{Author's note: In a first for HolyJuan.com, I'd like to present, guest writer, Chris.}
In early June, Joe vacationed for a week near Clearwater Florida, which is 45 minutes from where Karen and I live. We scheduled an evening for him to stop by our place for dinner while he was here. A few days before his vacation I received a call from Joe “warning” me that he was traveling with a “female friend” and they were purely friends and he did not want to hear any crap from me or Karen.
I agreed and followed my commitment to Joe during his visit. But now his vacation is over. The following are the top observations of Joe and Suzanne that prove they are more than just friends.
11) Joe pulled me aside and asked to borrow my mix tape; “that really good one from college with ‘Lady in Red’ and ‘Tender Love’”, he said.
10) When I asked Joe if he listened to Fugazi anymore, he had this incredulous look and then stated, “Fugazi?”, as if it was so absurd to suggest he ever listened to them.
9) He and Suzanne kept talking about how the Broadway version of “Mama Mia” was so much better than the movie version.
8) When I saw him drinking Corona, I expressed surprise at that, and he said “You know, I always drank Corona in high school and college.”
7) He kept doing ring-around-the-rosie with my kids, and always was looking at Suzanne out of the corners of his eye to see if she was watching. My kids finally pushed him aside and ran to get away.
6) He and Suzanne began to show my kids how to do “patty cake” with their hands. 5 minutes later, my kids walked away as Joe and Suzanne kept doing patty caking without giving my kids 1 second of their attention.
5) When we started talking about how great “Seinfeld” was, he kept telling us how Elaine was his favorite character.
4) When I asked if his mom did anything dumb lately, he said sternly to me, “No! I love my mother.”
3) When we all went for a walk by the woods by my house, he and Suzanne kept stopping simultaneously to do the Macarena for 10 seconds, and then laughed out loud for 10 more seconds after do it. It wasn’t cute or funny the first time.
2) Joe and Suzanne had a 15 minute conversation regarding how they love oyster crackers in their soup.
1) He kept asking us if we wanted to play board games.
{If you would like to guest write for HolyJuan.com.... forget it.}
{Author's Note: After cutting and pasting this, I went to iTunes and downloaded Chris de Burgh's ‘Lady in Red’ and Force MD's ‘Tender Love’. Really.}
Stinkin' Redhead
I was cleaning off my desktop when I ran across this. Some redhead blogger ran a contest to make up a 300 words or less story about how she broke her ankle. The winner would get a blahblahblah gig iTouch. I entered. I didn't even make it into the top seven that she picked to be voted on. Here is my story:
Redhead knew that handing over her car keys was a mistake, but the guy in the bar with the crappy goatee wouldn’t shut up and he said it was a magic trick that she would never forget. She dug the keyring out of her black purse; the streamlined sexy one that barely held her keys, cash and lipstick.
He stood up on his stool, held the keys up, said, “Ladies and Ladies!” and in a drunken lurch, spun around and bent over. He mostly stood, half bent over for an uncomfortable minute and then stood and spun with a “Ta-Da!”
The keys dangled from his nobody’s business that, half heartedly, poked out from his open zipper. Not just dangled… that son of a bitch had the keyring shoved down his dick.
“Take it off!”
“Come get it!” he shook his feeble groin at her.
In one very coordinated move, Redhead swung her purse forward, up and cockward. Her aim was true. Goatee fell backwards, clutching his keyrung goods, and landed on the bar floor.
“Give them to me!”
“Here…” he croaked.
“Give them.”
“They are stuck! Oh my God… It’s swelling up!”
Everything was… an awful blue.
An hour later, against doctor’s orders, Redhead stood by goatee dude, insisting that she would not leave that scumbag’s side without her keys. Lubricants had failed to release the keys and in the end, pliers were called for and sterilized.
The doctor leveraged and applied force. He snipped. Simultaneously, Goatee let out a desperate howl and a gob of man goo shot out from his pent up loins.
Redhead reached forward and grabbed the lubed up keys with a pre-gloved hand.
“Fuck you.”
She turned to walk out and promptly slipped in his load on the floor, breaking her ankle in three places.
