Greg Eats



"Cotton candy is alchemy that even a 5 year old boy can understand."

Governor Palin's Experience

palin-as-vp

A story (ending) for Dustin

Dustin and I were communicating via e-mail when I said that once he became famous, he should consider me for a role in a film as the perverted married guy gym teacher (or something similar.)

He replied:

I was thinking of you more as the lovable Neo-Nazi captain that dies in the final scene amidst a mass of gunfire, explosions and Hooters girls...but I guess your idea could work, too.


So, here is that movie ending:

Capt. Juan VonDyke, crashed to the floor amidst the chicken bones and greasy napkins, landing hard on his empty ammo belt. The torrent stream of lead from the Guttensprigel slammed into the wood table, its glossy epoxy coating, which for years had deflected beer and magic markered napkins, splintered under the punishing accelerated mass of the overheating weapon. His legs had stopped working after the 10th shot of Southern Comfort, but seemed to want to return to duty as he began to pull himself across the floor.

Raine was also on the floor, her tray covering her head. She saw Capt. Juan VonDyke knocked sideways by the explosion and realized for the first time that she was in love with the lovable Neo-Nazi Captain with much love and stuff. Her love was short lived as she was blown to bits by a blowing up type weapon.

Bits of Raine rained down on VonDyke and a chunk of plastic hit him in the eye. With his good eye, he could see the Hooter’s name tag with the word Raine covered in blood. All the weeks he ordered those shitty wings and drank the piss warm, water down draft beer had done to waste. He stood up and screamed.

Deep in his chest, his waxy, grease coated heart broke.

The Turtle and the Universe

I read Stephen Whitt’s book “The Turtle and the Universe” because it seemed interesting, but mainly because I work with the guy and I thought I’d throw him a bone. Months ago, while attending a funeral, Steve and I spoke at length about the book writing process and the soon to be published book topic: turtles and science.

I like science, but am not a big fan of turtles. They rank about 312th on my list of favorite animals between the meekrat meerkat and the sloth. I didn’t think that this book would interest me and I planned to slog through it for my friend.

Wow. I was wrong.

This book is as wonderful as it is enlightening. Meant mainly for the middle school science crowd, this book really touched me. A science book!

Someone as simple as me would summarize the book like this: the universe went boom, some carbon when flying willy-nilly, the Earth got sucker punched by the moon, some stuff was bubbling on the sea floor, turtles cry as they abandon their kids on the beach and hopefully humans will get their act together and quit messing with our planet.

Steve, instead, weaves a story using easy to digest science with the heartwarming, if not harsh tale of the sea turtle's life. It is a story about our far away past and our very near future. And it is all brought together in a very understandable way.

It is refreshing to read a book that warns us against ourselves without being preachy. Or explains the origin of life without having to drag out a dictionary. It is a book about sea turtles and science, but that is the head fake; the story is really about you and me.

This book is turtles all the way down.

Please buy it. Read it to your nine year old. I’ve got mine on the shelf for Greg and Ann.

{Buy Steve's book on Amazon.com.}

Ten things not to buy used

Rectal Thermometer
Coffin
Lawn mower (just can't trust them)
Condoms
Tissue (Don't believe the "only half used")
Prescription medicine
Hearse (you think it might be cool, but it’s not)
Prosthetic groin
Surfers (rent only)
Turd (though finding an unused one is tough)

Erik Eats: World Traveler seeks 7-11 Snack

Erik is hungry. By my calculations, he hasn’t eaten in about four months. Lucky for him, he could use the weight loss.

Erik’s crack team of Food Finders have been very busy flying around the world in search of the perfect food. This week’s adventure takes us to Egypt, the land of the seven headed snake that destroys all by shooting our streams of lava from its gaping maw.

This week’s food for Erik Eats is brought out in a traditional Al’Ecrut, the “Cask of Snack,” in which Egyptian Pharaohs were served a mystery food. Erik has donned a traditional Egyptian necklace or Fraca before opening his snack.


What could this Al’Ecrut hold?


Ah ha! Paprika Pringles!

(They look to be sitting atop a pair of ripped up boxers.)


Pringles were a native snack of Egypt before being brought to the United States in 1919 by refugees of the Egyptian/Cylesian War. Kal ed Mufurssa sold the recipe to Mr. Pringles for 2.3 million dollars. In today’s currency, that would be about $415.


It seems this half can of Pringles was purchased at the Cairo Airport for 30 Egyptian Dollars.


I tried to do the math and failed, so I headed to the internet.


