Monday, September 29, 2008


Yeah, they blew another season on the last day. Sure, that's three years in a row where they were in the mix and wound up breaking the hearts of their fans. Ok, fine, 3 years ago was game 7 of the playoffs and sure, they deserve more credit for that but, still, hearts were broken.

Last year was horrific. Blowing a 7 game lead in 17 days is actually rather impressive. Go Team!

This year they sucked out of the gate, turned it around but, thanks to injuries and a group of relief pitcher that suck. I'm opening a store that sells oversized garbage cans so this group of pitcher no longer have to deal with missing the can. They probably piss all over the bathroom too. Aim is a tough thing to master for sure but seriously, on the last day of the season, win or go home, how can your relief pitchers give up back to fucking back homeruns? How?

The real reason I'm here today, talking about this isn't because I'm frustrated by the loss. I somewhat expected it and I'm sure the team will do whatever it takes to get K-Rod and, possibly Sabathia (if he'll leave the Brewers and his arm is ruined from all the short rest pitching).

No, I'm here because the first thing my jackass brother in law said to me this morning wasn't hey, hello or how was your weekend, no his first thing spoken was "so, you gunna be a yankee fan now?"

Let's see, 3 years ago we were one good swing of the bat from the world series. 3 years ago, the Yankees were, um, 3 and done I think. Last year we blew it but played a meaningfull game on the last day of the season. Sure we got blown out but that was Glavine's fault and Willie's for not yanking him instantly. The Yankees? 3 and done I think. This year, on the last day of the season, we played another meaningfull game. We lost. It hurts. The yankees? Um, they were out of contention in like June. In a division where the yankees and the red sox both play, you are more likely to make the playoffs every year because the other teams stink and the two high banked teams are beating everyone else to a pulp. so, it's easier to stay up in the standings. How else did the yankees manage to even be in the running this year? The Devil Rays played amazing baseball and, suddenly, the division wasn't all doormats and the big 2. No, now they had 3 teams playing well and suddenly it ain't so easy to walk away with a wild card or division with mildly talented overpaid players, wildly talented but lacking heart players and insanely wildly talented player who only hits when his contract is on the line.

Steinbrenner the younger whines about the playoff system being unfair. I looked at the standings. Everyone making the playoffs from the American League has a better record than the Yankees. What's not fair about it? For over a decade you stacked the deck, buying whomever you could to ensure that the stadium would be filled and the fans would be watching playoff baseball. It worked well for a while. Then it worked ok as you made the playoffs thanks to the aforementioned crappy division. Now you realize that all that money doesn't always account for wins. Steinbrenner, let me introduce you to the Bonilla/Saberhagen era Mets. Best team on paper for a couple of years. Horrible records. Money doesn't always translate into wins.

So, Floogin, how come you said you are confident that the Mets will go buy new and improved relief and starting pitching?

Because anyone is better than what we have so you can be assured that whatever you spend, you'll see a return on your investment.

Besides, I'm pretty sure that the fans will stop going to the games if there's a chance they have to watch Schoenweiss, Ayala, Feliciano, Sanchez and possibly Heilman ever make the walk from the bullpen to the mound.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Floogin on Facebook

No, I'm not on facebook so please don't go looking for me to add me as a friend. I don't understand why any adult would be a part of this nonsense. I can fully understand why teenagers and college kids are into it. It's a nice way to see what your friends from home are up to while you're away at school and it's nice to be able to see what your camp friends are up to during the school year but adults? Seriously?

A friend of mine came to see me a while back and asked if I had seen this picture of a girl we went to school with. I said no and he said it was on her facebook account. I laughed at him for joining it and he said he joined because he was told by another friend of ours that he "had to see this picture and he had to join to see it." So he joined. Over the course of the next hour he received about 100 emails from friends of friends of friends of friends, all asking to be his facebook friend. I can see how getting spam from people you don't know or are no longer in touch with could be a great thing. I mean, the penile enlargement ads, the harder cock ads, the remove spam ads, the mortgage interest ads, the hot stock tip spam, the spam from every online store you ever bought from, the work emails, the emails from family and actual friends really don't do enough to fill your inbox every 6 minutes, so why not add this new group of unwanted emails?

