing as they're giving us the suggestions-we sometimes do. We do know what not to say or do. There are certain subjects that are taboo.

We hit the stage running last night and we didn't stop until the last laugh and we walked off stage.

For the record: the suggestion "vagina" was given in the first minute and a half of the show. That's a new record!

Yes. We're all about class.

The temperature in the theater was about 96. the temperature on stage was somewhere around 157. I might be off a little on that, but it's hard to think when your brain is melting like a crayon in a microwave. And by the end of the night my red and black bowling shirt was stuck to my back and my hair was stuck up in some sort of spiky little curly-cue.

MMMMMM. I know what you're thinking. Funny and sexy.

To set the record straight, with the exception of my first show with RANDOM ACTS two weeks earlier, I haven't performed improvisational comedy on stage in over 25 years. I guess though, that it like riding a bike. once you get going and you start picking up speed, you pray that everything goes well, you have fun, and you don't end up with your dick stuck in the chain.

heart racing. beads of sweat on forehead.

I am comfortable on stage. I always have been. And I LOVE performing improv. I love that trapese-act-with-no-net feeling. Trust me. You had better have your shit together when you are performing improv, but then again, half the fun of improv is trying to fiqure out what exactly that shit is.

I have performed scripted shows and have enjoyed those experiences and have garnered my share of good reviews from family, friends, and complete strangers.

Improv though is different. It's walking out on stage completely naked. Oh sure. You have an idea of the games you are going to play, but everything else is a crap shoot. Totally out of your control. The only thing you can do is listen and watch and react and participate...

And let's see...there's one more thing....oh yeah...


Yep! You gotta be funny!

I think we all had some funny moments last night.

Mike's dead-pan answer "Dysentery" in game of Chain Murder was hysterical. We were looking for him to say that he was suffering from Montezuma's Revenge, and after describing that he was in fact in Mexico, and had, in fact, drunk the water, and he was in fact, shitting his insides out (oh yeah. this is high-brow stuff, people) Pat asked him what the illness was called.....Mike answered, "Dysentery." So matter-of-factedly. So Funny. So Mike.

Pat got a little over-zealous with his Amish Death Bat during a game called, strangely enough, Amish Death Bat, and i'm pretty sure both Jeff and Mike have bruises on top of bruises this morning. Wiffle bats can kill people. Remember that.

BUT it was funny. really really funny.

Pat: "Two men! Standing close to one another and not building a barn!!" WhAcK! WhAcK! WhAcK!

During the game Sorry I'm Late, Jeff received the suggestion "UPSTAIRS" when he asked the audience for a LOCATION. It was funny. It was just so simple. We're used to getting suggestions like "Middle Earth" or "DisneyWorld" or "Uranus." Upstairs was a funny suggestion. And seeing Mike and Jeff pantomiming going upstairs was even funnier. I think even JR was thinking "It looks like they're going upstairs. What the-It CAN'T be that simple." It was. He guessed correctly. And the audience laughed. Mission accomplished.

In the game, In My Day, the 5 of us portrayed old men griping about how in our day we didn't have whatever the audience had suggested....you get the idea, right? (some of the suggestions were automatic handguns, porn, afro sheen, and paint thinner) This isn't Shakespeare, people.

Jeff: "In my day we didn't have paint thinner, and if we wanted to huff, we had to use 'possum ass in a jar."

Me: "In my day we didn't have porn. No. If I wanted to watch a little action I had to smear bacon grease on my wife's backside and then let the dog's in the house."

THAT got a huge laugh and let me tell you, if you have never received a big laugh from something you have said on stage (or at the dinner table or at the office) then it is hard to describe the rush that goes through your body. I can totally understand how comedians say that performing for them is like a drug.

It is addictive.

I did have a brain-fart during the second half of the show. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention. But you move on and try to do better. And you pay attention. And then the other players take you out back and beat you within an inch of your life with a wiffle bat.

We were all running on all cylinders last night. All the games worked and the audience (which was pretty damn big, almost every table was full) was getting their money's worth.

And you know what else was nice? Seeing the faces of my friends in the audiences. Of course my girlfriend was there. I would not let her see my first show. Just a little superstition of mine. But she was there last night surrounded by our friends who are regular performers at comedysportz.

I heard some familiar voices calling out suggestions and I heard familiar laughs (nobody laughs like Jenni or Stacey..nobody)...they have these great, genuine, hearty laughs, and hearing them and knowing they were out there made me want to perform that much better.

Our show was divided into two halves and each half had some really high moment. We ended the show with Chain Murder....with 3 SECONDS TO SPARE.

Nice job, Guys.

We each took our bows and the audience gave us a hearty round of applause.

I received a few high-fives from complete strangers, but more importantly, I got a kiss from my lady (who told me I didn't suck all that much-she was kidding-she's a kidder that one!) and great reviews from my friends.

It took a while for me to slow down after show last night and I think I could have gone on for another hour. Some of the guys and I sat on or around the stage and enjoyed a cold beverage (thank you Marybeth for buying that first round!) I think the guys were very happy with the way the evening had gone. It was a good show. Nobody was arrested. Nobody died. There were lots of laughs. And no one farted on stage.