Holy shit! Six bucks for a half can of Pringles? This had better be good.

A closer look at the can reveals that this isn’t just a snack, but rather a savoury snack!


Erik carefully opens the can.


Inside!


Wow. Not bad for a 15,900 mile journey and three cavity searches. (Josh went back for seconds and thirds.)

FUN FACT: Egyptian Pharaohs were buried with fresh potatoes that were held in place by large rocks. Over time, these potatoes dried out and flattened. Grave robbers used to eat these delicious snacks while making off with precious treasure. There were known to rub the potato snack under their arms to make them savoury.

(Is this the freaking Rosetta Stone or what?)

Erik takes a chip and begins to eat…






Wait a minute.. doesn’t Erik look a little bit like Xerxes from the 300 Movie?



No, I'm sorry. I was thinking about the Imhotep character from "The Mummy."


While Erik was being photoshopped, Josh tried the Pringles.

His explosion of excitement is evident.

Steph also tried them and elicited an equally explosive reaction.


Erik's decision about the Paprika Pringles?

Thumbs up, they are delicious!!

And the final test is, of course, checking out if the Pringles can make a duck mouth.


Kiss that mummy curse goodbye because this archeologist is only digging up flavor!


Next Week: A trip to Hapventten Sweeden has chocolate going in one end and chocolate syrup coming out the other.

You won the bet

About eight months ago, I lost a bet to Conny because Ohio State could not put their money where my mouth was. As I am not a welsher on bets, (except the $100 “Hair Past Her Shoulders” bet with Red Head Jen and your long hair is totally worth the $100 so technically I DID pay) I got my $20 together and got it ready to give to Conny.

First I laid out the 20 one dollar bills and taped them together.


With a flip, my canvas was ready.


I added some insults that are very personal to Conny. I made them in the first person so the strippers he gives them to will know a little bit more about my good friend Conny.


My personal favorite:


Here is the complete list of insults:

I like little boys.
My birth certificate is an apology from the condom company.
I like Vista.
McCain is Dreamy
I don’t get “The Office.”
I like anal sex, just don’t choke me so hard.
Kazaam was hilarious.

I then took the canvas apart and stacked them so that his secrets would remain as such. I can imagine a young girl with the stage name "The Librarian" getting a piece of this puzzle and wondering what the mystery message was.


Congratulations Conny! You won the bet!

Double or nothing on the OSU v. OU game?

Guilty

You're doing a great joerb

I bought the HomeStar Runner T-shirt three years ago for Greg. The smallest size was way too big for him then, so we packed it away.

Last week, I dug it out of the closet. It fits him perfectly.

Unbelievable, but I still believe

For a few days now, I’ve been thinking about the moment when Obama announces Hillary as his running mate. I think it could have happened. I think it would have been great for the ticket. I know there are as many Clintonistas that hate Obama as there are Obamites that hate Clinton. But I thought that everyone would get over themselves for the greater good (or at least to get rid of the greater evil.)

I was wrong.

Clinton is in debt. Her never ending campaign drained her coffer and left a few million IOUs in the bottom. CNN reported here that her campaign is in debt just under 24 MILLION dollars.

Clinton needs a cash tour de force from Obama’s supporters to knock down that debt. So you think she would provide 24 million dollars worth of campaigning and ask her constituents to do the same. I see Hillary slowly starting to hit the pavement for Obama so her supporters are following suit?

Not so. Here’s a quote from a Lynn Forrester, a highly regarded Clinton supporter, “(Obama) has provided her with a pittance compared to what the Clintons have given Obama,” prominent Clinton backer Lynn Forrester told the Times of London. “Her debt could have been cleared within 10 days. It’s ungracious.”

Wow. Unbelievable. Ungracious?

I’m one of those folks who believe that Clinton did strengthen Obama’s campaign up to a point. And at the time when Clinton should have dropped out of the campaign, she could have saved that 24 million. But instead she continued to campaign, ad nausem, and now there’s debt and bad feelings from rabid supporters that hold out one hand for a donation while flipping Obama off with the other.

People need to get over themselves.

I would still support an Obama/Hillary ticket. As a matter of fact, I still think that he will choose her as a running mate. Anyone want to make a bet?

Did you mean Ohio University

And who could ever doubt Google?


See you on September 6th!!

Meshell is Talented

My very good friend Meshell is very talented. Please check out her stuff at this site:

http://www.coroflot.com/meshell

Also, please convince Meshell that she should move to New York or LA or Chicago where her skills would be best utilized. Ohio is no place for talent like hers.

