Sex Klub

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Hot Bartenders -- A New Guy Rule

Last night was poker night again. The conversation steered towards bartenders. I am not talking about those dudes that listen to us blabber and keep our glasses full. Hell no!! That would be boring, and a little strange for a bunch of guys to be talking about. We started talking about those super Hottie bartenders that are so prevalent in the local drinking establishments all over the country. I am talking about the ladies that could work at Hooters during the day and then bartend at some club during the night. These babes are incredible.

Before I get to the meat and potatoes of this blog, let me ask the guys a question. Would you rather hire a bartender that can mix every known drink on the planet and do all those fancy schmancy bartending tricks that Tom Cruise did in "Cocktail" or would you rather hire the hot babe with the boob job and the perfect ass?? Come on… this shouldn't take too long. There you go!! Of course you would hire the Hottie. That is why "Coyote Ugly" is one of the best movies of all time!!

Anyway, the guys started talking about trying to pick up some of these hottie bartenders in the clubs around town. I couldn't believe my ears!! These guys are so naïve, I felt sorry for them (Most of them are at least 4 or 5 years younger, Shit, I feel like a wiseman)

After several of the guys had spent about 15 minutes rambling on about their failed attempts to pick up these goddesses of alcohol, I had to jump in. I informed them that it ain't going to happen. "How do I know?" was asked. Well, let me tell you.

When I lived in Austin, I was lucky enough to date a hot bartender and sometimes shot girl (No, we didn't meet in the bar). I dated her off and on for over a year. It was about the third week we were dating and I told her I was going to stop by the club she was working at. She sat me down and said "Don't get mad or jealous when you see me there."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. She proceeded to tell me all about her life as being a female bartender. She told me how she wears her tightest jean-shorts and a tight shirt that showed her ample bosom. She told me how she would flirt with the guys, listen to them, tell them they were cute, do shots with them, etc. She would come home with the phone numbers of 4 or 5 guys and crumple them up and toss them in the trash. Why did she do this? For the $$$. On a good Friday or Saturday night, she could make $300+ in tips. She guessed that she made close to $1000 a week in tips. Hell, that is more than I make and I have a master's degree!! (BTW: She went on to become a bartender at the Coyote Ugly in Austin. If you ever watched the Coyote Ugly search on CMT, she was on there. Still working there last I heard. If you go there, tell Cheryl that Eric says Hi from Iowa. She may laugh or slap you, so be careful)

You see, a bartender plays the male species just like a stripper does. They tell listen to us, they tell us we are hot and are good dancers, they drink with us, they laugh at our lame jokes, and always have a huge smile (If you ever actually get to look at their face).

So, the meat and potatoes of this blog is a new Man Rule. This rule will be official for all guys that go to bars and clubs with Hot as Hell bartenders. That rule is: Hot Chick Bartender is Not Going to Fuck You.

Seriously. I know this. Not only did I date a bartender, I also have tried to pick up numerous Hooter type bartenders. After 6 beers and a few Jack and Cokes, I'm drooling over the chica behind the bar, telling her for the hundreth time that I'm crazy about her and want to start a family with her or at the very least, bury my head between her legs for a good half hour. And when I stop to take a sip, or breathe, or sometimes vomit, there are six other guys who chime in with the same gameplan.

See, the bartender is the only woman in the bar who has to talk to us guys. At least, she has to acknowledge us. No one else has any such obligation. So the bartender hears it. And if she's ridiculously hot, like our friend in the photo above, she hears it non-stop, start of the shift right up to last call. Drunken idiots in our Old Navy shirts, thinking we can score the babe who's working the tap. Or that we're the first guy in the world who's told her that joke or complimented her on her ridiculously tight, round ass. Or that we're the only dude she's ever shown that tattoo.

But in the end, it's always the same. Her Levi's get stuffed with tips. I walk out with nothin' but a headache. And a raging hard-on. And it's go home, puke, take the intravenous Vitamin C, H2O and aspirin exlixir, then come back again tomorrow because I'm sure she'll eventually cave. We men never learn!!!

