I had my first homosexual experience last friday.

I’ve always considered myself quite the deviant, but this time I raised the bar.

1. I had someone enter the back door.
2. I was on so much drugs I don’t even remember the experience.
3. Once they were finished, I paid them.

Top that, sickos.

Dont look at me. I can feel the sting of your judgement. What adults let people to do to them behind closed doors is none of your business. Unless you pay to download it.

As it went, on Friday a very nice man and a couple nurses went spelunking in my colon to see why my tummy hurt so much a few weeks back.

On the positive side I can now say I have something in common with captain super-blogger Tony Pierce. On the down side I also have something in common with Paris Hilton- since the doctor taped it. With night vision.

Afterwards I was sitting in the waiting area, still a bit giddy from the drugs and thanking all that’s good and holy that I had no memory of the ordeal when the Dr. came to deliver the news. Que awkward moment:

“Good news, it was just hemmoroids.”

“um, that’s good?”

“Oh wait. That’s not your file.”

(shuffling)

“So that’s some other gentleman’s starfish we’re checking out then, Doc?”

“I’m so sorry. Here’s yours- you have a touch of Diverticulosis. Don’t eat nuts or sunflower seeds and you should be fine.”

Poor mortified Doc left in a hurry since the guy with the photogenic pooper was probably the man sitting two chairs away.

Luckily my file contained only a diagram of my intestines, instead of a full photo spread. And I guess I can deal with cutting out nuts. I’ll miss cashews, but let’s be honest- peanuts got old a long time ago.

My advice: don’t make fun of doctors. If you’re not lucky, some day one might decide he’s had enough and stick a camera up your ass.

Links:

• TONYPIERCE.COM: At a point in every person’s life

• EDADKINS.COM: Tragedy Strikes my pooper
• THE ZEROBOSS: It’s Always a Competition

One reason I absolutely love my Treo:

Always having a blogreader with me means never having to resort to perusing shampoo ingredients when I forget reading material on those long craps.

You know you do it, don’t even look at me that way.

Next time you’re stuck on the crapper finding out how much hydroxypro-pyltrimonium chloride is in your salon selectives you can think of me.

Here’s another little insight into just how twisted my mind is. I had just got back from the conference in phoenix hell, and I was unpacking my crap & Heidi and I were talking…

HEIDI: So that hotel was pretty nice, huh?

ED: Oh yeah- real swanky. Apparently they’re known for their beds. It’s supposed to feel like you’re sleeping on heaven.

HEIDI: Nice.

ED: I don’t know if you should market your beds as heaven, tho. I bet a lot of people end up feeling pretty guilty for what they’re doing on them.

HEIDI: Ha.

ED: Plus it was a straight-up resort. They had all kinds of shops and bars. You could even get massages and facials and everything. I could have dealt with a massage.

HEIDI: You mean you wouldn’t get a facial?

ED: Pffffft. Come on- I mean, sure, everyone says it’s got lots of protein, but I don’t think I’d be able to get over the taste.

HEIDI: OMG.

A couple days ago I was driving around somewhere and I had a vision.

It became clear that something was in the air. I rolled down my window to let it out and continued my vision. Perhaps otherworldly beings had given me this insight. Maybe I’m one of those autistic geniuses who can compile huge equations on TV to fight crime and make up for my brother leaving an incredibly witty and successful sitcom in it’s peak to pursue some faint dream that he may be able to carry a movie career.

And maybe, just maybe a wee little bit of all that acid i took in high school got chipped off a vertebrae and sailed to my brain, giving some sort of sight beyond sight.

It’s beside the point.

Here’s what I saw: it was inevitable- sometime in the near future the world would rejoice to a live performance of Pink Foyd- as they were meant to be- with Roger Effen Waters once again at the helm. It just seemed right- all the signs are in front of us. Had you been watching E!s dramatic reenactments of the Jackson trial you might have seen them as well. It’s time.

Thank you pitchfork for confirming my psychic abilities.

So I’m at a conference. An accounting conference. In hell. I’m sitting in a presentation on effective proposal programs.

Please allow me to add a touch or foreshadowing. “To know ABOUT the giggle loop is to be PART of the giggle loop.” If you don’t understand, watch more BBC.

