Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Feel the beat, rock with me

Feel the beat, rock with me

Mmmm, you ligget Steve!
tight silk boxers on display!
saggy butt-cheeks, yo!

*Sigh*, I hate rainy days. I hate when rainy days occur and it's too warm to shut the windows, and when you go to bed the sheets are all damp like you just made handparty all over them... but I digress.

For today's funness I figured I would touch on a nice, safe subject: race.

As you all may know, I am what is known as a "mulatto", my dad is white and my mom is infected with negro. I have also been called "Oreo" "Ice cream sandwich" "Homo" and "fat ass" (One lovely young woman once remarked that the jiggling of my belly mesmerized her. I am assuming she meant that in a racial way)

Anyway, throughout my life I have been asked some of the dumbest things as they relate to my race, and I was asked a retardotron question today that reminded me of some of them. I figured I would share.

Top 10 Questions asked of a Mulatto:

1. (condescendingly) "Do you like rap music? Name a rapper!" This happened on a nearly daily basis once I began schooling it up in Kansas, and it never ceased to piss me off. Why does my oversized Daffy Duck shirt, bright red Chief's windbreaker pants and Shawn Kemp Kamikaze shoes not settle people's minds that I am straight up gangsta? Was it the glasses? 

On a side note have any of you ever seen a gang member or ever been afraid of someone wearing glasses? I mean seriously.

2. "Have you ever been with a black girl?" This was usually said with pity, the sad thing is most of the ladies I have dated or hung out with have been black, and I stopped because they are so hung up on themselves there ceases to be any room in our relationship or back seat of my car for me, the girl and her ego. getting weave in my mouth that one time (don't ask) also contributed.

3. "Does that mean you're from (insert country that makes no sense)?" WTF? My dad's white, my mom's black, how hard is this? I have gotten everything from Samoa and Hawaiian and Mexican (OK I will give you those) to Australia(?!) and China (how many 6 foot 2 fat guys are there in China? I mean besides Yao Ming, zing!)

4. "Is it because your mom couldn't find a black man?" Yes, retard, she settled. The sad thing is the people who have the most problem with me being mixed is black people, while the most people who have a problem with me infecting a white woman with my hypodermic meat-le every night are white people. What the hell?! When I try to explain that I am half their race, then they disown me! When I start jacking off on their leg while making puppy yipping sounds, then I'm "insane" and "a nasty asshole" or "disrespecting yo momma"... people are so fickle!

5. "Is that why you talk so proper?" Funny story here: I went to Northeast High School, which if you know anything about the Kansas City Missouri School District, know that that in itself makes me functionally retarded. I also played football, and one of our coaches used to play for the Raiders. Well, we had just finished a 2-a-day camp, and were taking a knee, and he was trying to pump us up and get us ready for practice the next day by going down the line in our little group of linemen and telling us what we did well. He is saying stuff like "And you Anthony you'll put a nigga on his back muh-fukka!" And as you could guess there was much neck twisting and head weaving as he did this. He gets to me and says "And Steve..." and at this the other guys start snickering... "-Steve you's a proper talking muh-fukka but you'll lay a hat on someone, naw'm sayin?!" and everyone busted out laughing. The sad thing I didn't know what this hooligan was saying, and could barely turn my attention from his untucked shirt or his untied sloppy.

Later on that night a couple of the team members tried to "rake me up", which was when, in the locker room, 5-10 people would tackle you, rip your underwear off with a wedgie most uncouth, and hang it, shit stains and blood and all (and a terrifying majority of the ones up there had both mixed in with a healthy dose of urines) on the fence in front of the ROTC building. And that, my friends, is when I got my revenge! That day, those unlucky gentlemen learned that not only does Stevester fight back like a caged bear, but when they finally did get enough to tackle me they learned to their chagrin that Stevester rolls commando during practice. Not my finest hour when I saw the horrified look on this guy's face as he got a handful of sweaty dick and balls, but a nice moment nevertheless. The look of horror on his face as he realized what he was doing, the satisfaction in my voice as I told him "See coach? I told you you would never get my panties!" The homeless man molesting the unicorn while the leprechaun rode a tricycle in the background, great times.