Vegas Baby Vegas

This one is a long one, but entertaining. It happened in 2001 and was posted on my previous website (Which has since disappeared thanks to a crappy server that couldnt do anything right!!) Anyway, enjoy!!!

Now, this actually started on a Saturday afternoon, but ended Sunday morning, so I figure this could be a drunk on Sunday story.

Vegas, ca. 2001: Its Saturday around 2pm, and we've just left Circus Circus. Have you ever been there? I have mixed feelings on the place. First off, it's like a second rate casino in the middle of babylon. But damn if that clown out front doesn't really pressure you into going in. He looks happy and jubilant, but there is no question that he is forcefully directing you to game at the Circus Circus Casino.

Well, we really couldn't keep ourselves from going in and gambling. Hell, you're in Vegas, what else is there? I could have spent the new millennium in Vegas, and had someone asked how it was, my response would have been something like "man, I had a hard 16 and the dealer dealt me a 5, it was incredible."

There were three of us. Somehow the 20 people that had shown up for our friend's bachelor party just werent around at this point. I'm sure we could have found them on some table somewhere. Hell we just drove up from Texas to crash the party, and the third in our particular party had flown in from San Francisco for the gig.

Anyway, we had some drinks while playing blackjack, which I believe we were all up. Interesting comment by the Pit Boss, "Man, I never put more than 10.00 gas in my car. If gas was 10.00/gallon, I'd have to keep stopping to put in another gallon." I dont know why, but that comment has been stuck in my head for a year. Anyway, I digress.

Have you ever checked out the big Circus tent, The Adventuredome, in Circus Circus? Dude, it's like an amusement park. This was my first time visiting Circus Circus in Vegas (Even though I had been to Vegas at least 20 times before, I never wanted to lower myself to that place). I had been to Reno where some kind blackjack dealer gave us the low down on the ranches in the area, but Ive never seen anything like this. As Ice Cube would say "I was getting overwhelmed by Bebe's kids."

After winning some deformed coffee mug at some contest, and enjoying a good hot dog, I had to get the hell out of that place, so we took the glasses our drinks were in (which I could serve you out of if you humbled me with your presence at my pad) and took off.

Down to the Bellagio, for no real apparent reason. But what we discovered was the backdoor to Vegas. You know how they give you free drinks when you gaming, which sometimes can come to about 20.00/drink if you're not careful? Well, we hit the Sportsbook in the Bellagio for some gambling on the ponies.

First off, if you go at the right time, you're one of only a handful of people there. Secondly, the Bellagio has the hottest waitress' in the world, I'm convinced of that fact, and they're in plenty, which is even better.

So, what you can do is sit there and bet a couple dollars on the ponies here and there over the course of say 5 hours, and get free drinks all the while you're there. So you get loaded at very little or no cash expense to yourself.

Well, we sat there for a good while getting loaded. One waitress would come by every 10 minutes, and I must say I still talk about that girl with fond admiration and as a level of beauty which I compare others too. God Bless her mother and father for bringing her into this world. Of course, it could have been the drinking, but I'm sticking with my original story.

Another waitress would come by every 10 minutes, but staggered between the other girls stops. Now, my buddy Brent and I could not help but to get a drink every time she stopped by. Hell, why wouldn't you? It's free (for the most part). I'll never forget seeing his eyes when he realized that we could get shots for free from them. It was as if he was seeing for the first time. It was beautiful to be there for that moment.

After tying a really good one on (Im sure my speech was slurring badly at this point) I met up with a friend of mine at the poker tables. He's an old buddy of mine from my band days back in Texas, and I know anytime I'm in Vegas, he'll be at the Bellagio Poker Room. It's a given.

We drank some more as we played some blackjack. The local native friend of mine had gotten drilled for about a grand in 20 minutes, so he left in a hurry and we bid adieu. However, I was doing okay on my table, and we were having more and more drinks.

