Eighty Cents Please

I was walking through the seedy streets of San Antonio last night, on my way to dinner at an expensive, upscale restaurant, dressed in a suit and feeling somewhat conspicuous among the street trash, dealers and lowlife that suddenly appeared to be everywhere. I could have taken a cab but the hotel said it was only two blocks away. Turns out that wasn't even close. (Wankers.) After getting my third set of directions I was approached by two muscular tattooed blokes, not in suits. One of them asked me if I could spare eighty cents.

Of course I said no. In fact I was so pissed off walking around after this non-existent restaurant that I was tempted to say a lot more, but half the fuckers down here have guns so I just walked on. Why does someone ask for eighty cents though? Is it a "low opener" so that they can talk you up to a higher number? I think not. It's not even a round number. Just ask for a dollar, or five, or ten, and then I'll take you seriously. Sure, the answer will still be no, but at least you won't look such a dick. I assume the real reason is to get you to stop and reach for your wallet so they can roll you. Seems like they might have picked a smaller bloke than me to try that on though. Anyway, it just confirmed my initial impression of San Antonio that it's a USDA Class A shithole.

Good Taste Humor

Just when I thought I understood my spouse it turns out she enjoys watching "Dancing With The Stars". It's like discovering your other half has a meth habit. She just turned the TV on and there was this deaf woman who'd been doing her dance and was being interviewed. She was replying in sign language and there was this little bloke next to her, translating it into speech. Mrs.Bison thinks she's great.

"She's pretty isn't she?" suggested my spouse.
"Well I'd give her one" I replied, tactfully.

Then I got to thinking. "I suppose if I did do her I'd need the little bloke next to the bed to interpret for her. She'd have to use just one hand to rub my dick, so she could moan with the other one."

"That's so sick" said the spouse, but she was laughing as she said it. Seems she hasn't gone over to the dark side completely.

Nae Totty

Maybe it was the Easter Sunday thing, but I went to the gym as usual this morning and there were hardly any girls. This makes for a much duller workout, simply owing to lack of scenery. It's what we occasionally refer to as a "sausage fest" or "sword-fight".

With my mind wandering in the absence of said scenic inspiration I got to thinking: do women in the gym prefer it when there's good-looking blokes around? What do you call it when there's mostly women in the gym? A fish-fest? A clambake? Answers on a postcard please...

Don't Mention The Jews

So let's get this straight. Barack Obama's spiritual mentor and pastor is a racist, anti-semite with a persecution complex and a hatred of whites, who blames America for 9/11. This is exposed but Obama makes a bland speech about race and the media drop the issue like it's covered in shit. Just imagine that John McCain was worshipping for twenty years at a church where his mentor was the chief wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Can you seriously imagine that he would make a short speech, distance himself from the wizard's beliefs but refuse to disown him, and that the media would respond "Oh, that's OK then" and move on?

The amount of deference accorded to this fucking nobody by the media, and the complete pass he's got on his experience, his racist friends and his corrupt funders, is absolutely incredible. Poor old Geraldine Ferraro points out, quite rightly, that any white bloke with as much experience as him wouldn't have had a chance, and she's immediately branded a racist and forced to resign. Seems like the craven refusal of the media to apply any scrutiny to Obama is part of some desperate conspiracy to annoint him. Having had eight years of a president who couldn't find his arse with both hands we hardly need this unqualified wanker to replace him. Meanwhile, you can stick your suburban white liberal guilt up your arse; so long as you keep blaming all the drug use, crime, single parent families with multi-father offspring, low educational attainment and obesity in the black community on "racism" no-one has to take any personal responsibility. That seems to be how Obama likes it...

Sick Joke Du Jour

Here's a joke that I learned back in 1988. I used it at a group dinner the other night on an HR person and it still worked a treat. Feel free to use it on friends and family; obviously it helps if the person telling it is a bloke:

You: "If you woke up one morning in the middle of a field, stark naked, with grass stains on your elbows and knees, and a used condom hanging out of your arse, who would you tell?"

Them: "Erm....no-one!"

You: "Would you like to come camping?"

On second thoughts, maybe just use it on friends, unless your family comes from Arkansas...

Swallow Hard

Recession or not, someone is about to get rich. Ashley Alexandra Dupre, the call-girl who fucked Eliot Spitzer, is set to cash in on her many talents. These talents include being pretty, taking her clothes off, fucking strangers and, erm, fucking more strangers. Hustler and Penthouse are already trying to line up photo spreads of her infamous minge but celebrity trash culture will ensure that she's able to profit way beyond that. There will be exclusive interviews in magazines and on TV. No doubt there will be a book. Someone will sign her up as a singer in spite of her mediocre talents, simply because talent isn't what moves product. She may degenerate into reality TV - maybe a spot on The Apprentice, or Big Brother, or she may launch her own line of handbags (each one no doubt including a discreet inside pocket for condoms and a larger one capable of holding $4,300 in small bills).

What is wrong with this fucking country? Other than telling us how big Spitzer's dick is, what the fuck can this woman have to say that is of any importance? How about this for starters: "I have abused drugs. I have been broke and homeless. But, I survived, on my own. I am here, in NY because of my music."