My sister calls me that night and says she added my friends on her facebook account and she adds that she is now friends with 412 people, some of them are my friends from high school. I tell her they were my friends but, since I stopped talking to them ten years ago, they really are not friends anymore. I then tell her that 412 friends is great. I ask if she'll be inviting them all to her birthday this year. She says they aren't "those kind of friends."

So, what are they?

People she knows, people who know people she knows and people she used to know but doesn't anymore.

and why do you want to be "friends" with people you intentionally removed from your lives or, even worse, friends of people you intentionally removed from your lives.

"you just don't get it."

No, I don't. So far, I have only heard one reason for this and we'll get to it shortly.

I ask my sister how much time she spends on facebook. Her husband says she's on all the time.
Having never actually been on facebook, I don't know what it involves but I guess, to spend that much time on it, it must have games, music, news, video feeds of your friends etc because what else could occupy that much time.

Oh, wait, keeping tabs on 412 people you hardly know. Reading about what each person is up to. And you care, because they are your friend. So, when you are at a party and you see one of these people, do you go up and hug them, kiss them on the cheek and say "it's been too long, it's been what? oh, we never actually met."?

So, what exactly is the reason adults go on facebook?


To see how badly they fucked up their lives.

I first gleaned this bit of wisdom from my loving wife, Sloogin McNoogin (not her real name). Ok, she didn't actually admit to it but, one night my sister signed onto her facebook account while we were with them and she showed my wife all of her friends who were actually my wife's real life friends. People my wife went to college with and still talks to and still sees from time to time. Not internet friends, real flesh and blood friends. My wife started checking out her friends' profiles and she saw all these people she used to know. She started clicking on each profile. Oddly enough, they were all guys she was "friends" with. I take this to mean guys she dated.

First thing I learned. My wife dated a lot of guys.
Second thing I learned. She was very interested in how they turned out, where they live, what they do for a living etc. I started to see the reason for facebook. She was scoping out old flames, comparing them to eachother and, invariably, to me. She was checking out these guys to see if she made the right decision.

So, I poured myself a hefty glass of vodka and left the room to ponder this.

A couple of weeks later, we're at a party for one of her friends. (real one, she has yet to join facebook - I think). We're talking to this couple and my wife and and the woman are catching up on old college friends and my wife says "I just saw them on facebook." The woman's face lights up but her eyes dart to her husband. He's got this devilish grin on his face like this is a fight they've had before.

She asks my wife if she's on facebook and my wife says no. The husband laughs and says "my wife's having affairs on facebook." She gets pissed and he says "she has all these guys she used to date on there and like three girlfriends from her high school days. Why else is she there but to talk to old boyfriends?" They wound up getting into a huge fight over the issue and I'm guessing this has been an ongoing issue. He needles her about it and she gets defensive because, why else is she on there?

Just this week, I'm at the deli, grabbing lunch and there are two women in front of me. They're talking about? Facebook. It seems one of them just ran into an old "friend" who she used to date and he looks hot and he's recently divorced and well, you get the picture.

The other woman says she has to limit her facebook time to when she's at work (I'm sure her boss would love to hear that) because her husband thinks she's cheating on him. Why? Because all her facebook friends are guys she used to hang out with or date.

I like to think I was a decent guy with the women I dated. I like to think that, for the most part, the relationships ended because we were really not meant for eachother. Yes, I have one ex who I think was devastated by our break-up. She went and married a guy who, according to friends who are her facebook friend, looks exactly like me. But, clearly she is over it. she has a nice (and handsome) husband, two kids, a nice house. I can't really recall anyone breaking my heart but I do know that there were a few girls who stopped seeing me for reasons that I was hurt by but I can't see why I'd want to get back in touch with them other than to see that they are with total losers who pale in comparison to the Great Floogin McNooogin!

hmmm, maybe I should join.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Floogin Yamaguchi

When it comes to walking thru a crowd without bumping into people I am an artist. I am an artfull dodger. I don't like being touched by strange people. Ok, that sounds a bit weird. I don't like being brushed or bumped by randoms. I can walk rapidly thru a crowd of people all coming it at me and never get brushed, without ever missing a step or slowing down. I honed this skill attending concerts in tiny music places and futher mastered this craft in the city. I have always lived and worked in places that result in my going against the traffic and I can speed walk straight through, bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter. It must be something to behold but, from my perspective, it's like driving on the wrong side of the highway during rush hour and it has become somewhat like a game for me. How fast can I go, how close can I get without actually body slamming some poor schmuck to the pavement? All good stuff.