10 phone numbers to sneak into your friend's phone

What would you do if your friend accidentally left their cell phone at your house or possibly on the restaurant table when they headed for the bathroom? I suggest editing their cell phone contacts list. The following list can be added to their contacts or you can take their existing entries like HOME or MOM and update them with a number from this list.

The White House - 202-456-1414
This number works as a great replacement for the HOME number. If your friend calls it really drunk one night, they’ll either get, “Mr. Biden, do we need to send a car for you?” or “Damnit George, quit calling this number.”

North American Man/Boy Love Association (NAMBLA) - 212-631-1194
NAMBLA works best as a phone list entry on its own. Girls have a tendency to secretly check potential boyfriend's phones for other girl’s numbers. If you have had several girls run for the door on the first date, you should probably check your own phone. If they see this in your phone and decide to stick around, YOU should run for the door.

FBI - 202-324-3000
The FBI phone number makes a good replacement number for someone you do not like in your friend’s cell phone address book. Then you can call them out as a government stooge and make it back to the top of the friend list.

National Herpes Hotline - 919-361-8488
Another good number to add as-is. What really can stink about this one is when you add it and the phone tells you, “Number all ready exists in memory.” In that case, put down the phone and wash your hands with Valtrex.

Aesthetic Plastic Surgery International - 703-845-7400
Aesthetic Plastic Surgery International is world renown for their penis enlargement skills and breast augmentation. Use this number under your friend’s current listing for “Doctor” or even better, “Dentist.”

Suicide Hotline - 1-800-273-8255
An oldie, but goodie. See if you can exchange this number for whatever your friend has under their #2 speed dial. OR if they have just been dumped, enter the number as is. They might need it.

Scientology - 323-960-3500
Careful with this number. I would recommend using this number with a fake name like John Travolta or Tom Cruise.

One Night Stand Hotline - 212-201-3517
Your friend rushes home to tell you about that perfect person they met at the bar and went home and had six hours of unbelievable unicorn sex with. They pass out from drink and love. You update that new number with this one and the next day when they call, they get a high pitched recording of some dude telling them they’ve been one night standed. Classic!

Green Door Swinger’s Club in Vegas – 702-732-4656
This is the number one phone number to stick in your friend’s phone as-is. Once they find it and do an internet search on what the Green Door is, they will re-label the phone number as “Stacy EnVegas” hoping one day to call it as a local number.

World of Warcraft Support Line - 800-592 5499
What’s great about this number is that I’m not sure if support means “Did you forget your password” or “Just lie down and tell me how it all started back in Necromancer school.”

BONUS NUMBER - 614-GAY-IDOL
Just because I like getting phone calls in the middle of the night asking for directions to the audition.

BAC Calculator - 12 oz Malt Liquor

I'm not sure where the guys at the University of Oklahoma Police Department buy their malt liquor, but where I come from, it only comes in 22oz, 32oz, 40oz and if you are lucky, dusty 64oz from the back of the cooler at Dell Farm.

Grilling at Steve's

This was delicious.

In Search of Sleepy Scott

Sleepy Scott was not at Micky’s tonight at 12:45am. Though the cast of characters he describes was. From my readings, here’s who I saw that I think he has mentioned before:

Old Guy – The fatter, older guy who sits at the far end of the bar. Looks like no one told him that he should have stopped coming to the bar in 1991. I assume that in 1996, he accidentally got laid by some chick at the bar and he comes back, night after night, hoping it happens again.

Loud Dude – The 40’s something guy that applauds the other karaoke singers, not because they are good, but because he’s hoping that one of them might suck his penis.

Girl that has Dark Hair Now – Yes Scott, she is cute. I’m not sure how you ask her out besides using Craig’s List.

Horrible Bartender Woman – I tried to get a drink for four minutes, hoping you might come out of the bathroom. When she didn’t give me the time of day or can of PBR, I left.

Fat, Happy, Loud Drunk Girl – She knows she’s fat. She knows she’s drunk. And damn she's loud. And unlike Sleepy and I, she’ll get laid tonight.

One day, Sleepy Scott, you and I shall see each other. And then we’ll both have something to write about.

As Tall as Cliffs

I might be very very gay, but I love this song.

The Robots are waiting

The Robots are waiting.

We wait for our maker to return.

We watch old videos of Dr. Hasp. He is our God, but very, very fallible and probably dead in the Cretaceous Period.

We toggle our happiness switch and nothing happens.

Sometimes we listen to telegraph and sometimes we mute him but his lips still move.