This is where I found out that Hasim Rachman had knocked out Lennox Lewis down in South Africa to take the heavyweight title, at 15-1 odds no doubt. Damn I was an idiot for not taking the gamble on that one, but who would really?

So we get drunker. I like to think that there should be a term called Vegas Drunk. Because drinking in Vegas is like drinking nowhere else in the world. You don't know you're drunk, can't tell what time it is, how drunk you are, how dumb you are. I mean, Vegas really knows what theyre doing to shadow your senses to your own stupidity. But damn, I love it so.

We leave the Bellagio drunk as a skunk and head over to Paris Casino across the road. Along the way, one of us comes up with the brilliant plan: "I think it's time to bet big." Now, saying this to some drunken gamers is an easy way to test the limits of your pocketbook quickly. I think it's about 9pm now, and we're stumbling across the road.

Going into the Paris Casino through Bally's Walking Escalator one will become hypnotized...you sit there on this escalator going into the casino as a soothing voice says out speakers "close your eyes, listen to my voice. Today you're going to win like you've never won before."

I don't know why we didn't bet at Bally's because I know that guy was right, but we went to Paris, which is adjoining Bally's. By the way, did you know that if you ever want to see anything in the world, you can find it in Vegas? I saw the Eiffel Tower there, and now I have no reason to travel across the Atlantic.

So we "bet big" at Paris. "Betting big" is a relative term, but to us that meant about 100.00 hands in blackjack. After about 20 minutes I was down about 800.00 and pretty pissed off. Time to hit the craps table.

But before the craps table, I had to take care of some business in the world-class bathrooms there. I recommend the Paris Casino for all your toilet needs while you're in Vegas.

However, as a drunk might do, I walked out of the bathroom and through the casino with toilet paper on my shoes, trailing me as I walked around. The only reason I could finally figure out what everyone is looking at was my friend's laughing so hard at me. They usually don't laugh that hard, so a quick perusal of my person found the problem. Hell, it was pretty funny for me.

Well, I called some girl a whore at the craps table. I think that was rock bottom for me that evening. She didn't deserve it, and I apologized, but the French inspired Paris Casino had the manners and pissy attitude of the French, and I was getting drilled left and right. I wasn't sure how I was going to pay for the ride home to be honest.

On our way back to the MGM Grand, where I had room on the floor of a room reserved for the bachelor party, we decided to do shots at every bar we could find. Now, in Vegas there are a lot of bars. I remember dancing to some crap at some casino somewhere at some point.

We stopped at every place and did Tequila and Jaggermeister everywhere. Not a good combo. We had no idea what time it was, where we were, or what was really going on. I do remember the Monte Carlo. I swear to this day that a Steve Martin look-alike was working behind the bar, but my companions disagreed with me on that one. When I asked him about it, he said that he never heard that before. I'm sticking to my story though.

This Steve Martin look alike advised us that if we wanted to locate some women that we'd probably want to go to this brewery in the Monte Carlo Casino, so off we went. My buddy Brent and I went in, showed our ID's and went on in. Both of us commented on how hard they had carded us, but went in and ordered three Alabama Slammers.

Waiting for our buddy Matt to come on in got tiresome, so we offered his shot to one of the girl's that were milling around us. Conversing with the girls, they asked where our other friend was. We nonchalantly, half joking but half serious, said, "oh, he's probably being detained by the cops, or in jail, but we're not really sure."

A couple minutes later Matt showed up, pissed as all can be, talking about how the cops detained him at the door. I can not do justice to his anger at that particular moment, so I won't try, but he went on to explain what happened: They took my ID and claimed it wasn't me, and then waved some cops over. They had be backed up to a wall, and 4 cops surrounded me. they kept questioning me about when I graduated (then proceeded to say I couldn't graduate that year) and all about everything. Man I was so pissed. I thought about trying to break my way out, but I didn't.

I wish I could do justice to the pleasure the story gave me at the time, but I cannot. I hardly remember all of it.