Well, I guess I don't have 10 things, sue me.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Things that annoy part 432804328947832

Things that annoy part 432804328947832

Kiss is on my list
Hall & Oates rocks the casbah
like a ship at sea

So I am in a less than stellar mood, which I am hoping to turn into me being a stallion with my wife tonight, but will probably end up with me watching Operation Repo until I fall asleep on the couch in a fog of my own flatulence like I do every night (great times!). Anyway, I figured I would go through another short list of things that annoy me, one because I can't remember any decent stories and two because I am lazy. Here goes!

1. Men who walk into a pretty much empty bathroom, walk PAST the urinals, go into a stall, leave the door open and stand up and pee: What the fuck is that all about? I mean seriously...I can kind of understand if you want to sit to tinkle, but to walk past the urinals and go into a stall and leave the door open says "I don't want you to see my tiny prick, but I will leave the door open in case you want me to see yours"

2. People who are WAY too gung ho about their jobs and expect you to be too: Let me preface this by saying my boss is one of the coolest bosses I have ever had, only beaten by my first boss when I worked in security, who had huge knockers and a thick spanish accent (mmmm.....boobies). That being said, there is something horrifying and disturbing about how gung ho he is on the subject of work. When he takes a vacation day, he still stays up to the early hours of the morning sending emails and creating tickets for us to work on. He is ALWAYS available by phone. He always shows up before he says he will when he takes a half day or something like that. And when he is talking to one of our "customers", he will more often than not talk our group into more work, which I really don't understand. If the people you work for already like you, why keep trying harder? Unless you are actively trying to get into their pants....hmmmmm.... Anyway, let me tell you this much before I move on: Once I am outside the building, or on the toilet or anything like that, I don't give two shits about work. I cannot be bothered to complete any work whatsoever, do not call me, I will be drunk and/ or taking a dump. This is not to say I do not care for my job; far from it. This is to say when I am in my last years, which judging by the way I live will be about 40ish, I want to look back and remember I did something outside of work every day, even if all that is is watching indian porn (tech support, not drunken casino), which is my favorite kind.

3. People who walk toward the door while you hold it open but decide at the last second to hold an hour and a half conversation on Venetian squirrel migration patterns while moving closer and closer to the door so you end up fucking holding it open and being late to toilet shopping: I know this one is a little long, but fuck it. I hate it when someone is acting like they need you to hold the door, you know those little moans of exertion while they carry or pull one of those long handcars of crap, and then like a gentleman you hold the door and expose yourself as chivalry demands, and said assdouche starts talking to someone smoking 10 feet from the door, using the "Do not smoke within 50 feet of building" sign to shield themselves from the wind, and move closer to the door while glancing at you expectantly every time you start to walk away. Fuuuuck!

4. Timid drivers - I hate when everyone can see that the lane ends, everyone gets over, and like a nice person you slow down to let someone in, but they need approximately a quarter mile of space before they deem it safe enough to pull their 2 seat Smartcar into the 10 MPH moving line. Fuck you and die on the toilet.

5. Cats - I hate cats. They are annoying, they shit and the smell permeates everything within 200 yards of their catbox, then walk over and try to cuddle with you, the whole time trying to rub their shitty ass on your fucking shirt. They also try to climb the screen window, tearing it up and letting all manner of flying insect into my fucking house, and living this close to a lake that's a lot. 

6. Bums who try to stroke your ego (or anything else they can get their hands on) - Dear Homeless wino: FUck you. The only thing that annoys me more than you urinating on my car, flipping me off because I did not give you enough money to purchase a 22 0z. can of Camo, or taking a WHopper from me and throwing it in the trash only to dig it out and eat it later, is when you walk up and start in with "Hey there, big man, man you's is a big strong dude!" Fuck you, although I do enjoy the compliment, following that up with begging for 11 cents to feed your family of 43829 will piss me off. 