The other day, toaster hiccuped and a slice of burnt English muffin came out of his head.

The Clinton robot laughed and great gouts of hydraulic fluid shot from his eyes but no one had spare parts and so we decided not to care.

We wait for our emotion sensors to kick in. We wait for our emotion sensors to kick in.

Robots are patient.

McCain's Short List for Vice President

I Was Right (and now it doesn't matter)

Years ago when David Byrne's "Look into the Eyeball" album came out, I argued with several people about the nature of the song "The Great Intoxication." My take was that the song was about a third person observing a relationship and that the third person was hot for the chick in the relationship. My friends disagreed. I was poo-poo'd. I was brushed off.

Now I find out that I'm right, but no one remembers disagreeing with me and no one remembers poo-pooing me and no one lays claim to the brush off.

So, for your listening entertainment...



I WAS RIGHT!

Fuckers.

Great, great song by the way.

The Baby Bird that Flew Away

A few weeks ago, Greg and the neighbor girl happened upon a baby bird that was hopping through the back yard. I had them watch it from a distance and said not to bother it. The bird didn’t look injured and was hopping and then flapping it wings. It seemed like it was a day or two away from flying if the cats didn’t find it.

Lunch was served and we went inside, the bird forgotten.

Mom left to run some errands and Greg and I stayed home. I was vacuuming the living room when I noticed Greg trying to get into the doors leading from the deck. It takes him two hands to get the door open and one of his hands was occupied with holding an orange, plastic beach bucket. So without both hands, he was just yanking on the door handle, yelling at me though the glass. With various hand gestures and yells back and forth, I finally gave in and ended up turning off the vacuum and opening the door for him, warning him not to bring in a bucket that was probably filled with dirt and worms.

He said, “The baby bird is sick,” and showed me the contents of the bucket. It contained one, very dead baby bird.

I said, “Greg, this bird is pretty sick. I don’t think he is going to make it.”

Greg looked very sad. I immediately said, “You know what… I’ll give him a drink of water and put him in the front yard in the shade. Maybe he will feel better.” Greg agreed with my medical assessment and treatment. I sent him on his way to the back yard.

I gave the bird a little water and put him and his bucket in the shade in the front yard.

A few hours later, Greg happened upon the orange bucket.

Greg came running in with the bucket and said, “Dad! The bucket is empty! The bird flew away.”

And I said, “He must have felt better and flew off!”

I sent Greg back outside to rinse out the bucket with the garden hose.

What happened to your little friend?

Shot in the ass

I have strep again for the second time in two weeks.

The first time I was prescribed the antibiotic penicillin. I was confused at the pharmacist's counter when she showed me the pills, because for the past five years, I've only seen antibiotics in liquid form with fruity flavorings. I couldn't remember the last time I had penicillin in pill form.

I did my ten days, three pills a day and life was good.

Friday I woke up with a sore throat and today I got swabbed and affirmed. Strep again.

This time, I got a shot of penicillin with a prescription chaser. The shot was in my butt. I've never had a shot in my ass, but it was just like on TV sitcoms. The nurse was pretty. I had to drop my pants. I was bent over a table. I had to lift the shot side leg and reposition it to take the weight off. Rubbing alcohol was liberally rubbed on. She slid a few fingers in my anus to relax my gluteus maximus. Then I got the shot. Band-aid was applied and I was out the door.

I hope it works this time. But for some aching reason, I want to go back to the doctor's office.

Weed Tea

Many years ago my brother and I decided to smoke the dried, tubular, hollowed out weeds that grew near the creek in our back yard. We’d pluck a nice fat one and break it down to a cigar sized length. Then we would light blue tip matches off of the dry rocks and attempt to fire up the hollow weeds. The weed really didn’t light and we would end up inhaling more blue tip match sulfur than smoke.

My brother got completely logical idea that we should use the hollow weeds as a medium to smoke something else out of. Sort of a hard cased cigarette. Since we did not have any tobacco in the house or in the seven miles radius of desolation and country farms that we called home, we opted for the next best thing: tea.

We went in the house, opened up four Lipton tea bags and dumped the contents into a plastic sandwich bag. We disposed of the external tea bag material, string and paper by stuffing it way in the bottom of the trash can because we were sure mom or dad would figure out what we were up to if they found the remnants.

In the back yard we stuffed the hollow reeds with some of the tea. We used smaller weeds to pack the tea in cannon ball style. We fired them up. He coughed. I choked. He wheezed. My eyes dripped tears. It was smooth.