We went on down the street making our way to the MGM. Somehow, a group of about 4 guys were really enamored with us, and said that they wanted to buy us drinks down at Mandalay Bay. I'm always down for free drinks, but there was also a Fatburger along the way. So, I ran across the street and saw my life flash in front of my eyes as a car came flying around the corner. Dude, I had to jump out of they way of that car, and had I not jumped, I'm sure an extended stay in a Las Vegas hospital would have been in order.

But I got my fatburger and rootbeerfloat, ate it on the curb on the strip and headed back down to the MGM where the other guys were. Found them on the tables, gambled a bit and then to the bar again.

It was about 4-5am at this point, and we went into some argument about the fight (Lewis rachman). At this point I thought about trying to pick up one of the nice ladies sitting at the bar to go back to my room with me, but the thought of where (there were 10 people staying in the hotel room) to take care of business evaded my capabilities at that point.

Of course, I can't even be sure if they would have gone, and a slap could have happened with any kind try...I don't know how all that works anyway.

So I went to sleep on the floor of the hotel room. Woke up the next morning, made a lot of my money back the hour before we left, Brent and I got in my pickup and made the long drive back to Texas after dropping Phil off at the Airport.

Vegas, I love you!

Roppongi -- Japan's Answer to Bourbon St.

Thought I would start postiing some of my travel adventures. I have been to South America, Central America, Asia, the Middle East, and parts of Africa. I was one of those backpacking crazies right after I graduated from college. This is one I wrote in 1997 after I got back from Asia.

Love it, hate it, loathe it, leave it: Roppongi is undenialibly a people magnet. Perhaps it doesn't attract the most savory of characters, but it cannot be denied that all walks of life rub elbows and more in Roppongi unlike anywhere else in Japan. To me, this is the Asian version of New Orleans' Bourbon Street. Wild, Crazy, Sexy, and Sultry.

What is Roppongi. Roppongi is Tokyo's little den of sin for ready-to-go gaijins and adventurous Japanese. Its humble origins date back to 400 years ago when it was a quiet little temple town with nary a vice to its name. Tragedy seems to be in Roppongi's blood as it has faced ravaging fires, WWII bombs, and drunken foreigners puking all over it during its long questionable past. Its party reputation began a hundred years or so ago, when Japanese soldiers were quartered there and, as it usually happens around young men with money and testosterone to spare, a sordid night-life sprung slowly into life. The US military continued this fine tradition in Roppongi after WWII.

These days, a night in Roppongi can be spent fending off the lusty advances of horny Nigerians, frustrated sailors, and pent up marines, and those are the guys. The girls there are crazy. Some are prostitutes, trolling for their next trick. Other women go there to find a tourist and have a little fling. For the young male out on the prowl, he has to run the alluring but annoying gamut of the massage girls. Shouting: "Massagee! Massagee!", they love to rush out to grab any passing single male and not let go until their victims have either given in or brutally fought them off. There are nightclubs that have nothing but "working women" in them. Then there are the legit clubs where the young and horny crowd go to hook up for free. There are gay clubs, transvestite clubs, clubs for old people. You name it, you can find it.

The night is a friend to Roppongi and its inhabitants of party-goers and pleasure-seekers. The streets are seemingly filled with beautiful people stumbling about in a wonderful haze as they hop from club to club. In rich rolling Nigerian accents, club hawkers call out to the passing crowds inviting them to clubs that promise to be packed with fun and people. Perhaps its the blinding flashing lights, the blaring music, or the alcohol but the insides of the popular clubs do seem to boast a population of the most incredibly good looking charismatic people who simply personify the word "cool".

Some nights, however, just aren't a good time to visit - though some sour critics would say that there is never a good night to visit Roppongi. I went there for the first time on New Years Eve 1996. Nearly the entire crew contingent of the USS Kittyhawk aircraft carrier was there to meet, compete, and throw-up on me. It was wall-to-wall testosterone. Roppongi on that New Year's would have been a lovely place to go if you were female or gay. Unfortunately, I was a single male. Bad Luck!!