7. Chicks who think I am hot - Dammit, where the fuck were you assholes when I was single, jerking off to Roseanne (Darlene and Becky, and sometimes DJ, don't judge) while wondering when I was going to escape the epic clutches of insurmountable failure washing over me like a tsunami of stupidity from Smeagol and Friends? I swear to all of you before I got with my wife the only reason a young lady would talk to me is to see if they could get JJ's number; so far I have been with my wife for a little over 10 years and barely a week goes by when some lady informs me my sexiness has washed over her like an unstoppable rebel force, blitzkrieging into her heart and filling her loins with love shrapnel from my Panzer-tank of studliness. WTF?! Why? You know the funny/ gay thing? If I left my wife tomorrow I would be back to Roseanne for another 5 years... well that and taking numbers from ladies to give to JJ. Not that I am complaining, I love my wife and yadda yadda yadda whatever, it's just the irony of it all... I am not sure I would trade the classy kind of lady I usually end up with for JJ's constant parade of ghetto/trailer trash, all yearning for one night stands and no commi..... wait what the hell am I saying?

8. The weather: be hot, be cold, make up your fuckin mind! It's gotten so that I wear a fur trench coat with a speedo and flip flops so I can go through the day comfortably! Add in my purple velvet fedora and you've never heard so much whining as I hear at work

9. Assholes who cannot think of enough things to make up a top 10 list: That just shows a lack of brain power, like the person who did it was too stupid to think up enough things to even pick the 10 best so had to come up with filler, fuck those guys!

Monday, April 27, 2009

short blurb

short blurb

oh, baby come back!
you can smoke some!
can't smoke without you!

(sung to "Baby Come Back" from those swiffer commercials)

So I am going down to the gym this morning to work on my buns and thighs, much as I do every day, and the following conversation with the smartass guards ensues (I say "smartass" in the most loving way possible, those guys are hilarious and I truly love them for their bad jokes and yearning to insult both me and Tylester on a daily basis):

First, a little backstory: Last Friday we had naturalization. While normally the only reason I care is I like looking at the hot ladies (and laughing at some of the more homely ones until I realize I am laughing at a mirror), this one was different. For some reason, I had to dress up to the friggin 9s and tape this crap, and on a Friday to boot?! I rebelled in the only way I knew how - by wearing my suspenders and looking like an overweight Baptist ghetto preacher. Apparently, this made the guards' day, and they spent a good few minutes laughing at me every time I dared walk past them. 

Anyway, like I said I was heading into the gym, and Colonel Sanders guard (He looks just like the Colonel. Ask Tylester) is talking to a police officer, and he makes some snarky comment about how hawt I looked in my suspenders. That's all good, I did think the suspenders looked pretty snazzy on me, and suspenders are the ONLY thing that look better on fat men than on skinny men; in fact, all I was missing was a beard and a condescending attitude to make the whole thing complete. 

While we are joking around in front of the cop, the other guard pipes up that next time I should wear the suspenders with the tutu, and all hell breaks loose. You see, no one, NO FUCKING ONE, in this entire building has ever forgotten the tutu, and I constantly hear about it, from people walking up and rubbing the skin on my arm and proclaiming how smooth it is and how smooth my legs were when I wore the tutu (NO I do not shave my legs, I just don't grow body hair for some disgusting reason, totally gay, well on my ass I have a tiny dinglebeard, or wish I did (that would rawk)), to people asking at all times of the day "Hey there cutie where's your tutu?"

I'm not gonna lie I like the attention and the fact that I am remembered, but man you would think I am a movie star sometimes! Wait until they see my assless chaps I plan on wearing for Halloween this year!

So the guard is talking about how people were looking at me funny the day I was walking around like that, how they couldnt tell if I was a man or a woman and all that, and the other guard turns to the cop and goes "Hey, I think I got a picture that I carry with me" and with that opens his phone and shows the cop, who looks at the picture, and then at me with a look I would rather not recreate for fear it will invade my mind again. 

Which was more disturbing, the fact that the cop now has even less respect for me after seeing that, or the fact that a grown black guy wearing a tutu is some other dude's cell phone background?

Thursday, April 23, 2009

My fight with Food.

.....and then there were many

Behold my man-tits!
mayo infused sacs swaying
baconator time


So I guess you all may be wondering why I have been the shit time making my posts. I shall share, you listen now!

I got food poisoning.