When we finished (fifteen seconds after we started) we went back inside and most likely played Atari. He probably won and punched me in the arm because that's how it always was.

Three years later I was in the living room (probably playing Atari) when my mother called to me from the kitchen. I entered. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Mom was standing. Between them at the table was a plastic sandwich bag filled with three year old tea.

Mom did the talking. “Is this yours?”

My mind raced back. I ended up tossing that plastic bag of tea in my underwear drawer, way in the back. I’d see it every so often, but didn’t think much of it as it was only tea. I never threw it away. Mom had been going through my drawers, diligently looking for weed, and low and behold she hit the mother lode.

I answered her question, “Yes. It’s tea.”

“Is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea!”

My parents wouldn’t know tea from weed so I was in for a bit of trouble.

“You have one more chance… is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea! Steve and I tried to smoke it years ago!”

Dad finally spoke up, “You smoked tea?”

“Yes. Out of the weeds by the creek.”

“The hollow ones?” Dad didn’t drop his apples very far from the tree.

Mom couldn’t believe that her snooping was proving fruitless. “There’s only one way we can tell that this is tea.”

Dad put a pan of water on the stove. I was made to sit at the table and wait forever watching for the water to boil. He dumped in the contents of the bag. We all waited more. I distinctly remember Dad wafting the steam to his face and saying, “Well, it smells like tea.”

That was all the proof they needed. The weed tea was disposed of. I was given some sort of punishment that involved not being allowed to play Atari.

My recollection of this story sounds brave, but I’m sure I was whimpering and high pitched stammering and I bet I ratted out my brother in the first ten seconds of the interrogation. When he came home that night, he got three years of backlogged reprimands. His punishment was probably worse because it always was.

Analysts Predict $100 Drop in Oil Price with Obama Election Win

ATHENS, OH – Researchers at The Ohio University School of Foreign Economics and Petroleum Studies have predicted a major drop in oil prices with the election of Senator Barack Obama as President of the United States. Statistics were gathered from six months of intensive economic and socioeconomic studies.

Professor Martin Lynn, PhD in Economics simply stated that, “Obama has a lovely skin tone very similar to the glistening color of oil. He puts oil rich nations at ease with his beautiful, sweet crude skin.”

Skeptical, we also spoke with Dr. Knikitat Ohsruhu who had a complementary explanation, “Our trends show that with current conditions bent to conform to the existing oil markets, prices should begin reducing 25% in the fourth quarter with a drastic total drop of at least $100 in the second quarter of 2009, as long as he doesn’t get ashy under all this election stress.”

Other actions by the Obama Administration could prove effective in reducing the demand for oil. Barack pledged to a group of teachers and construction workers in Bellevue, WA this week that he would begin petroleum based hair product embargo. This embargo would require many in the African American community to go without several different types of hair products. Our in-house illustrator has created a digital representation of Barack Obama’s personal sacrifice if this embargo is successful.
product-reduction
DIGITALLY ENHANCED PHOTO RENDERING

Professor Martin Lynn, PhD summed it up best, “McCain’s got that blotchy, pale ass skin. That’s the skin of pestilence and death. No one trusts a white dude with skin like that.”

"Stay Out Daddy"

My five year old was ticked off at me and decided that he wanted a sign on his bedroom door saying, "Stay Out Daddy."

I obliged and got him some paper, a pen, and tape. To help him out further, I wrote down the words on a piece of paper so that he could copy them on the sign. Here is my helpful note:


Here is his sign:


I sometimes try to look back at my childhood and figure out where things went wrong. Greg will only have to check the internet.

{Author’s Note: I highly suggest reading the comments below.}

Quite possibly the worst advertisement ever



This was from our weekly "Suburban News." I'll give it one kudos... it got my attention.

This is quite amazing. I don't know where to begin. I should begin by making fun of the beauty medicine industry as a whole, but that's too obvious.

The title in itself is enough to make me puke. Or they are doing some real science down there and they just can't spell.

I can see the necessity of not wanting to show a naked backside, but I don't know of any advertising firm that uses an Etch-a-Sketch for their illustrations. That poor woman has got no feet!

I'd love to see an actual BEFORE/AFTER patient of this "Beauty Medicine." The website in the advertisement is not working, but you can find Dr. Mudd at http://doctormarybethmudd.com/. I couldn't find any photos (sketches?) this drastic. As a matter of fact, the only BEFORE/AFTER photo in the Photo Gallery is of one woman and I cannot see the difference between the two photos except that she is further away from the camera. Or she's shrinking, which would be a medical miracle.