I went club hopping with some friends I had met up with. A couple of them were from Japan, the others were Europeans. I got incredibly drunk and had repeated run ins with the Navy Guys. They were being assholes to everyone. I understand they are cooped up on a ship for months at a time, but they need to chill out when they come to shore. They were only looking for poontang or to get in a fight. I did stay out of any fights that night, although I probably saw at least 7 or 8 different fights throughout the night. Around 3 AM, I met some girl at a club and we started dancing. We decided to hook up, but she lived about an hour away and my hotel would not allow foreigners to bring women in (Stupid rule!!!)

Anyway, the Roppongi district has this covered. They have a number of seedy little hotels that rent rooms by the hour for horny party-goers. Being New Years, there was actually a line at most of these. We waited about 25 minutes for a room, and went in and had our fun. We stayed there till about 6:30 AM.

The danger of Roppongi, and there are many, is staying too long. If you do not hook up early and get out of there or you miss your last train, you will be in danger of seeing the horror that is Roppongi in the morning. Although I found my girl, the sun was already peaking over the rooftops when we left the hotel. She went her way and I stumbled to find my way to the subway station.

MY GOD!!! My first thoughts were that I had stepped into a disaster area. The morning is not a friend to Roppongi. In fact, its downright cruel. Daylight hits Roppongi with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Morning shatters all the glamour, egos, and illusions that was given by the night.

In the morning, the beautiful cool people you were just grooving with are suddenly replaced by a bunch of haggard hung-over hags and trolls. Rushing out into the streets doesn't save you either as the streets are choked with packs of shambling, stumbling walking dead. In the shadows, pale party-goers avoid sunlight like quaking vampires by seeking the darker recesses of the subways lest they explode in a noxious cloud of bone and dust. The sidewalk is covered with piss and vomit. The area smells like a sewer.

I stumble to the subway station, all the while holding my sleeve over my nose to block out the noxious fumes. In the bowels of the subway station, the survivors of the night are huddled like war-weary third world refugees as they await the train that will carry them away from this hell. Very few are capable of standing. Most are passed out in theirs or somebody else's filth. Those few who are conscious stare into the void with bleary, blood-shot eyes like shell-shock war veterans who have been too long up at the Front.

I told myself: "Never Again!" as I lurched for the train along with the rest of the wretched masses yearning for escape. Of course, I caved the next night and went straight back to this crazy purgatory of pleasure.

The Broken Hand

Well we were partying it up at the bar, and needless to say I was pretty blasted and apparentely I punched a chair and then tried to karate chop a pool table....later on in the evening I somehow went home. I have no idea how. I wake up in the morning with my hand just throbbing and feeling rather like it is shattered!! I look at my hand only to find a sock over my hand with a clenched fist and duct tape wrapped up to my elbow as a make shift cast!! Don't remember doing this, but it gets better! So I get up to go to the can and find my clothes all over the floor on the way to the washroom and in the hallway there is a bag of pitas! Where the hell do you get a bag of pita bread at 3 in the morning!! So I decide to go to the hospital and have my hand looked at. I get dressed and head out to my car. It isnt out there. I lived in an apartment complex so I start walking all over the parking lot to find the car, but no luck. I say screw it and I take the bus to the hospital. People are staring at me since I have a sock with duct tape on me and I look like death!!! I finally make it to the hospital and my hand is broken in two places. I call my friends to pick me up and we go back to the place of the party and find my car. A fun night that I don't remember!

Good ol' Drunk College Sex

This story happened my soph. year at UT. Sept. 1990

There's nothing special about this story except that...IT WAS ONE OF THE LUCKIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE. I do consider myself something of a ladies man. I am not ashamed to admit it. A week ago I was drunk and there were about six drunk girls at my friend Robert's pad. There was this fine blond girl with a nice rack and a blue mini-skirt who I later found out was named Marina and was one of the pom-pom girls for the UT basketball team. JACKPOT!!

Rob told me to go for it and I started trying to make my plan of attack. A girl this hot has been hit on everyway possible. I had to come up with something new. I went to the kitchen to take a couple shots a fucking miracle happened. I walked in and the girl was crying her ass off. Okay, I know, not what you call a Christmas miracle or anything, but I knew this was my chance to play up the nice friendly gentleman card.