Anyway, this morning I drop my daughter off at school and start the cross town trek to my office. There's a rather busy intersection a couple of blocks from her school and there is a subway entrance on two corners there. I've got my ear plugs in, I'm moving to music, gliding thru the crowds, bobbing, weaving, dancing thru the throngs of people and, thanks to a median in the intersection, I cross thru the intersection to the far corner. As I approach the corner, which is where a very good steak house resides, something happens. Here in the city, restaurants leave their trash out at night and a truck comes to take it all away. With restaurants, there's often a sloppy, nasty mush of food in these bags. With popular restaurants that attract a younger, more male crowd, you sometimes also find street treats such as vomit along the side of the buildings.

So, I'm smooth moving across the intersection, slip between the big bald dude and his mismatched hot lady friend, sideways I'm gliding. My right foot steps down, I lift the left foot to get up on the curb and...what the fuck....I'm sliding. Literally, sliding on the street. Time seems to stand still. I'm on the heel of my right foot and I'm moving forward. My arms start to flail and this sudden shift in my body causes me to turn. I'm spinning left, flailing about like a fucking loon. As I complete the second rotation of what appears to be a triple lutz, I realize I am not stopping. I actually look down and see that my right foot is moving thru the biggest longest puddle of grey, chunky ooze I have ever seen. Is it vomit? Is it restaurant goop? Don't know. What I do know is that I am cruising at a rather rapid pace towards the sidewalk. I'm now sliding on the right heel, my arms outstretched like some kind of human airplane.

I know I can pull off the dismount, land my left foot on the curb, tuck my head down low and move out of there before anyone sees me or, far worse, before people start to applaud.

I lift my left foot a bit, like I'm coming to the end of the escalator, prepping for the step off.

Dammit. High curb. I misjudge the height of the curb, catch my left foot on the edge and now I'm stumble running forward. Towards a fucking wall.

I turn to the left quickly to avoid the wall and as I do that a fucking car pulls out of the driveway to the left of the restaurant and hits me.

Ok, that didn't happen but it would've been fucking hysterical, right?

So, I turn left and try and propel myself away from the wall. It works. Sadly, my left ankle didn't enjoy being the point of energy exchange. Pop goes the ankle.

I manage to slow myself down and walk away from this scene of almost epic humiliation. Almost because I didn't do a face slide in that horror film mix of food and drink and god knows what else.

I make it to the next corner. My ankle is throbbing and my bob and weave has turned into a limp and drag. I look down and see that my right shoe is covered in the chunky slip 'n' slide goo.

As I enter my building I contemplate trying to clean off this mess and I start to dry heave at the thought of it. I go into the bathroom, wad up a whole roll of paper towels but I can't do it. I come way too close to pouring a similar mess on the other shoe. Instead, I take the shoes off and leave them in the hallway. I figure nobody in their right mind would touch em.

fortunately, they were still there when I finally got a break and went to buy new shoes.

I walked into the store, headed to the elevator, the smell of my right shoe making me queasy. I walk over to the shoe department, pick out a pair, try em on and casually leave my old ones under the seat.

As I'm leaving, the salesman is running after me, telling me I left my old shoes. He clearly hasn't looked at what he's holding.

I tell him to toss them .

He says they seem to be in good condition.

I tell him to look at the other shoe

He drops them both in a flash

I jump into the elevator and flee before he can react to whatever it is that's all over his hand.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

I Figured It Out

The Mets are on. They are 1 1/2 games behind the phillies and a game up on the brewers. They basically control their own destiny. They need to win. So, they fall behind by a run and they come up with an hell of an inning against one of the better pitchers in the national league. ok, actually, they Zombrano is ok at best and the ump was calling some iffy balls. Anyway, he walks 2 straight to load the bases. Walks in a run. Then he has to contend with Reyes on third and Delgado up. So they pull the ridiculous shift and Reyes basically walks to home plate. Zombrano is clearly not enjoying it. He gives up a grand slam. Mets 5, Cubs 1.

