My Left Thumb

Tomorrow is surgery day.  The first of two.  After about 3 weeks, I'll need to have a second operation to remove a screw that will be inserted to hold the thumb in place.  This means my vacation in Montauk is in jeopardy and I won't be able to get a waterproof cast for the first 3 weeks after the surgery.

This sucks but not as much as not being able to use my left hand in the manner I'm accustomed to.

Tuna Fishing and The Tale Of The Ruined Thumb

As detailed here, my son took me down and I wound up hurting my thumb.  How bad?  I'm having surgery on Friday to repair the damage.  Seems my fall resulted in my tearing a ligament in the thumb.  Class three tear.  If you're gonna do damage, might as well do it right.  Normally, this would be nothing more than a nuisance but I'm going tuna fishing tomorrow and the boats have been hauling in the fish so the odds are in my favor that I'll be working the lines and pushing my luck with the thumb.

Of course, to quote my surgeon "you already fucked the thumb up, can't do more damage to the ligament now so bring me some steaks."

Gotta love the guy for that.

The Jersey Show Is The Sign. The End Is Coming.

I've seen some bad shit in my life, horrific, embarrassing, reswallowing vomit type crap but nothing can hold a candle to The Jersey Shore.  MTV should be banished from the air waves for putting this crap on tv.  Even the State of New Jersey should be embarrassed to be associated with this tripe.  Seriously, the armpit of the nation, the only stretch of highway where, if someone farts in the car, you roll the windows up.

That's right, I said it, a fart's refreshing in Jersey and, still, this show makes them look bad.

Ruined Thumbs, Family Insanity and the Tie Dyed Dong

Lots of fun over a short period of time and my typing is is arduous thanks to a bit of horseplay with the boy.  End result, I managed to get blamed for more of my sister's insanity, I can barely use my left hand and my member looks like an extra from the show Hair.

The Girl On The Corner

An ode to the asian damsel in distress.

What Have I done?

So I had some server issues and, in the course of getting things fixed, I learned that my employees computers were all screwy thanks to their internet surfing.  So, I did what any good employer would do, I put in all kinds of security measures.

And, in the process, I removed my ability to surf for porn.

Floogin Andretti and The Peeping Tom

I went to my wife's college reunion this weekend.  20 years out of college.  Man she's getting old.  (Mine is next year, I'm a kid).  We took the kids with us for a weekend of fun with the kids during the day and college debauchery at night.  Boy did we over-estimate the fun factor.

He Pukes, He Scores

My son has a friend who's father has some serious connections.  Not only is he connected in the music world and the entertainment industry, he's extremely connected in the sports world.  So, when the father told me he was going to take a few of his son's friends to a Yankee game, complete with locker room meet and greet, I was thrilled.  I hate the Yankees but, a chance for my boy to meet Mo, Jeter, A-Roid et al is fucking cool.

Add to the mix, the guy's new wife is hot.  Megan Fox hot.  She's actually been stopped on the street by people thinking she's Megan Fox.  She's so Megan Fox hot that she's playing Fox's sister in an upcoming movie.

So, how did my son manage to destroy these connections in one fell swoop? 

He puked.

Sex Toys

I was out with friends the other night and one of them tells a story of his night in a Vegas brothel.  He went there for a bachelor party, no intention of actually doing anything with the hookers but, as the night went on, he was prodded by one particular lady, to accompany her up to her room.  Once there, she convinced him that a blow job would be a nice, simple way of getting off without spending too much money.  He agreed, pricing was discussed and the games began.

Grizzly McNoogin and Sex and the City

I grew a beard.  It wasn't intentional but the reaction has been surprisingly good so, for now, it stays.

On Being Vader and The Coolest Kid on the Planet

Friday afternoon a friend of mine offered to don the Vader costume for my son's birthday party.  This would accomplish several things.  First, it would allow me to witness the excitement as my son's favorite bad guy visited his party.  Second, it would allow me to spend more time at the party and less time in the back room getting in, and out, of the 40 pound costume.  Lastly, my son wouldn't start wondering where his dad was while Vader was in da house.  I was thrilled at the prospect of someone being so selfless as to come to a 5 year old's party to sweat his ass off and have a bunch of kids jump all over him.

The night before the party, I got sick. Bad chicken or something. I spent a great deal of time that night on the throne. I feared standing up. Every time I did, it was like gravity was laughing at me, pulling more burning liquid thru my ass. By the time I was brave enough to crawl into bed, my body was ravaged by the shits. I was physically exhausted, drained and dehydrated. I felt like death. I woke up the next morning weak and afraid to eat.  My body was rumbling, begging me to put something in it but every time I walked into the kitchen, my gut turned over and I swear I heard laughing from within. 

Fortunately, I wasn't going wearing that giant pleather jumpsuit, the helmet, robes, pads, codpiece, shin guards and electrical gear.

Then I remembered who the friend was.

One of life's mysteries.

I don't understand why women dress the way they do.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it but, still, it makes no sense.  It's in the 80's outside and the clothes are loose and the skin is showing.  It's a site that can rival the most majestic landscape.  Yet, for some reason, we aren't supposed to look. 