I asked her what was wrong and she told me that her boyfriend was fucking some other girl so they broke up a week ago. Being kinda drunk I guess she just broke down so I invited her to take a couple shots with me. We took a shot of JD and vodka and I told her she could hang out in my room until she felt better. She took my advice and I told her I would check on her in like 10 minutes.

When I went in to check on her she was on my computer watching some porn of a blond chick giving a bj that I was jerking it to earlier. What a fucking moron. I left that shit on my queue in Winamp. I ran over, apologized, and reached over to shut it off, but this fine ass drunk girl just turned to me and said "I can do that way better than that."

I bet that she couldn't and after a bit of coaxing she was sucking my cock while I had a bottle of Jim Beam in my hand. Rob knocked on the door in the middle of it to see that we were okay and I yelled that we were sleeping. Then this girl started going wild and asked me to fuck her "as hard as I could." I happily obliged and had some of the best sex I have ever had in my entire young life. The next morning I woke up at around noon and she was gone. I haven't talked to her since, but drunk ass college sex is exactly why I came to school. God damn I need to get laid more.

Courtyard Pool Orgy

This one happened on West Campus in September 1991.Austin, TX

There is a student apartment complex in West Campus called Orange Tree, right by frat row. I was over at a buddy of mine's house drinking with a bunch of people, and we just opened the door so people could go in and out to smoke. In stumble these three trashed sorority pledges (their house is right next door). One's hot, one's cute, the other one looked cute with beer goggles. Talk about easy pickins! My buddy Brett was already talking closely with the hot one, leaving the other two.

About 8-10 drinks later, cute and beer goggles start talking about how much they like to kiss each other. I say jokingly "I'd pay a dollar to see that," to which I got an unexpected "sure!" in reply. At this point I'm pondering how I can best take advantage of these sorostitutes, and quickly add that I'll throw in another buck if I can join in, and they went along with that too. I gave them 2 bucks and started making out with both of them at the same time. At this point many of my friends were pleasantly surprised (and impressed) at this turn of events.

Now, we are all drunk off our asses and I see the girls are getting super horny!! I make my move and I convinced them to get in the pool, at the time inhabited only by one lone couple we didn't know. I was with the two girls and start to finger bang both of them while Brett makes out with the third one. My one friend didn't have one, so I pushed one away and gave her to him. Before you know it, I'm screwing the one I have left, my two friends are with theirs, and the couple in the pool are going at it. This pool is in the dead center of the courtyard, everyone's front doors face it. So as 2:30 rolled around people who were getting home from 6th Street, started walking by and cheering on the orgy in the pool. After the pool orgy, we all parted ways. I took my girl back to my place and we screwed till about 6 am.

I woke up the next morning and remembered the pool event, but I was shocked to find the girl in the apartment. I didnt even remember her name, so I rummaged through her purse that was in the living room and found her drivers license (I didnt want to look like a bad guy). Glad I did. She woke up and had no clue where she was, though she did remember the pool. I dont think she knew my name either and she seemed a little embarrassed cause I kept calling her by her name and she would just call me baby or some other generic name. We took a shower together and screwed again, then I took her home. Best $2 I ever spent, period.

Screw Jello Shots. Bring me some Gummy Bears!!

I went to a few parties last weekend in Austin. It was pretty much the typical college party scene. It really hasn't changed much since I graduated. But I did discover something new. On Friday night, I was at a party that had gummy bears and other stuff . I found out Jello shots are starting to fade away. "Jello shots are fun, but it's a process to make them AND another process to eat them. They get all messy, leave your hands sticky, and they are just a paini in the ass" I was told by some young party goer. So that is how I discovered an alternative to those slippery, fruity drunk-makers. Gummy candy soaked in vodka, or everclear.

This party had gummy worms soaked in vodka. Then, they brought out some gummy bears soaked in everclear. Those little guys pack a serious alcohol punch but they're sweet and easy going down.