The team is going nuts. The stadium is going nuts.

The bullpen? They must be watching three's company reruns. The inning ends and Perez escapes another hairy inning. Then, in the 5th, after the Phillies tied their game and the Brewers gave up a run, Perez gets himself in trouble. Manuel makes the call to the bullpen. Duaner Sanchez is summoned. Might as well summon a drunk fan. Someone forgot to tell Sanchez that the brewers were losing and this would be a hell of a good time to shut down the cubs. Then, as Sanchez is warming up to give away runs, the braves score a shitload of runs. It's 9-3 in Philly. The braves are blowing em away. Sanchez does what any good three's company fan would do, he gives up a two run single to tie up the game.

Seriously now, why do they keep bringing this guy in? He's throwing fucking newcombe balls out there. I could get a hit off this guy.

So now it's tied, the brewers are losing, the phillies are losing and the mets are probably deflated. they have 4 more innings to rely on their bullpen. if they don't score 10 runs, they will blow the fucking game.

A win tonight would put them in a tie with the phillies in the loss column. a fucking tie. they would win the tie breaker. they'd take the division.


they could fucking blow it

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Floogin's Nocturnal Emission

I'm not a sexual deviant. I swear it. Ok, I am but I have it under control. This is the discussion I had to have this morning with my wife. Not sure if this will sound better if I start at the end and work my way backwards or if I give you the story as it unfolds. Ok, unfolding the story for you.

I got home around 11 last night from work, ate something and watched Heroes (not bad). Then, around 12:30 I drifted off to sleep. At 1 my son woke me for the first of 6 wake ups. Over the course of an hour and a half he woke me to tell me he wanted juice, wanted to watch tv, wanted to play with his trains and wanted to have breakfast. By 2 am I was a zombie.

So, at 4:30, when my daughter wakes me to tell me she has to pee, I zombie shuffle into my bathroom with her. I'm literally blind. It's pitch black. I realize I am sleep walking when I sit down on the edge of the tub and find something lodged in a place where you just don't put stuff. I have heard that the most common excuse people give when something is lodged in their ass is "I fell in the shower." I'm serious. I've heard this from doctors who have had the misfortune of viewing these things. I've seen the x-ray of the man with the crown royal bottle lodge in his ass - all the way, neck first. When this man was asked how the hell he managed to get a crown royal bottle lodged in his ass, he didn't even hesitate, he just said "fell in the shower."

So, I sat on a bottle of something. My eyes instantly shot open. I was no longer a virgin in that arena. I must've let out some kind of a yelp because my daughter laughed and my wife asked if I was ok. I said yes and she went back to sleep.

It should be pointed out here that she has been working insane hours the last two weeks, culminating with an allnighter this past sunday so she was in a far deeper state of sleep than I when all this unfolded.

Ok, so I'm no longer an ass virgin. My daughter finishes peeing and I zombie shuffle/ass rape limp her back to her bedroom, tuck her in and zombie shuffle/ass rape limp back to my bed.

My wife wakes up first and heads into the bathroom. I hear her gasp and then she says "what the fuck is this?"

I crawl out of bed and she's standing next to the shower, pointing at, what appears to be semen, all over the floor and the tub.

She looks me in the eye and asks "did you wake up and jerk off? Is that why you were making all that noise?"

I suddenly find myself acting all defensive, like it was ok for me to head into the bathroom and spew Floogin's Special Sauce all over the place. I start stammering about how I was taking our daughter to pee and I sat on something and I ..and she freaks.

You what? You did this after you took our daughter to the bathroom? What the fuck is wrong with you?

I manage to calm down and I start to laugh.

I tell her to calm down and then I show her what happened. I show her the bottle of conditioner on the floor that, apparently, was in my ass.