If you’re anything close to a regular reader of my blog, you have a sense for my humor. It appeals to a certain level of humanity. A very low level. Perhaps then you can understand why this particular presentation was troubled from its inception.

Early on, the presenter stated some phrase which my infantile mind quickly raced to twist to a sexual nature. I immediately turned to the fellow on my right and muttered, “I didn’t know it was going to be one of those presentations. He chuckled.

Then things got a tad bizzare. Here’s a smattering of the topics that would come next:

• Lead Elongation

• Multiple Touchpoints
• Drilling Your Pipeline
• Being Careful Not To Cut Off Your Options
• Hierarchy of leads referred to as graprefruits and mellons

It seemed that the seed I had planted in our minds had grown to a horrfying beanstalk. We could hardly contain it.

Then she reached a whole nother level with an entire section on “Penetration Strategies.” Yes. I know. She then moved on to

• Multiple Positions

• Contacts who are warm and fuzzy
• Points you could dip in oil (totally confused there)
• Peanuts (you have to hear her pronounce it)

I was already fighting an anneurism, but I burst into tears when she mentioned “Wiggle Room.” A man can only take so much.

That’s when she noticed me. It’s also when she stopped her presentation to ask what was wrong. I couldn’t take it. In a room full of marketing professionals and accountants I completely lost it, but managed to spit out, “It’s just… that we find your presentation… a tad… suggestive.”

She turned to the screen where her penetration strategies were laid out. “Oh. I see.” The place actually responded with laughter. Somehow in 30 seconds I had managed to bring the maturity level of the room to something around 6th grade.

Is there anywhere that I’m a good influence?

I stepped off the plane, and into the dumbest nightmare imaginable.

This is Phoenix. It’s going to be somewhere around 732 degrees tomorrow. “oh, but it’s a dry heat.” Uh huh. That makes it better. That’s like saying, “but it’s the good herpes.”

Breezes out here are just depressing. When you grow up somewhere with actual seasons other than just “tollerable” and “hell” you expect a breeze to refresh you. Here, it feels like a hairdryer. One hits me and I just curl into a fetal position and cry. My tears instantly become steam and cook a passing bird.

I’m here for work.

Last year this conference was in New Orleans. It was heaven. Bars on every other corner. Cigar shops on the other ones. It was seedy and dirty and jazz was piping out of every open door. You don’t even want to know how I earned my beads. I felt like i was finally home. I swear I saw a baby with a Maker’s Mark bottle.

This year it’s in Phoenix. I think they fought that last fight scene from episode 3 here. At 3 in the afternoon lava pours from under the streets.

On a positive note, I got to hang out with my buddy Shanti and his chica Abigail. We hit some mexican place and a few margarittas and insano shots later we were sharing life stories. Outside, even though it was midnight, small children and animals were randomly combusting from the heat.

Anyway, I’m here in hell for 3 more days. If there’s anythig you want me to ask Julia Child or Yasser Arafat just let me know.

I sure hope that if I ever go missing that I get this nice of a design for my website.

Find dave.

That sucker is hooked up.

sarcasomatic: people who write humorous amazon reviews show no originality

jasonadrian: eh?

sarcasomatic: i have no interest in humorous amazon reviews
sarcasomatic: i come accross them occasionally

jasonadrian: i do if theyre good

sarcasomatic: feh
sarcasomatic: pffft meh
sarcasomatic: i dont accept it as an art form
sarcasomatic: perhaps if it was 1998
sarcasomatic: then it would be novel
sarcasomatic: its the modern equivelent of crank calling
sarcasomatic: or its cousin
sarcasomatic: that nobody likes

jasonadrian: keep talknig

sarcasomatic: cause he graduated like 3 years ago and still hangs out hitting on freshman

jasonadrian: ouch thats me

sarcasomatic: he’s a skeez as the kids say
sarcasomatic: at worst he’s competition for the guys who aren’t skeezes.
sarcasomatic: they’re just guys who didnt go to college and matured a little later than the rest. is it a crime for a 21 year old to love a 14 year old? i mean really love?
sarcasomatic: friggin creepy humorous amazon reviewers