Thursday, May 31, 2012

Goose From "Top Gun" Has A Message

This is a public service announcement.
As a side note, I'm not gay, but G.D that Tom Cruise is pretty.


Wednesday, May 30, 2012

How Was Your Golf Game Today?

You should have seen it!  Man I was on fire!  I was so hot the cart caught fire.  No. Really.


Monday, May 28, 2012

Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 18


The Time Mookie Saw Some Possibly Racist Dogs

I had to stop at Wal-Mart one morning, and pick up a few items.  I pulled into a parking spot, and noticed the car next to me had a couple dogs in it.  Normally, this annoys me because I don’t think people should leave their pets in their cars (Contrary to what some people think: I do have a heart, and normally do not wish ill things on animals - especially a good dog).  However, it was a mildly cool morning and the windows were open enough to allow ample fresh air.  There is a BIG dog sitting in the driver seat, and a smaller dog that was in the rear window when I pulled in.  They are just sitting there quietly and checking out the scenery that is the Wal-Mart parking lot.  The little dog proceeds to journey to the front passenger seat, and sit and stares at me through the crack in the window as I get out.  I am always cautious around strange animals, mainly because I do not want my arms/body chomped on because I misjudged a critter’s disposition towards me.  Plus, we are in a Wal-Mart parking lot.  This might be some dirty, crazy, rabid, and wormy ladies car, and the dogs might be even worse.
"I wish that bitch would hurry up. I hate Wal-Mart."
I said “Hi there” and smile to the dogs to show my friendliness, but did not put my hand in the window to pet them.  The big dog just sits there looking at me like "That's right.  I'm f'n driving this bitch.  Nothing to see here."
I head into the store to purchase my wares, and left the store a few minutes later.   
As I am walking back out to my car, there is an African-American gentleman walking about 50-75 feet ahead of me and he is walking down the parking aisle in the general direction of my car.  I see my car down the row, and notice the car of dogs is still parked next to me.  Then, as the African American man nears the car of dogs, the dogs FREAK THE F*&K OUT
BARK!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  BARK!!  BARK!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  BARK!!  WOOF!!  BARK!!  BARK!!
I then notice there is not two, but THREE dogs in this car: Two big ones, and the little one.  The other big dog must have been laying down in the back or something where I couldn’t see him when I got out of the car.  The “new” big dog and little dog are full on going crazy in the back window and rear passenger window.  The other big dog is banging against the front passenger window in his struggle to get out.
If those windows would have been 1 inch more open, that little dog would have been on that guy like a fat kid at a cake buffet.  I’m surprised the bigger dogs didn’t break the windows off in their struggle to get out of the car.  The black guy hurried past the car and got into his car a bit further down the aisle.
So then here I come.  I am anticipating the same response the other guy got, and brace myself for endless barking and hope they don’t make it out the window at me.
What do they do?  Nothing.  They just sit and look at me as I walk past their trunk, and then between their car and mine to my car door.  The little dog again ran up and perched himself in the front passenger window and stuck his face out the crack.  I smile at him and the other tail wagging dogs, get into my car and drive away.
It has been said that “man’s best friend” can sense things about people and determine if they are “bad” or not.  Perhaps that was the case here. 
Or it could be that these dogs were incredibly racist.  Tough call. 

Friday, May 25, 2012

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Monday, May 21, 2012

Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 17

The Time Mookie Got A Vasectomy


Having kids is great.  My wife and I have two boys, and they definitely keep us on our toes.  They are awesome, funny, and make me proud to be their Dad.  They also cause never-ending anxiety, stress, tears, pain, sleepless nights, drained bank accounts, and embarrassment.  Oh! I forgot to add the utter lack of a sex life too.  But that is what having kids is all about right?  Right??

It took my wife and I several years to decide to have kids.  When we got married, kids were not in the foreseeable future.  Over time we eventually softened up to the idea and decided to go for it.  Needless to say, we didn't have to "go for it" very long because she got pregnant pretty quick.  This blows because we went from having a LOT of sex to NO sex.  Reason?  My wife was virtually nauseous for the entire 9 months, and most days she just wanted to die.  It was awful.  It definitely put the brakes on sexy time.

Our first son was born and he was more of a handful than we (or anyone) could have ever  prepared for. Wow.  So between that, and memory of my wife feeling like death for 40 weeks.......we were good on kids for awhile.  However, time has a funny way of making us forget, and making it seem things weren't as bad as they really were.  So after a few years we decided to give our son a sibling, and to "go for it" again.  Once again, we didn't have to try very long this time either.  Needless to say it is reassuring knowing that our carefulness in "trying not to have kids" over the years was energy not wasted.  If we had found out down the road that one of us was unable to produce a child, we would have been pisssssssed.