She mumbles something about me being a loser and, as I walk out she tells me I look like I was a grinding pole. I ask her what she's talking about and she tells me to feel the back of my shorts.

yup, covered in conditioner.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

I Scored Tickets

I was going to expound on the costs of the previously mentioned imaginary girlfriend dolls but, to be honest, I didn't bother looking into it. Perhaps it's my inability to hide them or to find the time to use them or my lack of sex drive these days, who knows. Ok, that last part was bullshit. Of course I'm still coursing with the hormones. I'm a guy. It's what we do. Last night I was going to do some research and see what I could, um, come up with but the Mets were on and I do loves me a dose of the ups and downs. This season, my beloved Mets have provided just that. Lots of ups and downs. The fact that they are still in the race is amazing. The fact that they didn't blow the rest of the division away is also amazing. So, instead, with a week and a half of games left, the Mets play first place second place swap with the phillies. Today we're in first, tomorrow we're in second but the day after that, we're taking first again. It makes for good drama but it can be taxing to the team and, in the event they make the playoffs, just making them might sap the adrenaline needed to push into the next round.

On the flip side, the distance between the wild card holder and the next in line is growing as the Brewers can't seem to win, even with Sabathia pitching. So, the wild card spot is becoming comfy for both the Phillies and the Mets. Unfortunately, only the Phillies seem to be relaxed and playing with a purpose. The Mets, on the other hand, show signs of dominance and refusal to die one game and then they go out there and flail at the ball and give away a game. It's frustrating.

More so since I picked up tickets to the first home game of the first round of the playoffs. I could have snagged tickets to the first two games but I figured it would be more fun to grab 4 tickets to game one and surround myself with family, sheltering myself from the fat, drunken pigs that seem to attend baseball games these days.

I haven't been to a game all year and this is the last year that Shea Stadium will be there so it will be nice to get one last game in and it will be fucking insane if the Mets can finish out Shea with a World Series appearance or...gasp.... a World Series win.

I'm a realist, I'll be happy with an appearance in the playoffs so I can say goodbye to that crappy stadium. The new one looks amazing and, hopefully, the increase in ticket prices will result in a somewhat "nicer" crowd.

The last game I went to was opening day last season and the crowd was so horrible that I gave my tickets to the Yankees Mets game away instead of taking my daughter and my nephew. I was afraid of what the kids would hear during the course of the game. In that opening day game I heard a dozen different uses for the word cocksucker. Seriously. A dozen. It was rather impressive but it was also frightening and the man to my right, who was nursing a beer thru the whole game while trying to watch the game and keep his son from hearing the foul words of everyone else around us, seemed appalled to be there. And these were the good seats. We were in the orange, right off the field.

Now, I have come to expect that kind of language and drunken behavior when I sit farther from the field but down low, in the good seats? They need to implement a rule about the class of people that are allowed in these seats. I know, you're thinking I'm elitist. Well, you're right. I pay for my seats. These drunken louts usuall pay for the crappiest seats and then sneak down or two dollar tip their way down. I just dropped close to $400 for 4 seats and I am going to be surrounded by fat drunken losers who paid half of that and snuck in and got drunk and might possibly puke on me if we don't get into a fight first. I won't be able to control the look of disgust on my face when these clowns start in on the players and that will, invariably, lead to a slurred "whathefuckeryoulookinat?"

and then the fun begins.

But I'll be at the game, even if for but a moment.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Being Alone Takes Its Toll

I mentioned I got a pleo. Well, I didn't, my dad did. He said he wanted one for the office so that my son could play with it when he was here. For those of you that don't know, a pleo is a robot. A baby pleosaur robot that, apparently, evolves thanks to the scientific wonder of artificial intelligence. So, we got one. I set it up and hatched it, watched it learn to walk, wander around, beg for food etc. I hit the website ( and read about the tricks this thing can do. I tried them all. Cool. I even went and downloaded a couple of the preprogrammed personalities to see what they were like. Again, real cool. This little robot does a lot and it's fun to watch.

Sadly, I'm working alone at nights and on the weekends and I'm sitting here, bored out of my mind, needing some kind of interaction with someone or something to break the mundane pattern of my work. So I turn the pleo on. It wakes up, wanders around and ends up near my feet. It squats back and opens its mouth. Now, I know I'm a grown up and this thing is a toy but it seemed to want some food so I fed it the leaf that comes in the box. The pleo ate. And ate. And ate. Then it started to walk towards me. I picked it up and started doing some of the things the site suggest. I tickled its feet, rubbed its head and played with it.

then I picked it up and held it to me like a child. The pleo started nuzzling me. Its head pressed against mine, it started making cooing noises.