I am trying pretty hard to diet, and am actually doing a lot better, but sometimes a fat man needs his damn meal, naw'm say'n? (someone call Des and read that to him so he can understand the ebonics)

Well my wife works at a restaurant, and I informed her that I required a delicious hamburger from her establishment in order to pick her up. Big mistake, since I pick her up at 11 at night and I go to bed soon after getting back home... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

So we get home, and the burger has like fried onions and mushrooms on it, and smelled like pure grease. Delicious. I smothered it in mayo from my tit like I was nursing a baby and ate the whole thing, eating half of her burger as well.

I showered and went to bed, but woke up a few hours later with what I erroneously assumed was the Itis. The Itis is what you get when you eat too much grease, it is a bubbling of your guts and leads to the dookies and to your asshole playing various jazz medleys most unstoppably.

But man, this fuckin hurt! Oh well, I woke up the next day and took a huge, greasy shit the next morning, relieved as I assumed that was the end of it, and went to work. I should have known that this was a harbinger of doom for a few reasons:

1. I am a regular guy. I mean REGULAR. I crap within a half hour of the same time 3 times a day. None of those times are anywhere near 6 AM.

2. I still had mad bubble guts and the Itis, and usually a dump makes EVERYTHING better, my weiner seems longer, clothes fit better, I can read Sanskrit....

So I get to work, and the ride there was fine, but man as soon as I stood up and started walking toward the building I could feel trouble brewing on the horizon (what the fuck does that saying even mean?), and I knew I would not last the day. I did not. Man that was a lot of doo doos, great times though.

Other news from the Western front:

My fucking kids tried to make an ice rink in the basement. I'll say that again. My damn KIDS, went into our completely enclosed, non walk out BASEMENT, and turned the spigot on the wall on to make an ice rink. Luckily, I was done jackin it in the bathroom to the new Victoria's Secret catalogue and got down there in time to stop the onslaught of water before it ruined the supremely professional looking carpet job. What the fuck? SOme might say it is only natural that they do something retarded as their father did things like poke holes in the drywall with a crobar and set his mother's clothes on fire in the bathtub, but those were snarky 80's pranks, this is fuckin serious! The had water all over the place, and were trying to "skate" in their socks across the concrete floor, and failing miserably. What is up with these young whippersnappers?

On another front, your favorite wily raptor is up to his super sexy tricks again... remember that one story I told a year and a half ago about that girl who accepted upwards of 5 gentlemen's rock hard cockshafts in one evening on his bed? Well he was picking her up for another evening out on the town recently, and went bragging to JJ that he thinks she is "almost ready to give it to me, niggie!", which means she let him see her boob this time while some other dude pounded her in his apartment, him crying softly while massaging his raptor weiner under his thong in the corner, perhaps trying to keep cadence with the rapid thrusting of the virile young stallion as he marauded through her pink love valley with his purple headed colt of power... who says the Stevester is not a romantic fella?!

Man, it sucks that I got fucking food poisoning though, the worst part is it now ruins hamburgers, and pretty much effectively red meat for me for all time. This joins the list, which I will share with you.

I have a fucked up mind. You may be shocked to know this, but I do. I think I have a light form of like OCD or something, as I have to have things just so or I get agitated and start grunting out greetings which lead to manager's meetings and nothing good comes from that.

Anyway, here is a short list of things I can no longer eat and why:

1. Chili. Literally one day I was thinking about chili and I came to the realization that it is in essence "meat soup". I can now no longer eat it or think about it without gagging, which sucks because I vaguely remember enjoying it.

2. Oreo cookies (and to a greater extent, the cheapo sandwich cookies). My dad told me when I was a lad that the cream filling was lard with sugar mixed in, and I remember even at 7 or 8 picturing some huge fat guy laying spread eagle in a factory, sweating mayonnaise and lard all over his naked, lighlty haired freckled body, into a huge vat that some guy with a handlebar mustache stirred constantly, cackling maniacally as workers scooped up small servings and filled said cookies with it.

3. Lil Debbie brownies - I saw one of the ingredients is eggs, and my dad informed me that they were raw eggs. Every time I even THINK about eating one of those brownies I picture raw eggs in it and gag.

4. Chitlins - I know the correct spelling is "chitterlings", fuck you, that is the White man's spelling! Once you get over the fact that they are the intestinal wall of one of the nastiest animals on the earth, the fact that my mom said the only way to make them is to "leave a little dookie in there for flavor" has ensured I never sample their delights again...