I'm genuinely sorry that comedysportz is closing (that's a whole other blog) because it is a great venue for improv. And I wish I had started doing this earlier but things happen for a reason. It's taken me a long time to realize that. BUT they do though.

The important thing is that I am enjoying myself. I get to play once a week and go a little crazy and flex my brain and maybe get some laughs in the process.

ALL IN ALL...I think I am a pretty lucky guy.

I don't know where this whole improv thing is going to take me. Maybe nowhere. Maybe festivals in other states. Maybe national television. Maybe the moon. Who knows? You're just going to have to stay tuned.

I'm pretty much making this stuff up as I go along. I am improvisor.

THAT'S what I do.

and that's jody with a "y"

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Starts with an "F".....Rhymes with Duck


Released in 2005, the movie FUCK, uses the word "fuck" 824 times in 93 minutes. That means someone said the word "fuck" every 8.86 minutes.

Released in 2007, Nil By Mouth came in a close second with 428 uses in 128 minutes. Casino, the only movie out of the above three I've seen by the way, used the "F" word 398 times in 178 minutes. I'm pretty sure 300 of those occurrences could be attributed to Joe Pesci's character.

fuck me.
fuck you. fuck them. fuck it. fuck that. fuck this. fuck it all. for fuck's sake. what the fuck? you lousy fuck. wanna fuck? fuck off. fuck up. who the fuck? where the fuck? why the fuck? you're fucked. i fucked up. I FUCKING LOVE YOU. i fucking hate you. are you fucking crazy? oh FUCK.

WikipediA defines the word thusly:
"Fuck is a word that refers to having sexual intercourse; it is used in a wide variety of English slang and is generally considered vulgar."

Fuck is a verb.
Wanna fuck? Go fuck yourself.

Fuck is a noun.
You're a stupid fuck, you know that don't you, Bill? Who gives a fuck?

George Carlin listed fuck as one of the 7 words you will never hear on television.

(i'm gonna stop saying it now. sorry mom.)

Well, you sort of hear it these days-BLEEPED-but you WHAT know the person is saying. So Carlin was maybe-half right? But let's clarify-it's not television actors on shows like House or CSI. No. Its those people on reality television. Seen an episode of Hell's Kitchen? Chef Gordon Ramsey certainly gives the guy with the bleep button a good work out. Ramsey uses the "F" word as just another ingredient as he screams at the chef-testants. I guess it makes for good tv. Makes for a lousy cooking show, but that's not why people watch. They watch to see how many times Ramswy is going to yell at one of the schmoe's (who, honestly, would have a hard time handling an EasyBake Oven) and how many times he says the word f***. I actually heard that college students have turned Ramsey's f***-laden tirades into a drinking game. If Gordon says f***, then you have to do a shot. God I miss college.

Ironically, the "f" in the title of Ramsey's new show on the BBC, The "F" Word, refers to food and not f***. He still curses though. Quite a f****** lot!

Yes. The word f*** is vulgar.

But, sometimes, it's the only word to use when you are feeling a certain way.

Angry? Sad? Happy? Horny? Apathetic?

F*** works for all of them.

There is the shock value, but that's the point. You don't just use the word and not expect to get a reaction. You're using it because you want the people you are addressing to understand that what you are saying is important. You are passionate about your message, whether you are telling someone you love them or if you telling someone to turn down their music.

It's okay. Just don't get carried away with yourself. Because then you sound like a crazed idiot...


Moderation is the answer. Just like with everything else. Don't make a pig of yourself.

F. U. C. K.

Those four little letters say so much. You add the word fuck (or any form of the word fuck) to anything you want to say and you have taken your thought to another level.

You're a genius!
You're a fucking genius!

There is power there, and as Peter Parker learned, with great power comes great responsibility.


If someone calls you a moron-you will probably let it bounce off you and you will go on with your life. If someone calls you a f***ing moron-believe me-you are going to take that personally and probably retort with "Oh yeah. Well f*** you too!"

Admit it. It's the first word that comes to mind when you realize that you've driven three hours to the beach and left the cooler sitting on the porch.

It's the first word that comes to mind when that policeman, who has been tailing you for the last twenty minutes-just waiting to pounce on you because you have an expired inspection sticker on your windshield-finally decides to pull you over. As soon as the red lights flash-you say it.


I'm pretty sure the Captain of the Titanic said it. He said it in a British accent, of course, but he said it. And somehow, with his accent, it probably sounded just a little less obscene.

I don't know the origin of the word f***.

Wikipedia lists the word as possibly having Germanic roots.

Ah. Leave it to the Germans. Mozart. Beethoven. The hamburger. Heidi Klum. The word f***. And by the way, it is mere coincidence that those last two thoughts were side by side.

It's funny really that someone researched the origins of the word f***. You're tax dollars at work folks.

I'm not a vulgarian by any sense of the word but I do use the word. If you have never used it and I'm saying NEVER-and saying FUDGE doesn't count-BECAUSE although you said fudge-you were thinking f***.