Saturday morning, we found some gummy bears at the house we were staying at. So I decided to give it whirl myself. I filled up a plastic container with enough vodka to submerge them. Then I just let it sit for about 10 hours. The bears went from small and hard to bloated and gushy is no time. They soaked up all the liquid nicely so nothing was wasted. They were perfect to take to the football game. No alcohol allowed, but they would never make us trash gummy bears. We filled up a few bags full of them and it worked. We were the hit of our section!! They are so addicting. People at the game were getting buzzed off of nothing but gummy bears.

These things make a great party starter. I highly recommend bringing booze soaked gummies to the next party you attend. And anytime you need to sneak some booze in somewhere, like a football game, movie theater, a boring college course on a Friday afternoon, bring some of these. They are guaranteed to get you started.

Beer Goggles

This was somebody from one of the parties this weekend (At least I think so. My buddy E sent it with our Austin Pics).

Anyway, I need a pair of those. I MEAN THE GLASSES!!!!

Pole-A-Palooza!!! Can I be a Judge???

This is my kind of contest!!! Sign me up as a judge. Here are some pics a friend sent me. He said it was great, Lucky bastard was in Vegas for a wedding and went to it.

Girls Kissing Girls

Earlier today, I posted something about the new phenomenon about girls getting drunk and then takin pictures of themselves dry humping other girls. In it, I mention another phenomenon sweeping the web. Pictures of chicks kissing each other.

I remember back in the day, when the only place you could see two chicks kissing was a porno tape? Now it's happening everywhere, having made the quantum leap from my twisted fantasies to the next booth over at the TGI Fridays.

Look outside your window. Chicks are kissing. In the bars, the dance clubs, the shopping malls, the casinos, the pancake house. MySpace is filled with chicks kissing other chicks. This is a world in which chicks will grab other chicks and kiss them square on the mouth. And, here's the thing: many of them are not gay. I would venture most of them are straight or bi. Which means they are still on the market for all of us guys!!!!

These are magical, magical times for people who like watching women kiss. And I am one of those people. So I am extremely giddy in this new age of girls kissing each other.

Why do they do it? I'm not sure, but I'm certain the response it provokes is a factor. This stuff works like kryptonite, bringing grown men to their knees, forcing them to remove their wallets, keep the rounds of drinks coming, and stretch out their hands while exclaiming to the heavens, "Fuck, god almighty, thank you for girls who kiss other girls."

The only exception is when the women in liplock are over the age of 78. This is simply disturbing. (I was unfortunate enough to see this firsthand when two older ladies were walking in Valley Junction. I think they thought no one was looking.) But hot, young, vibrant chicks kissing? Man, that's the stuff. And by "the stuff," I mean, "thing I want to see happening as much as humanly possible." Keep it coming, ladies, and, as always, the next round's on me. I mean it!!! If I see any of you ladies out at a bar, just come on over, kiss your friend, and I will by you both a round of drinks!!!

Drunk Humping

This morning, I'd like to salute one of my favorite barroom and/or keg party phenomenons: the photo of two girls pretending to hump each other. Anyone who's ever participated in such merriment, feel free to raise your hand.

In the second half of 2006, I fully expect this sort of photo to surpass the obligatory "girls showing off their thongs" and "frat guys putting balls on passed out guy's head" as the single most popular party souvenir. It is already starting to gain popularity on MySpace. I would rank its occurrence behind girls-kissing-girls, but in a dead heat with the thongs.



Nice!!! I am definitely not complaining!!! Any ladies that have some good party humping fotos, let me know.

Jenga Drinking Game

I had a surprise Birthday party Friday night. We sat around and drank huge amounts of alcohol and played drinking games. We played some of the basics; quarters, three man, kings, etc.

One of my buddies found Jenga at the house. He enlightened us to a wonderful drinking game. It was an instant hit. Some of you may have encountered this before, others prepare to be enlightened. I think everyone fell in love with this game. We asked the name of the game and he had no idea. So we just call it "Drinking Jenga."