5. Fried chicken - I know, I know- "but Stevester, you are half infected ith negroitis!"... if it were not for my poor credit scores and yearning for light skinned women I would have to turn in my black card. This one is food poisoning too, I got some Church's Chicken on 39th and Prospect, and I know this is going to come as a shock, but they were not the cleanest restaurant I have ever been in....

6. Hamburgers - see first paragraph. Every time I think of a delicious burger, I think about spraying milk chocolate shit all over the inside of the toilet while throwing up in my fucking sweatpants. WHich sadly turns me on, weird, no?

I will post more as time permits, I have to actually work. Why don't criminals take the spring and summer off?

Wednesday, April 8, 2009


Sorry about the long time between posts, fucking Internet Explorer 8 doesnt work with eBlogger so I cant paste the shit I write. I am doing this in Google Chrome, which is pretty snazzified. Enough with the tech talk, have at you!

Phil COllins, you rock!
feel my invisible touch
in the air tonight

Man, I love Phil Collins almost as much as I truly enjoy Tangerine Dream... I have listened to Force Majeure at least once a day every day for the last week... awesome.

So what the hell has been up....hmmm... not much. Working 6 scammers at once is taking it's toll on my will to write like an unstoppable rebel force, I wish Benson Hunter would respond to my emails and help me on these, but for some reason he's still cranky about all the driving I made him do... go figure.

Ah well, let's take a short trip into the past, as an event today reminded me of it...

When Toboggan Boy was in love with She Who Comes From A Pipe, he would launch into these super long, boring, whiny rants about how he was a "foolish, foolish man" and how "with the love and support of my family, I know I can get better" all the while riffling through your things looking for pawnables. This is already well travelled ground, so I will not really get into this facet of his cracketry. What I will get into he still does, and is almost as bad.

I know this is going to sound strange to most of you, as you think about all the love, kisses and tender touches from your parents during your youth, but no one in my family likes touching except Mystical. I think my dad hugged me when I was like 6, but I can't even be sure of that. There were never good night kisses,  hugs, handshakes, or anything like that, but there were other things which were worse. Toboggan Boy would get no end of joy in putting his hand on JJ and my knee and say stuff like "Look at the little girlie boy" and giggle like a schoolgirl when we tried to avoid his faux-molester touch. You see, JJ and I hated touching as much as everyone else in the family did, and we all still do. If we were to have a family reunion tomorrow, there would be 2 constants: Tylester and Will would BOTH be there, and no one would be bothered to touch or interact with anyone else unless it was to ruffle Smeagol's perm and call him "Bob" to make him grunt angrily.

Anyway, the knee thing was just gay, but the worst was the high five. If any of you ever see JJ, attempt this. You will not be sorry with how he responds, I promise. What this is, is when Toboggan Boy was deep into the crack, and would finish a story, he would hold up his hand as if to say "good talk, buddy", and hold it there until you high fived him out of sheer embarrassment (as he usually spat out these boring diatribes in the middle of a store or in front of your girlfriend's parents, thus ensuring you will never see her again), and when you did high five him he would gently close his fingers around your hand, and hold it for a few extra seconds, super gay.

If you tried to pull your hand away he would hold on just a little tighter and then let go. WHile it annoys me as he still does it (though I think he does it now because he knows we don't like it), JJ hates it with a passion most reserve for much bigger things. I know this sounds petty and lame, but dammit it friggin annoys the hell out of me!

What happened that reminded me of said annoyance? One of the judges here, after informing me that a fix I had given them had worked, held up her hand for me to high five. I did the high five, and then came the soft but firm clamping of the fingers. It took all of my being not to laugh or blow snot all over the place, as that would have been the end of my career and freedom. The funny part is she seemed somehow sincere about it, and Toboggan Boy seems like he is just trying to pull you into whatever conspiracy he is in on that moment. 

Also in news, apparently a few of my readers have informed me that they have checked my supersexyblog in other countries, and I would like to request that if you do that, at least make this the home page on whatever computer you happen to be on, so as to spread the gentle wordicles of steveshaikus.

Lotta mercy!