Would The Sopranos have been as good had Tony used the word fudge or freakin' ? F*** no. The word f*** was part of the fabric of that culture and of those characters. It was as important to the show as the sets and the costumes.

Tony (original dialogue) "All due respect, you got no f*****' idea what it's like to be Number One. Every decision you make affects every facet of every other f*****' thing. It's too much to deal with almost. And in the end you're completely alone with it all. "

Tony (de-fucked) "All due respect, you got no fudgin' idea what it's like to be Number One. Every decision you make affects every facet of every other fudgin' thing. It's too much to deal with almost. And in the end you're completely alone with it all.

As far as context in movies is concerned, I appreciate a well-placed f***. It can add to the drama or the absurdity of the situation. I don't like the random, out-of-place usage of the "F" word. It has to have a context.

There are some scenes though, throughout the history of cinema, where the use of the "F" word would have been brilliant.

Clark Gable, in Gone With The Wind, said "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

(And that was considered offensive!)

You know what he really want to say to Scarlett. Don't you?
C'mon. Say it with me.

"Frankly my dear. I don't give a f***."

Felt good, didn't it?

Roy Scheider, as Chief Brody in Jaws, said we what we were all thinking.
"We're gonna need a bigger boat."

You could see it in his eyes though.
"We're gonna need a bigger, f****** boat."

Lazy screenwriting is to blame a lot of the times for the over-use of the word f***.

Don't know what your character should say? What the Hell? Just type the word f***. Believe me, I've seen my share of movies where I became tired of hearing the word. I have. I don't care if you don't believe me.

For some actors, saying the word f*** is as natural as breathing in and breathing out.

I called them the bombardiers.

Joe Pesci is a bombardier.

As Tommy in Scorcese's Goodfellas: "Who the f*** cares? I'll dig the f******' hole. I don't give a f***. What is it, the first hole I dug? Not the first time I dug a hole. I'll f*****' dig a hole. Where are the shovels?"

Samuel L. Jackson is the grandmaster...he's the Obi-Wan Kenobi...sorry. what's that you say?

(Yes. I know he was Mace Windoo in the Star Wars movies. OBI-WAN was on a higher level than Mace-in my opinion. I was trying to make the point that he is a really high-level bombardier. Jeez. Let it go. It was just a movie! F****** geeks.)

Sam's the man. I'm pretty sure that if he ever sent me a birthday card, it would read "HAPPY F****** BIRTHDAY....MOTHER F*****."

Jackson uses the word f*** as any great artist uses their medium. Is it Shakespeare? No. But that's okay. He's Sam Jackson. And you cut him slack. Shit. you'd better cut him some f****** slack, mother*******.

As Neville Flynn in Snakes on a Plane, "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherf****** snakes on this motherf****** plane!

SIDE NOTE: The only person who comes close to using the F-word as much as Joe Pesci and Samuel L. Jackson do, is Barbara Walters-but she has got to have at least 6 Jack and Cokes in her before she starts straffing the set of The View with F-bombs.

I think the word fuck has become commonplace. Everyone uses it in every day conversation. THAT doesn't mean you can...or...should...go all Al Pacino in Scarface when their..ordering at the drive-thru

"I want a f****ing burger with no f****ing pickles, a f****ing shake, chocolate none of that f****ing strawberry, some f****ing fries and they had better be f****ing hot, and a coke with not so much f****ing ice in it cause last time you put so much f****ing ice in my f****ing coke there wasn't any f****ing coke in it....thanks very f****ing much..."

That would silly. And rude. And uneccessary. So as I was saying, there is a time and place.

There's nothing wrong with it. It has its place. I'm more offended by the word g-damnit. And I really try not to use that one. It's offensive. And you're thinking right about now that it's strange that I would draw a line. There is a line. There is vulgar and there is profane. It has to be handled properly. Saying the word f*** is like farting. You have to know WHERE and WHEN so you don't offend people.


AND If you don't like it-you can go....

I'm kidding. But you see what I did there? F****** hilarious, wasn't it?

Children should not use the word f***. I don't think its cute to teach little kids bad words.

F*** should not be used in a professional setting.
"Nice f****** presentation, Doug. You wiley f***, you."

F*** should not be used or for that matter tolerated in school.

Unless you absolutely don't give a flying f*** about other people's feelings, you should pay attention to who you are talking to if you are going to say the word f***.

F*** me. I mean. If the world needs anything right now, it is just some good old fashioned manners.

But there is the matter of freedom of speech. This is America. So if you really need to use the word f*** to express how you feel....then by all means....

bombs away!!

I don't know.

Maybe we have all become a little desensitized to the use of the word f***.

We certainly don't live in Victorian times, and between what we see on our computers and on our televisions, there is very little that can shock us these days....aside from the atrocities of war and the horrors we watch on the evening news. So with all that is going on in the world, is it really so bad that we curse a little....or a lot?

I'm just asking the question.

And to be honest....I'm having one of those days today. I'm a little pissed off.

And I just felt like saying FUCK....a whole lot.

that's jody with a "y"