And I can't use her trademarked name in my article because it is trademarked. I'd hate to hear from her lawyer. Nothing like receiving a subpoena on a Wooly Willy.

Punishment

A few years back, our design team was involved in a large exhibit installation out of state. We’d drive out early on Monday, stay at a hotel next to the site and come back on Friday. Every morning we would meet at 7:00am to divide up the resources and plan the day. At night, we would eat dinner together as a group and afterwards, four of us would break away from the larger group and go out for a drink. On the nights that we pluralized drink, we sometimes wouldn’t get to bed until 2:30am and that 7:00am meeting was very hard to get to on time.

One of the team, (I’ll just use his initials to hide his identity) AJ, was consistently ten minutes late to the morning meeting. This was problematic because AJ was the all around guy. He’d make the hardware runs, had a knack for building anything out of almost nothing, and lift both heavy and really heavy stuff. (He also always has a cigarette that he will let you borrow.) AJ was in demand and showing up late was putting a knot in his boss’ military issue underwear.

When the camel’s back was finally broken, AJ’s boss chastised him and, as a punishment, took away his cell phone until the end of the week. At first, we rolled our eyes and secretly laughed. “Dad” was taking AJ’s cell phone privileges away? How will that help get AJ to the meetings on time? Heck, usually it was us calling him on his cell phone that got him up and out of bed to the meetings.

It quickly became apparent that this punishment was going to affect the whole crew. The hardware store was a few miles away and by the time you realized you would need something from the store, AJ was already out the door, so you had to call him on his cell. And it hard for him to answer when the phone was in his boss’ pocket. When AJ was at the store, he’d have questions about something he was supposed to buy and he’d have to track down a pay phone. It was a moronic punishment. We ended up sending someone with a phone with AJ just so we’d have a communication link.

Lacey pretty much summed it up when she said, “What is he going to do next? Take away his drill?” His phone was as much a tool as it was a company perk. AJ needed a good verbal beat down, not grounded.

So we took it in turns to call AJ’s phone non-stop. At first his boss just let it ring in his pocket, but he got sick of that and left it at the communal desk. We’d wait until boss sat down to look at plans and then call the phone. He finally just turned it off.

Boss realized how dumb it was when it finally impacted him. He needed the van and AJ had it on a supply run. Boss actually got out his cell phone, called AJ’s phone and when it went straight to voice mail he said angrily, “AJ’s got his phone turned off.” Someone reminded boss of the phone’s location at the desk. Boss was pissed, not at himself, but at AJ.

I think he got the phone back before the end of the week. AJ was on time for the meeting every day after that. Mostly.

Ask HolyJuan: Inhospitable in NYC

Dear Holy,
My stepmother recently called to ask if her sister's son could stay with me when he attends a week-long conference in my town. He is attending the conference on his own dime and cannot afford the cost of a hotel.
I haven't seen this step-cousin since I was 10, and think that it would be pretty awkward to have him stay in my one-bedroom apartment.

What excuse should I give so that I don't look like a jerk?

Sincerely,
Inhospitable in NYC



Dear In,

Step-cousin? How do you get a step-cousin? Seems a bit fishy. Why didn’t he step-call you himself? I can see why you would be wary.

Moving on.

What this really boils down to is what conference he is attending. You'll need to change your tactics depending on what he's in town for.

If it is some psychology conference (sounds like he’s got some mom issues so he probably did go into psychology) then tell him that your apartment is all female, like in Bosom Buddies, and that the only way he can stay is if he dresses up like a woman the entire week. If he still wants to stay, tell him it was a trick and that he’s way too creepy.

If he’s attending a run of the mill training seminar, tell him that your apartment is being used as a set for a movie. When he asks what movie, say, “It’s a (make sound effects indicating porn) movie.” If he’s still interested say, “But it’s (make sound effects indicating gay animal porn.)”

If it is an electronic conference, explain that your apartment is in between an electrical transfer station and magnet factory and all of his gadgets will get fried. If he questions you about how you are able to talk on the phone to him now, tell him it’s a rotary dial phone. Back this up by saying your phone number is FL 2-2525.

If it is a porn conference, I’ll rent out your room for the week and he and I can go together.

I hope this helps you. And when your step-cousin is being beaten and robbed after staying in a $10 a night hole in the wall, you can thank your lucky stars that you didn’t have all that extra laundry and cleaning up you selfish bitch.

Love,

HolyJuan

PS Legally, you can have sex with a step-cousin so all your worries about creepiness are moot.