This pregnancy goes better than the first, mainly because the wife was not sick 24/7.  It was more like 14/6.  Son #2 arrives safe and healthy, BUT now we have two needy people depending on us.  Most days it seemed like they were fighting over who could be the neediest (they still do).  Between all of this, our jobs, the loss of our sanity, and the cost of daycare draining our bank accounts, we felt very confident in saying we were done having kids.

"Megan (*)" and I had talked about it over the years, and always said that when the appropriate time came that I would get a vasectomy, as opposed to her getting a tubal ligation (tubes tied).  The vasectomy is actually quite simple and less evasive than a tubal ligation (significantly cheaper too).  One day she calls me at work and asks me to call the urologist to see what we would need to do to get that vasectomy.  So I call them up, and they say to come in and a nurse will go over the procedure, and emphasize that this should  be considered "permanent."  So we go, and nothing we see or hear sways us or changes our thought in the slightest.  I’m good with “permanent.”  We check with insurance to see if it is covered, and it was (it was $1,100.00 in case you were wondering).  The nurse books our appointment on a Friday after lunch, and we depart.  They say they always do the procedure on Fridays so the patients can more easily rest at home on the weekends.  I am on board for this.

The day of the procedure arrives and I am ready.  I took the day off from work, took the kids to daycare, and then went and had a nice 6-mile run on the treadmill.  I showered, met the wife for a quick lunch, and then we headed to the urologist.  I had no qualms about what was going to happen.

Once we got to the urologist, we checked in at the front desk and then sat in the waiting room.  As we sat there waiting, it comes to mind that EVERYONE here is waiting to discuss some issue with their man/lady parts. It is mildly humorous to me since I have the maturity of a 10-year old.

Finally, my name is called.  A nurse takes me back into this little office-like room, and has me sign  a variety of forms and medical releases. When I’m done, I laugh to myself because I just signed a paper that essentially gave them explicit permission to cut my junk open. 

Then the nurse gave me a Valium tablet, and says this should help keep me calm and relaxed.  She says I can go back to the waiting room and let that get into my system, and then they’ll call me back when the doctor is ready.  I walk back out to the waiting room, and Megan is like “what did you do?” I tell her about the paperwork I signed and how they gave me Valium. Ten to fifteen minutes go by, and this Valium has done nothing but make my face flushed.  That. Is. It.  I feel no less anxious or relaxed than I did when I rolled into the office. If anything, it INCREASED my anxiety.  Megan had previously asked me if I wanted one of her Xanax prior to coming into the office.  I turned her down based the idea that I thought I would be "OK" and I just didn't feel responsible self-medicating.  Needless to say I was beginning to regret this decision.

Eventually the nurse comes out and says they are ready for me. I stood up, kissed my wife, and walked towards the nurse. We walked down a hallway, and she leads me into a room that has a double-door entry. She says for me to strip from the waist down, and then go and sit on the operating table until “Dr. R” (*) is ready. She then handed me this oversize sheet of butcher paper and says I can “cover myself” with it when I’m on the table. Classy.  Then she left the room.

I'm left alone in this big uninviting procedure room, contemplating the fact that Valium was useless, and I was minutes away from getting my junk cut open.  Honest to God - My first instinct is to BOLT. “Dude you need to get the F out of here now.” The fact I had that thought surprised me to an extent because I've never had the urge to seriously run away from anything.  Up until now I had no fear or hesitation about any of this procedure. I had researched the entire thing and I knew what I was in for. In hindsight, I honestly think it came down to a "modesty thing."  I've never been one to stroll the house naked or flaunt my "business" in front of anyone, and in about 2 minutes some doctor dude and nurse lady are going to have a front row seat for my junk.  OH! And as an added bonus - they are going to cut holes in it and cut things out of it. Wow.

I removed my clothing from the waist down like the nurse said, set them in the chair, and walked over to the end of the operating table.  A minute later “Dr. R” and the nurse come in and start preparing for the procedure. “Dr. R is a pleasant guy with a good sense of humor, and begins to explain exactly what he is going to do.  Based on my previous research, what he tells me sounds about right, and I have no questions for him.  “All right."  He says.  "Let’s do this.”