Not really darling. You're here in NY because you're willing to fuck people for money; that's what's paying the bills, not your crappy singing. Being a whore doesn't make you a bad person. It does make you a criminal; although it probably shouldn't, that's the law. However being a whore who fucked a politician shouldn't elevate you to the point where you start doing soft-focus interviews with Barbara Walters. How about you launch your own line of butter? You could call it "Spreads Like Ashley". I'm sure it'd be a big hit...

Perverse Logic

The downside of reading blogs is that you have to wade through an incredible amount of shit in order to find anything decent, so I usually stick to referrals from people whose particular brand of shit I enjoy. Today, however, I read a blog entry from some "cerebrally challenged" individual complaining about the percentage of minorities in the US prison system. Apparently one in fifteen black men is in prison here and that is a terrible thing. The implication is that we need to let lots of them out so that the balance becomes more "politically correct". Maybe we can also start locking up suburban white men for traffic infractions so that the whole socio-economic balance of the prison system becomes more "rounded".

People like this start from the assumption that we know what the result must be (equal representation of all races in prison) and that we should then work backwards to make it happen. What complete fucking bollocks. If people want to stay out of prison they should try not breaking the law. I've never heard anyone suggest that instead of criticizing the government for locking up so many black people that we should criticize black people for committing so much crime. Wonder why...?

Batter

Lunch today was at a tempura restaurant close to Tokyo Station. It was excellent - this place goes back a hundred years, apparently, and the founder's son and grandson work in it today. We sat at the counter as the old man dipped various pieces of shrimp, fish and vegetable in the tempura batter and fried them, depositing one in turn in front of each of us. There's something magical about tempura batter - it renders anything you put in it tasty. Dull shrimp, asparagus and mushroom become suddenly wonderful, and a tempura-fried sea eel is just fabulous.

It got me wondering whether there might be other applications for tempura batter. Since it makes anything tasty and irresistible, why not make a sexual lubricant out of it? Ladies - you'll never have any problem getting a guy to go down on you again; just cover your muff in tempura batter and he'll be on it in a heartbeat. Any of you blokes have trouble getting a blow job? Worry no more with new tempura-flavored dick lube. She'll pick it up in a pair of chopsticks and swallow it whole. Just don't deep fry it. That would not be good. No, not at all.

Dumplings

While having lunch in Tokyo today I asked my Japanese companions what the big news story is here now. It seems the main story is about contaminated dumplings from China being imported to Japan - the Chinese product is much cheaper than locally made dumplings but apparently pesticide contamination has been discovered, and now the argument has started about where it occurred. It's risen to the level of a major Sino-Japanese diplomatic incident.

My colleagues tell me that Japan actually has a positive trade balance with China, which may explain why the Chinese are pissed off that their exports are being blocked by this allegation. On the other hand the Japanese producers must resent the fact that low cost Chinese competitors can undercut them on this staple foodstuff. The contamination claims may not be the right way to deal with the problem in today's modern global economy though. I suggested that the Japanese manufacturers should contact their local Department of Trade and file an anti-dumpling suit.

Well I thought it was funny. I guess you have to be in international business to appreciate that one. Look, no-one's paying me to write this stuff you know. Oh fuck off...

Didn't Happen

Yesterday I set out for Tokyo and a number of things "didn’t happen" which were somewhat unexpected. For a start, the car service didn’t forget to come and pick me up this time, which was good because at 5:30am my sense of humor about being left in the shit is zero. Then the nine inches of snow didn’t start falling until after I got to the airport. So far it was shaping up to be a good day. At check-in I didn’t get a moron behind the counter and American Airlines hadn’t screwed anything up – I got my upgrade to first class on the flight from Chicago to Tokyo.

Job number one was to get to Chicago, however, and when I looked at the board I saw that both the flight before mine and the one after were already cancelled - usually not a good sign, but in this case American didn’t cancel my flight and we arrived in plenty of time for the connection. Admittedly the video player didn’t work properly in my seat, but at least my seat reclined, unlike the poor bitch over the aisle from me. I didn’t even have to wait a minute for my bag when we arrived.

Unfortunately I used up all my good luck and when I arrived at my hotel I didn’t find a naked Japanese girl making me tea in my room. Oh well, I suppose you can’t win them all…

Word From The Hog

It was a long week last week - you know how it goes when you don't sleep well for a couple of days. The only way to survive was a sustained diet of Mountain Dew and sugar. Apparently I snored too - Mrs.Bison claims that this was the case, although I've never heard myself snore so it remains merely an allegation. Nevertheless she chose to abandon the bed one night rather than attempt to sleep with what she described as a "giant hog". (This is unfair - I only sound like a hog; there is no significant physical resemblance.)

I do distinctly remember waking to the sound of my spouse muttering next to me "Why don't you shut the fuck up?" She didn't think I heard, but I did. Nevertheless I am a forgiving person and I didn't hold this against her when it came time to celebrate her birthday today. I roasted a chicken and served it with black cherry gravy, maple syrup sausages and lard-roasted potatoes. Fucking excellent, and idiot-proof too; it's not like I'm a "new man" metrosexual chef, that's for sure. In fact, with dessert on top, I now feel like one of those giant snakes that just swallowed a pig and needs to lie in the sun for about a week to digest it. Should set me up nicely for a night of snoring, and possible verbal abuse from my "another year older, closer to death" spouse. Sleep well.