What's the point in showing off your legs, ass or cleavage if you don't want anyone to look?

Strep Strikes Again

My son's birthday party is this Saturday and he's got strep.  Again.  The poor kid has now had it five times in the last twelve months and the doctor said that, given that frequency, they think we should go see an ENT specialist to determine if, perhaps, the tonsils should come out.

He's a fucking champ.  Fever hitting 102 - 103 and he's cracking jokes and reminding to me to pick up a toy for him if he takes his medicine. 

As a result of his being sick, I had to pick up my daughter and bring her home.  Pain in the ass as I then had to come back to the office but no big deal. 

I walked into the apartment and I hear my son crying.  Not a normal occurrence for my son.  The only crying he ever does is the fake, tearless bullshit so hearing him whimpering was rather upsetting.

"I hurts when I breathe, I can't breathe" was what he was saying between gasping sobs.

Apparently, I'm Also Pathetic and Boring

Last night I had a dream. I have them often and, more often than not, when I awake, I remember them. Sometimes it's the whole dream, so vivid and fresh in my mind that I wonder if it wasn't, actually, real. Other times it's a snippet or moment from the dream and sometimes it's nothing more than a hazy memory, like I'd been out drinking the night before and I have a vague recollection of doing something stupid.

Dreams are often a window into the deepest, darkest recesses in our minds.  They are a form of release, a form of suppression, a means of therapy for a mind that is not working properly.  Other times, they're our central computer telling us what we should do, what we want to do and what we cannot do, no matter how badly we want it.  In our dreams, we do things good, and bad, with no repercussion.  We can kill, we can screw around, we can hit the winning basket, be millionaires, paupers and sex addicts.  We are supermen in our dreams.  We are zombies in our dreams.  We are anything our minds can conjure.  My mind, being somewhat twisted, very much over used and under utilized, has come up with all kinds of mental movies.

Last night's dream was the worst I've ever had.

One More Reason To Hate Obama

My garage managed to bang up my car, yet again.  So, after trying to get the garage to deal with the damage, I decided it was a waste of my time and I took it to get fixed myself.  This happens from time to time, they fuck up my car and ignore the claim and any subsequent attempts to discuss the claim.  I take it to BMW because it's far more expensive than taking it somewhere else and then I stop paying the monthly parking fee until I have recouped my cost for the repairs.  Anyway, I picked up the car yesterday and started driving across town to put the car in the garage.  I left work early so I could drop the car off and then pick up my suits, which I had bought a week or so ago and needed some tailoring.  I figured, leave before 5, avoid the cross town traffic, get it all done and be home in time to sit down for dinner with my kids.

One problem.  Obama was in town.  Fucking traffic nightmare.

I'm Old and Sad

I remember a time when I could eat anything, do anything, drink anything and, at the absolute worst, suffer a headache for a few hours the next morning.  Now?  Forget it.  I've got no tolerance for anything, including people.

What the hell happened to me?

Smell Ass Sweat

Smell + ass + sweat.  Those are the words that were put into a google search by an individual and those three words brought them to me.  That's right, if you goggle smell ass sweat, my blog shows up in the results.  How fucking sad is that?

I Lost My Ads

As is obvious, the evil ball sucking scumbags at google have, yet again, disabled my adsense account. Why? No reason. They just did. No email explaining that they are a group of shitheads sitting in a room sucking each other off. No email explaining that, in the last few days, I received nary a click. No email at all. Just blank fucking boxes where ads should go. When I went into adsense to check out the reason for this, I found nothing.

So, here's the letter I should have received from google. This is what I imagine is sitting in my inbox.

Dear Mr. McNoogin,

We are writing this letter to inform you that we have disabled your adsense account. Again. We are doing this because we are a bunch of prepubescent scum lovers with nothing better to do than sit around disabling adsense on blogs that would only earn us money, not you. That's right, your shitty assed traffic is so small, so pathetic that we would never have to pay you one cum covered bloody nickle which, by the way, we keep lodged in our employees asses.

Please don't sign up for another account as we plan on disabling that one too. Along with any other accounts you might attempt to have. In the meantime, we will continue to sit around our offices, taking 4 hour lunches, sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria from the 4 women who work here. We will all wear our atari shirts on the same day, pretend it isn't gay when when jerk off to porn together and we will continue to pretend that we're fantasizing about bikini clad Princess Leia when we masturbate, all the while, knowing that it's Luke and Chewy that make our cocks hard.

Regards,

The cocksucking team at Google.
(yes, we swallow)

And Several Hours Vanish

I lost time this morning. I was messing around and came across a blog that piqued my interest. The first post was hysterical and, from there, I found myself reading backwards for a few hours. The woman who writes the blog, as well as her guest bloggers, are geniuses. They are porn store clerks and the blog is mostly musings from the spank booths.

Check it out, believe me, it's worth it.

www.pornclerk.com

Enjoy

I Used An Ipod, sorry Ipad.

Ok, so I was actually handed a maxipod, yes, that's what I'm calling it and you should too because that is all it is.  Was it cool?  Absolutely.  Do I see a market for it?  Sort of.  Do I understand why they're being gobbled up by mindless consumers?  Yup.