Yeah, it sucks. But it beats out the other drivel. I'd give you her website to compare, but I don't want to give her any traffic. Yeah, I'm a sore loser. Fuck you.
Redhead knew that handing over her car keys was a mistake, but the guy in the bar with the crappy goatee wouldn’t shut up and he said it was a magic trick that she would never forget. She dug the keyring out of her black purse; the streamlined sexy one that barely held her keys, cash and lipstick.
He stood up on his stool, held the keys up, said, “Ladies and Ladies!” and in a drunken lurch, spun around and bent over. He mostly stood, half bent over for an uncomfortable minute and then stood and spun with a “Ta-Da!”
The keys dangled from his nobody’s business that, half heartedly, poked out from his open zipper. Not just dangled… that son of a bitch had the keyring shoved down his dick.
“Take it off!”
“Come get it!” he shook his feeble groin at her.
In one very coordinated move, Redhead swung her purse forward, up and cockward. Her aim was true. Goatee fell backwards, clutching his keyrung goods, and landed on the bar floor.
“Give them to me!”
“Here…” he croaked.
“Give them.”
“They are stuck! Oh my God… It’s swelling up!”
Everything was… an awful blue.
An hour later, against doctor’s orders, Redhead stood by goatee dude, insisting that she would not leave that scumbag’s side without her keys. Lubricants had failed to release the keys and in the end, pliers were called for and sterilized.
The doctor leveraged and applied force. He snipped. Simultaneously, Goatee let out a desperate howl and a gob of man goo shot out from his pent up loins.
Redhead reached forward and grabbed the lubed up keys with a pre-gloved hand.
“Fuck you.”
She turned to walk out and promptly slipped in his load on the floor, breaking her ankle in three places.
Yeah, it sucks. But it beats out the other drivel. I'd give you her website to compare, but I don't want to give her any traffic. Yeah, I'm a sore loser. Fuck you.
Ask HolyJuan: What Shall I Take in My Suitcase?
Dear HolyJuan,
What shall i take in my suitcase? I have been thinking about this for a while and was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the subject.
Please help.
Thanks.
Warmest Regards,
Larry
Dear Larry,
Who uses a suitcase these days? Are you 100 years old? Is it a steamer or a trunk?
I suggest you throw that suitcase out and use a trash bag. Trash bags are better than suitcases for several reasons.
1. Price = free
They already have trash bags at the airport in the bottoms of the trash cans. This allows you to pack at the airport while waiting for your flight instead of doing it at home. I suggest a double bagging so that people will think that you have money to blow on trash bags.
2. Flexibility
When asked if your bag fits into the bag size detector at the airport, you can cram your trashbag into the device, with clothes and toiletries oozing into ever crack and crevice, ensuring that your beanbag sized bag will make it as carry-on.
3. Speed
When you have a trashbag thrown over your shoulder, the TSA attendants at security assumes you work at the airport and will let you right through to the front of the line. When the metal detector goes off, just say, “Dustpan.”
4. Odor Protection
Stinky clothes or cheese from the Duty Free shop? Buy odor protection bags for your trip back. I suggest the twitsty-tie so that you can get into and out of your bag multiple times when you need a snack or to smell again if your clothes really stink. Man, I love my own stink.
5. Security
If you leave your bag on the floor, no one will pick it up. No one will report it as a bomb. No one will look inside to steal your shit. Even the cleaning people won't touch it because the union forbids them from EVER touching anything outside the trash bins. The only people you need to concern yourself with are the people, like me, who are looking to throw their stuff in a trash bag. When I see you at the airport, I’ll give you a thumbs-up.
So, Larry, toss that suitcase. When you look at a trash bag from now on, I want you to say, “This is My Suitcase.”
Love and respectfully,
HolyJuan
What shall i take in my suitcase? I have been thinking about this for a while and was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the subject.
Please help.
Thanks.
Warmest Regards,
Larry
Dear Larry,
Who uses a suitcase these days? Are you 100 years old? Is it a steamer or a trunk?
I suggest you throw that suitcase out and use a trash bag. Trash bags are better than suitcases for several reasons.