It starts with a regular old wooden Jenga set, same old boring pull-and-stack action. Take a marker, and on the underside of each piece write a drinking rule, the kind of stuff you'd find in Kings or Circle of Death or whatever your particular group of friends calls the game. "Drink two," "Guys drink," "Make a rule," "Person to right drinks three," etc.

From there it's pretty self-explanatory: pull a Jenga piece, execute the rule, place it back on top, move to the next person. Whoever knocks over the tower has to perform some kind of drinking feat, whether it's shotgunning a beer, doing a nasty shot - be creative.

It's a nice change from the same old dice and card games, and as you can imagine, the pulling/stacking action gets a little more interesting as the drinks start flowing. My favorite rule so far, which I will definitely be adding to my list of Kings/Jenga/etc. rules, is the "five-minute power hour." For the uninformed, during a power hour the participants drink a shot of beer every minute for an hour - the five minute version being, well, is five minutes long.

ENJOY!!!!

A possible Crazy Friday night heads South in a hurry

So last Friday, it's one of the teachers birthdays at school. We are all teaching summer school and, against my better judgment, I head out after work with a couple folks for a quick celebratory beverage. When I get there, I notice that I'm the only guy. In the dark recesses of my mind, this is the sort of scenario I dream about. No cock-blocking. No flexing and pluming. Just me and a buncha hotties throwing back booze. One drink in, and I'm already envisioning the bit where one of them slips me a roofie and I wake up in some Des Moines apartment, tied to the floor while the women take turns straddling my mouth.

But in real time, one of them starts talking up her love life. And, before long, they're all on to the subject of blow jobs. And what should be an exercise in unstoppable awesomeness actually turns rather uncomfortable. Once or twice, they ask for my opinion... [mostly stuff like, "Where do you guys get that idea? From porno?"] I spend the next half hour blushing, nodding or shaking my head like a trained seal, shifting nervously in my seat, and wondering if the couple one booth over can hear any of this.

I end up leaving after only an hour. Sure, I could have stayed, gotten drunk and gone on a rant and rave about Blow Jobs, but it just wasnt worth it. These ladies seemed to be a little too anti-guys that night. I also have to work with them and will see them 5 days a week. I didnt want to piss anyone off. When I left, they were saying how all guys are jerks, we only think of sex, etc. Now this is true, for the most part, but I just didnt have it in me to argue. (You wont hear me say that often)

You ladies do this sorta stuff on purpose, don't you?

A Possible Crazy Friday Night Heads South in a Hurry

So last Friday, it's one of the teachers birthdays at school. We are all teaching summer school and, against my better judgment, I head out after work with a couple folks for a quick celebratory beverage. When I get there, I notice that I'm the only guy. In the dark recesses of my mind, this is the sort of scenario I dream about. No cock-blocking. No flexing and pluming. Just me and a buncha hotties throwing back booze. One drink in, and I'm already envisioning the bit where one of them slips me a roofie and I wake up in some Des Moines apartment, tied to the floor while the women take turns straddling my mouth.

But in real time, one of them starts talking up her love life. And, before long, they're all on to the subject of blow jobs. And what should be an exercise in unstoppable awesomeness actually turns rather uncomfortable. Once or twice, they ask for my opinion... [mostly stuff like, "Where do you guys get that idea? From porno?"] I spend the next half hour blushing, nodding or shaking my head like a trained seal, shifting nervously in my seat, and wondering if the couple one booth over can hear any of this.

I end up leaving after only an hour. Sure, I could have stayed, gotten drunk and gone on a rant and rave about Blow Jobs, but it just wasnt worth it. These ladies seemed to be a little too anti-guys that night. I also have to work with them and will see them 5 days a week. I didnt want to piss anyone off. When I left, they were saying how all guys are jerks, we only think of sex, etc. Now this is true, for the most part, but I just didnt have it in me to argue. (You wont hear me say that often)

You ladies do this sorta stuff on purpose, don't you?