I lay back and he proceeds to manhandle my junk like no one has ever before – In case you are wondering, it was not in a good way.  No one should EVER do whatever the hell it was he was doing.  He said he was trying to locate the “vas deferens” (aka: sperm hose) so that he could minimize the cut he would need to make to retrieve it.  I swear to God he was acting like he was hired by an ex-girlfriend to injure my junk.  Then they said I would feel a “small pinch.”  As everyone knows, in “doctor talk” this means they are going to stick me with a needle.  They did.  They injected some sort of numbing substance into my scrotum.  Uncomfortable is not even close to the term for what that felt like. 

THEN.  He went to work.  Lying on my back like I was, I could not see what “Dr. R” and the nurse were doing.  In hindsight I wish I could have though.  During the procedure itself I was mainly preoccupied with how much discomfort I was in.  I tried to keep the mood light, especially since their job was probably that much more difficult thanks to my pre-procedure nerves pulling my junk up into my abdomen.  It was probably like operating on an infant.  I joked that I wanted him to cut a significant piece out of the vas deferens so there was no way that bad boy was going to reconnect itself.  So he pulled on it. Sweet Jesus IT HURT.  I felt the tension of what he was pulling on up through my pelvis into my abdomen.  I asked how much that was he pulled.  He said “a quarter of an inch.”  I grunted back at him in obvious discomfort: “Not much slack there huh?”  He laughed and said no.  I think he then cauterized the ends of the vas deferens to close them off, stuffed it all back in, and then stitched me up.

Oh wait!  We’re not done. No no!  There are TWO vas deferens.  We have to do the other side!

So “Dr. R” repeated the same procedure all over again, only on the other side of my junk.  The result was equally as uncomfortable as the first part.  After finishing that up, he stitched up that side and advised me on how to take care of the wounds, and what to expect in the coming days and weeks.  He said that since the incisions were minimal, the stitches should help leave minimal to no scarring.  I laughed and jokingly said “Yeah thanks.  That was a big worry.”  He came back with “Well, I don’t know what you do for a living.  In the event you are testicle model, your career shouldn’t be hindered.”  It hurt to laugh at that one.

As he is getting ready to leave, he tells me again what to expect in the coming hours and days, and explicitly tells me to take it easy. He said that everything during the procedure went “fine,” so there shouldn’t be any complications. I say that is good.  THEN he replies “Yeah, it looked just like it did on the internet when I researched it last night.  Take care.” I laughed, and he smiled as he left the room.

The nurse helped me up off the table, and asked if I was OK. I said yeah.  She gave me handfuls of gauze to pack my junk in, and she left me to get dressed. I looked at my nether-regions, and they looked like they had been through the wringer - An unsettling sight to say the least.  I got all my clothes back on (over my gauze packed crotch), and walked out into the hallway where the nurse was waiting for me. She walked with me back out to the waiting room to where my wife was waiting.  I tried to walk as normally as possible, but I’m sure it looked like I was in some discomfort.

I pretty much took it easy the rest of that day.  The pain wasn’t too bad, and was easily treated with ibuprofen.  When I woke up Saturday, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I looked at “Dr. R’s” handy work.  My junk was BRUISED.  I’ve had bruises a million times, but nothing like this.  I was in shock at how black and blue my junk was.  I should have taken a picture.  The rest of the weekend was pretty low-keyed too, although I did resort to shoveling a bit of snow Sunday night with little discomfort.

In the days that followed, the stitches came out, the wounds healed, and any discomfort subsided.  Life and regular activities returned to normal in short order, and I was even brave enough to resume running a few weeks later too.  The procedure proved successful, and I am now unable to impregnate my wife.  But as I said before, I have kids.  I can’t get near my wife most days anyway, even when she's dressed.  However the peace of mind of not being able to father future children is reassuring.  I'm sure society is glad too.

One last thing: I should TOTALLY sue “Dr. R.”  One of the incisions left a very visible scar.  It totally ruined my testicle modeling career aspirations.  You want to see it??

(*) – Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.

Monday, May 14, 2012

This Would Be Magical



Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 16

The Time Mookie Saw Van Halen In Concert, And Threw Up

The day was Friday April 10th, 1992 and I was easily the most excited I had ever been in my life up to that point.  I was going to see Van Halen live in concert.  I LOVE VAN HALEN.  This was back when they were at their peak during the Sammy Hagar days, and I was a big fan.  I never got sucked into the whole "Who is better: David Lee Roth or Sammy Hagar?" argument.  I appreciated both eras of music (both had high and low points), and thought Eddie Van Halen was a badass guitar player.
The cover of Van Halen's 1991 album - "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge"
They were coming to Cedar Rapids on what I believe was the 4th leg of their U.S. tour in support of their "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge" album.  So me and the boys scooped us up some tickets for the show months in advance, and then had to wait what seemed like forever.