1. Price = free
They already have trash bags at the airport in the bottoms of the trash cans. This allows you to pack at the airport while waiting for your flight instead of doing it at home. I suggest a double bagging so that people will think that you have money to blow on trash bags.
2. Flexibility
When asked if your bag fits into the bag size detector at the airport, you can cram your trashbag into the device, with clothes and toiletries oozing into ever crack and crevice, ensuring that your beanbag sized bag will make it as carry-on.
3. Speed
When you have a trashbag thrown over your shoulder, the TSA attendants at security assumes you work at the airport and will let you right through to the front of the line. When the metal detector goes off, just say, “Dustpan.”
4. Odor Protection
Stinky clothes or cheese from the Duty Free shop? Buy odor protection bags for your trip back. I suggest the twitsty-tie so that you can get into and out of your bag multiple times when you need a snack or to smell again if your clothes really stink. Man, I love my own stink.
5. Security
If you leave your bag on the floor, no one will pick it up. No one will report it as a bomb. No one will look inside to steal your shit. Even the cleaning people won't touch it because the union forbids them from EVER touching anything outside the trash bins. The only people you need to concern yourself with are the people, like me, who are looking to throw their stuff in a trash bag. When I see you at the airport, I’ll give you a thumbs-up.
So, Larry, toss that suitcase. When you look at a trash bag from now on, I want you to say, “This is My Suitcase.”
Love and respectfully,
HolyJuan
Money Bag
I have a sum of money in this bag. First one to guess how much is in the bag gets the money.
To answer, you need to leave a comment with the guess and an e-mail address/twitter. You can also comment with a username if it is associated with an e-mail address. Any guess not associated with an e-mail address will be deleted.
One guess per person, please.
And no tricks! No mathematics or less than signs or formulas. Just the amount you think in US Dollars.
I’m not sure what the tax laws in your state are, but I am going to sneak around them when I send this to you by mail. Oh yeah, Haskckuhi, US residents only.
And yes, you are probably going to have to trust me about how much money is in the bag. It's written on the back side.
{Editor's Note - 7/28/09: It's less than $50.01 and more than $.01.}
To answer, you need to leave a comment with the guess and an e-mail address/twitter. You can also comment with a username if it is associated with an e-mail address. Any guess not associated with an e-mail address will be deleted.
One guess per person, please.
And no tricks! No mathematics or less than signs or formulas. Just the amount you think in US Dollars.
I’m not sure what the tax laws in your state are, but I am going to sneak around them when I send this to you by mail. Oh yeah, Haskckuhi, US residents only.
And yes, you are probably going to have to trust me about how much money is in the bag. It's written on the back side.
{Editor's Note - 7/28/09: It's less than $50.01 and more than $.01.}
My Homework
Russ and I have been friends since kindergarten. We rode the bus to school together for 12 years until he bought a car, which reminds me that I still owe him gas money. As kids, we would spend the night at each other’s houses or get dropped off by the bus after school to spend the afternoon together.
The most magical thing about Russ’ house was that his dad had a collection of Playboy magazines. Stacks of them. All kept in a very large bottom drawer of a huge filing cabinet. The drawer would have been big enough to hold the both of us if it wasn’t half full of magazines. If no one was at home, Russ and I would sneak a peek or two at the magazines and quickly hide them away when we heard a car coming up his, just long enough, gravel driveway. Russ was very careful about keeping his father’s secret a secret, so he didn’t like to take chances and we only took calculated looks in the drawer. I liked to take chances and it was a constant battle to keep me out of the garage.
One day after school, I went over to Russ’ house. We were supposed to do our homework, but we were keeping busy with video games. Russ’ mom came in and said that she was running off for a minute and that we should stay out of trouble as father would be home any minute. As soon as she left, I suggested we hit the drawer. Russ balked with the looming arrival of his father. I gave in.
Then I suggested we play hide and go seek.
I think I counted first to throw him off my plan. After finding him, he began to count and I ran off to the garage. I grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the huge drawer of goodness. I crawled in the drawer and with a bit of wiggling, pulled it shut.