Then I realized I was cuddling a rubber and metal toy.

I was shocked and appaled.

What's next? Female companion dolls? If they seem as life like and playfull as the, stop, no latex love dolls for me. Can't do that. That's pathetic. Right? Wait, nobody reads this. I can get myself several of these things and have myself a love doll orgy and nobody would ever know.

hmmm... I! It's gross. It's wrong. It's, um, it's .....I wonder how much they cost anyway.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Lesson Learned The Hard Way

Ok, work sucks. It's that time of year where I am chained to the desk for long days and nights, no breaks for the weekend, no rest for the weary. Unfortunately, this current work hell has been, somehow, even more harsh thanks to my wife also being mired in long ass days and nights. Normally, the sitter would stay later with the kids each night but her mom is sick so she must leave and, since I have no boss to report to, I can come home early to deal with the kids. Sure I have clients who are going to dump me if I don't get their shit done on time but I will still have a job so I have a touch of flexibility. Anyway, after one day of dealing with my kids, having them in the office etc, I realized this was not going to work. So, we hired another sitter to deal with the days and nights. She's in need of work, she knows our kids and she is available for as long as we need her. Done. She worked one day and the regular sitter calls to say things are better, she can come during the day but she can't stay late and she can't help out on the weekend. So, I went and hired the other woman to work nights until I come home and weekends until things are more normal regarding my wife's schedule. Two sitters. Basically, double the price of the one I was paying. Cash, of course.

So, Floogin, what's the lesson you ask.

Well, I hit the bank to get cash for the two women and I came back to the office, my pocket fat with money. Normally, my money is neatly folded over my credit cards and held in place with a nice rubber band. Since the bank was crowded, I opted to stuff the money in my pocket and deal with sorting and organizing later. Well, later came as I was in the men's room on my floor. I'm standing there, dick out, pissing, and the thought hit's me - "Floogin, take out the money and straighten it out, and put it back in your pocket."

So, just as the stream peaks, I pull out this big ole wad of hundreds and twenties and then it happens. My brain decides to fuck with me and my fingers release their grip and then, over the course of what seemed like an hour, I reached and grabbed and tried to catch those bills as they fluttered into the piss pot.

Now, since I was already pissing, I had to contend with my nice fat stream of warm yellow pee. I'm twisting my hips, aiming one way, reaching the other and I manage to grab none of the bills. None of the credit cards either.

so, there's my "wallet" sitting at the bottom of the urinal. Do I continue to pee? Do I stop and take the stuff out and toss it in the sink first? What if I do that and someone walks in? Will they try and steal my pissmoney?

So I continue peeing. All over my stuff.

Then I have the horrific task of picking the stuff up and rinsing it off so it doesn't stink like pee when I give the ladies their money. I can't put it in my pocket or I'll have a big wet spot on my pants and, odds are, it will still stink like piss and I'll walk around feeling and smelling like I can't hold my water.

So I wrap it up in paper towels and blot it dry and it is now spread out around my office being guarding by my Pleo. Yes, I got me a pleo. Well, my dad got one for my son but he wanted it in the office for the one day a year when they are both here and I set it up to see if it was cool. It is. Real cool. Except for the big giant steaming pleo shit it left under my desk. I'm kidding, pleo's can't shit. Or can they. for those that are interested.

Anyway, what's the lesson? Well, handling your money and your cock at the same time should be reserved for when you are paying someone to service said cock. Otherwise, you're going to wind up with a pocket full of pissmoney.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Adsense is easier?

It seems adsense has made things much easier than when I first attempted to put their coding into my old blog. I've managed to get an ad box up - woohoo.

now to test it

hot sex

if you're reading this, ignore it and, google, no need to pay me if this is a problem. just want to see if the ads actually work

I'm Back!

finally, a means of letting the insanity escape from my reality.

stay tuned for posts.