Finally, the day of the show arrived and we came up with our plan of attack.  The plan was for "Russ" (*) and "Junior" (*) to meet "Rick" (*) and I at the the show as they had a golf meet that day after school.  It was an "away" meet, but they usually don't take too long, and the show didn't start till like 7:30-8.  Easily enough time to get back and make the show.  I too was on the golf team, but I sucked and did not get to travel to the meet. (Yay.)
The back of my Van Halen shirt.  My Mom was proud.
Since Rick and I were "good boys" during our high school days, we arrived at the show clean and sober.  Once we get there, there is no question - I want to be on the floor.  It was a "general admission" show, which meant no reserved seats and an open floor in the arena. Rick was not a fan of crowds, and said "fine," but he would stay back where people weren't touching him.  Russ and Junior showed up about that time, and we decided we "need" to get concert t-shirts.  Russ, Junior, and I all picked out the same shirt - I think mainly due to the profane way the Van Halen album title was displayed.  We were cool.  In hindsight, there were much cooler shirts, but having the "F-word" on your back trumped everything.

Finally, the lights go down for the opening act:  "Baby Animals."  They were some new Austrailian group, and they weren't very good.  They had one minor hit song in the U.S, but that was it.  The only other claim to fame they ended up having was the lead singer chick ended up marrying Nuno Bettencourt from the group Extreme.

After the Baby Animals set, the crowd started to get a bit rowdy.  The closer you tried to get to the stage, the tighter it got.  It was just a trash compactor of dirty, sweaty, drunk and high people. The house music over the PA got louder and louder as we wall stood around anticipating the arrival of Van Halen.

By now, the four of us had largely separated due to the crowd and the chaos it created.  I had somehow wedged myself within maybe 3 or 4 feet of the gate in front of the stage.  This equated to having 2 or 3 people in front of me, but I was unable to judge this because it was just crushed bodies.  "Wedged" is the only way to describe it because it was just using the pushing motion of the audience to your advantage and creating a wedge between people until you could square yourself as much as possible.  The pressure on everyone was so great you could pick your feet up briefly - and still be upright.  How more people don't die at these things I'll never know.

FINALLY - The lights went down.  "HEEELLLOOOO BAAABY!" Went Sammy Hagar's voice and the distinct sound of Eddie Van Halen holding a drill to his guitar blasted over the sound system.  The stage lights flooded the place and there they were:  Van Halen.  The song "Poundcake" opened the show (hence the drill) and they were rocking.  The crowd was crazy, and somehow pushed against everything even harder.  It was intense.  After about 3 songs, I had to back out.  I didn't feel good, I was overheating, and I was soaked.  Getting out of a crowd like that is almost as difficult as going in, but most people were happy to wedge into the hole you were making backing out.  Once I  was out of the press of bodies, and into the just "closely standing" people I was able to move more freely - which was good because I felt sick.  I wandered up to the balcony level, and decided I needed a bathroom now. I fell into the stall and "BAAARRFFFF."  This went on for a few minutes.  I was so weak from everything I found myself sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall.  As I am sitting there on the floor of bathroom barfing (I will never forget this), I can hear Van Halen singing the song "Right Now."  I remember thinking "Oh man, they are playing Right Now." Then I remember thinking, "Yeah, Right Now I'm throwing up."  I thought nothing of it at that moment, but after the fact I couldn't believe I sat on the floor of a public bathroom stall and how gross that was.  Then again, it probably wasn't any grosser than everyone and everything I was pressed against on the arena floor.

To this day, I'm not sure exactly what happened and caused me to have the vomit episode but I think I just got overheated.  By the end of the song I had composed and cleaned myself up, and made my way back into the arena.  While walking the concourse, I ran into Junior who had also had enough of the floor.  Somehow we found a pair of seats and we watched the rest of the show from there.  Yeah, it rocked.

After the show, I found Rick and I said we had to stop at McDonald's for something to drink before we set off for home.  We each got large chocolate shakes, and a large Diet Coke.  I drank my soda even before we left the city, and had finished Rick's soda and my shake before we got home.  Between sweating my ass off and vomiting, I must have been a dehydrated fellow.  But that was OK.  We saw Van Halen.

On Monday, we all wore our "F-Word" Van Halen shirts to school, but put tape over the "U" and the "C" in the "F Word."  I can't believe they let us wear them.  But then again, we were cool.  We saw Van Halen.

(*) - Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Happy Mother's Day!!

I normally don't advertise things for free, but this is worth sharing since it's in relation to Mother's Day.  And you know....boobs.


Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Mother's Day Is Coming Up!

Hey!  Mother's Day is this weekend!  Since I am a huge admirer of jokes and humor that is directed at "Your Mom," I thought I would unload some of my favorite pics and whatnot for the rest of the week.  Today's edition is my all time favorite.  I love Biff.


Their Virtues Do Not Help Their Dating Situation

That's OK ladies.  I wouldn't touch your ugly lips unless I was armed with A LOT of liquor.


Monday, May 07, 2012

Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 15


The Time Mookie and Russ Laughed At Russ' Annoying Girlfriend

The year “Russ” (*) and I lived in the old Funke Apartments was a good year.  We both made it through our classes at the local community college, and we both worked enough to be considered full-time employees at our respective jobs.  Not least of all, we also had ample fun along the way and met many “interesting” people.

For a good month or so during our Funke cohabitation, Russ saw a girl named “Brandy.” (**)  I don’t know where he met her, and I don’t know why...but the two of them apparently hit it off on some level I never really understood.  As that month progressed, it was safe to say during this period that if Russ was home, Brandy was there with him.  Normally I wouldn't mind this sort of thing since I can get along with anyone,  but my God was she annoying.  Wow.  She had a voice that made your spine brittle.  In addition to her annoying voice, this girl was not attractive - not even a little bit.  Every time I saw her, I was never sure if she was drunk, high, or if that was just the way she was.

So it is understandable that there were nights when I did not want to go home from work and have to face the ugly-annoying-but really nice-Brandy.  Plus I could never figure out what Russ had going with this girl since he wasn't a bad looking guy himself. The only thing I could think of was sex, which couldn’t have been pretty either.  The thought of those two pasty-white animals doing the “devil’s deed” would give anyone nightmares.  Pasty white.

Anyway, late one night I was home alone studying for some big test I had the next day when there was a knock on the door.  Much to my disappointment, I answered it to find “Brandy” standing there (all annoying and pasty) looking for Russ. I told her I had no idea where he was, but that I did expect him soon as he had class early the next the morning.  She asked if she could wait, and I said sure.

So instead of leaving me to my studying and going to watch TV, she decided she wanted to be M-F’n chatty and kept trying to strike up a conversation.  Eventually I gave in, took a break and engaged her in conversation about God knows what.  FINALLY after a painful half-hour of talking to Brandy, Russ came rolling through the door.  PISS. ASS. DRUNK.

This is no shock to me because.....well this is Russ.  He and I were good friends and I knew Russ likes to drink.  This is what he does.  I have no problem with this. I'd seen it before. I'd see it again and again.

Russ seemed moderately surprised to see Brandy, and talked to her for a few minutes.  FINALLY after a few minutes of painfully obvious intoxication on Russ’ part, Brandy goes:  “Russ, have you been drinking?”  My brain was hurting at this point due to the lack of intelligence this poor girl had.  Russ had his trademark rosy and flushed drinking face going on, and also sported a boyish grin that just completed the package.  He let out a trademark “Russ” laugh and I laughed at this.  You could just see the wheels moving inside this girl’s head (albeit slowly).  She then began with the “Why are you drunk?” “Where have you been?” questions every girlfriend asks when their guy F's up.  Then she put 2 and 2 together, came up with 5, and realized that he probably drove home that way too.  Now, while I don’t necessarily support the driving thing, I was not his guardian.  He knew if he was really f’d up he could call me and I’d come get him.  Again predictably Russ laughed, thus making me laugh again.  Brandy was having none of this.  She turns to me and is just beside herself.  “He drove home drunk!  Why are you laughing?  You are his roommate and friend! You should care!”

After I was able to stifle my giggles, I told her that I don’t condone the behavior, but I was not his parent.  Plus he was going to do what he wanted anyway.  At this comment, Russ let out another obnoxious drunk laugh. - which in turn made me laugh again.  That was all Brandy must have been able to handle because she immediately went into the other room.  Russ followed her, and then I heard her leave a minute later. 

Russ appeared in our room a few minutes later as he changed out of his clothes for bed.  “Is she gone?” I asked.  He let out some more laughs, and as he climbed up into his loft bed, he laughingly said: “Ohhh Mookie.  Yeah she’s gone.”  Then he passed out.

I think he slept well.


(*)         Name changed to protect the guilty/innocent
(**)       Name is made up because I have no idea what that girl’s name is anymore.

Saturday, May 05, 2012

Maury Povich Rules.

Last week it was french fries.  This week it's chicken wings.  Maury knows where to find some quality people.


Friday, May 04, 2012