Russ couldn’t find me for that twenty minutes of dimly lit heaven.
It was pretty hot in that drawer and I decided I should get out. Quick as can be I forced it open and shut it without a look back. I put the flashlight up and went inside to find Russ. I did not give up my hiding space. An hour later, mom came and picked me up. I couldn’t wait for my next visit.
That night, mom asked me if I had any homework. I remembered the worksheet in my back pocket that I was supposed to have completed at Russ’ house. I went to pull it out and it was gone. I thought I had left it at school. The next day at school the sheet wasn’t there and I got in trouble for not doing my homework.
I quickly forgot about the homework and was only reminded of it when Russ called me to say that the homework had been found by his father in the stash of Playboys. It had fallen out of my back pocket when I was squirming into/out of the drawer. My name was at the top of it. Russ’ dad yelled at Russ. Then in an odd turn of events, Russ’ mom yelled at Russ’ dad because she thought he had thrown all of those magazines out years ago.
Russ shared with me a very sad vision. One of his father out in the garage at night, working under a lamp, throwing out all the magazines from the drawer, stopping every so often to lovingly flip through one of them and then toss it in the bin with the rest.
Russ got in trouble. I got in trouble. Russ’ dad got in trouble. And the whole collection of playboys was thrown out.
But it was worth it. I can’t think of a more vivid memory from my youth. My neck bent up with my chin in my chest. Knees against the top of the drawer above me. Magazines an uneven surface beneath me. The sound of Russ’ feet shuffling through the garage as he hopelessly tried to find me. The very slight smell of paper mold and glue. The heat. And the weak yellow of the flashlight on the pink of the flesh. It’s all still there.
The most magical thing about Russ’ house was that his dad had a collection of Playboy magazines. Stacks of them. All kept in a very large bottom drawer of a huge filing cabinet. The drawer would have been big enough to hold the both of us if it wasn’t half full of magazines. If no one was at home, Russ and I would sneak a peek or two at the magazines and quickly hide them away when we heard a car coming up his, just long enough, gravel driveway. Russ was very careful about keeping his father’s secret a secret, so he didn’t like to take chances and we only took calculated looks in the drawer. I liked to take chances and it was a constant battle to keep me out of the garage.
One day after school, I went over to Russ’ house. We were supposed to do our homework, but we were keeping busy with video games. Russ’ mom came in and said that she was running off for a minute and that we should stay out of trouble as father would be home any minute. As soon as she left, I suggested we hit the drawer. Russ balked with the looming arrival of his father. I gave in.
Then I suggested we play hide and go seek.
I think I counted first to throw him off my plan. After finding him, he began to count and I ran off to the garage. I grabbed a flashlight and pulled open the huge drawer of goodness. I crawled in the drawer and with a bit of wiggling, pulled it shut.
Russ couldn’t find me for that twenty minutes of dimly lit heaven.
It was pretty hot in that drawer and I decided I should get out. Quick as can be I forced it open and shut it without a look back. I put the flashlight up and went inside to find Russ. I did not give up my hiding space. An hour later, mom came and picked me up. I couldn’t wait for my next visit.
That night, mom asked me if I had any homework. I remembered the worksheet in my back pocket that I was supposed to have completed at Russ’ house. I went to pull it out and it was gone. I thought I had left it at school. The next day at school the sheet wasn’t there and I got in trouble for not doing my homework.
I quickly forgot about the homework and was only reminded of it when Russ called me to say that the homework had been found by his father in the stash of Playboys. It had fallen out of my back pocket when I was squirming into/out of the drawer. My name was at the top of it. Russ’ dad yelled at Russ. Then in an odd turn of events, Russ’ mom yelled at Russ’ dad because she thought he had thrown all of those magazines out years ago.
Russ shared with me a very sad vision. One of his father out in the garage at night, working under a lamp, throwing out all the magazines from the drawer, stopping every so often to lovingly flip through one of them and then toss it in the bin with the rest.
Russ got in trouble. I got in trouble. Russ’ dad got in trouble. And the whole collection of playboys was thrown out.
But it was worth it. I can’t think of a more vivid memory from my youth. My neck bent up with my chin in my chest. Knees against the top of the drawer above me. Magazines an uneven surface beneath me. The sound of Russ’ feet shuffling through the garage as he hopelessly tried to find me. The very slight smell of paper mold and glue. The heat. And the weak yellow of the flashlight on the pink of the flesh. It’s all still there.
Win
Author's Note: Was chatting with Dave B last night and this video came up in conversation. I forgot how much I liked it. I might need help.
AmyD and Me
AmyD is awesome.
She and I went to school together for a couple years in Lancaster. She was a goofball and I was a doofus. She was a ball of fire that would someday turn into a wild, yet dedicated mom and I was a dweeb seed that would someday sprout into a jerkwad dad. She moved away and once the internet was invented, I would sometimes Google "girl gets head stuck in chair" hoping to find her.
A mutual friend brought us together and last week we had lunch over at the Surly Girl.
Let me tell you that I am in love with AmyD! Not in the get divorced kind of way. But rather that I really respect this girl because she is open, honest and true. She speaks her mind and she normally has to do so with her foot in her mouth. She's not perfect, but she is a perfectionist. She is cute as much as she is still goofy. Still that 7th grader at heart, right before you didn't have to worry about what people thought of you.
I am trying to convince her to illustrate a book I haven't written yet.
Here's her site: http://www.madebyamyd.com/ Check her out. Buy her stuff. Tell her I said hello.
She and I went to school together for a couple years in Lancaster. She was a goofball and I was a doofus. She was a ball of fire that would someday turn into a wild, yet dedicated mom and I was a dweeb seed that would someday sprout into a jerkwad dad. She moved away and once the internet was invented, I would sometimes Google "girl gets head stuck in chair" hoping to find her.
A mutual friend brought us together and last week we had lunch over at the Surly Girl.
Let me tell you that I am in love with AmyD! Not in the get divorced kind of way. But rather that I really respect this girl because she is open, honest and true. She speaks her mind and she normally has to do so with her foot in her mouth. She's not perfect, but she is a perfectionist. She is cute as much as she is still goofy. Still that 7th grader at heart, right before you didn't have to worry about what people thought of you.
I am trying to convince her to illustrate a book I haven't written yet.
Here's her site: http://www.madebyamyd.com/ Check her out. Buy her stuff. Tell her I said hello.
A belated thank you note from a Bitter White Republican Guy
Dear Holy Juan,
While belated, I wanted to send you a heartfelt thank you note for allowing me the experience of reading your blog. Your documentation of the work along 315 nearly brings me to tears and YOU Holy Juan were the one who broke the story on the sale of President Fords leg. Additionally, I dont mind telling you I would be a lesser person had you not brought the plight of the sugar packet to my attention. I will never use artificial sweetener again!
Holy Juan, you are an American treasure and your name will ring out forever with the likes of John Clancy, Walt Whitman and Perez Hilton. Reading your blog allows me to experience one of the all time greats, it feels just like my first trip to Neverland Ranch each time I log on.
Thank you Holy Juan, thank you for your greatness and sharing it with the world!
Very Respectfully,
Bitter White Republican Guy
p.s. Note that this thank you message is in email form, one of the approved thank you note formats and NOT a DM on Twitter which would violate your instructions.
While belated, I wanted to send you a heartfelt thank you note for allowing me the experience of reading your blog. Your documentation of the work along 315 nearly brings me to tears and YOU Holy Juan were the one who broke the story on the sale of President Fords leg. Additionally, I dont mind telling you I would be a lesser person had you not brought the plight of the sugar packet to my attention. I will never use artificial sweetener again!
Holy Juan, you are an American treasure and your name will ring out forever with the likes of John Clancy, Walt Whitman and Perez Hilton. Reading your blog allows me to experience one of the all time greats, it feels just like my first trip to Neverland Ranch each time I log on.
Thank you Holy Juan, thank you for your greatness and sharing it with the world!
Very Respectfully,
Bitter White Republican Guy
p.s. Note that this thank you message is in email form, one of the approved thank you note formats and NOT a DM on Twitter which would violate your instructions.
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