HONEY, GET THE RAID. ITS STILL MOVING....

My mom and I have been getting into the same argument for almost 20 years. She will claim up and down, that I was an adorable little boy. " Ryan...you were! You were such a cute little boy, I just wanted to kiss your cheeks like crazy".

Mmmhhhmmm.

Right, bitch. How were your Quaaludes and Riuniti on ice?

Then why do you have the same look on your face when you say this........ that I make, when Im doing walking lunges with 70 pound dumbbells in each hand? Ill tell you why. Because much like the strain of trying to support that amount of heavy weight with just MY butt cheek muscles, YOU'RE straining not to bust out into hysterical laughter, from the stream of evil lies coming from your lie-ing mom hole.

Thats why.

Of course my older sister was beautiful the minute she plopped out of aforementioned liar. She was a hot little coconut baby with flawless skin and the vagina of a one year old. The shit was TIGHT! She was gorgeous at one, ten, 20, 30, and 40. She was icy, distant, and always on point with her sexy. She was the Joan Collins of Central Maine. Im still not 100% clear as to why my mother didnt just chuck my ass into the garbage, and try again. I may have cleaned up nice in my later years, but lets just get this straight, right now. I was born with a nose that would make any Jew immediately punch me in the face with a sack of gold, just so that Id be forced to go back into the hospital and repair that shit.

Its called, " sympathy." Dont ask me how those Godless heathens know about it...but they just do. Okay?

To add to the sex appeal that I was rocking at two years old, I had a sweet pair of crossed eyes. Every single picture of me from my youth, looks like someone just shook the be-Jesus out of me, forced fed me a gallon of Crown Royal, and then sat my homely ass on the Tilt-a -Whirl for the second half of the 70's. I was Siamese cat-ish, in my cross eyed quality. I looked like a retarded Siamese cat with a bowl cut. You know what I say, then? WHY NOT toss on a pair of coke bottle glasses? Yes, dear readers. My aunt used to call me " the little scientist", but really I think she meant......." oh, enjoy never having any kind of sexual relations in your adult life, my little walking abortion nephew who makes me feel both sad and angry. at the very same time. Now go in the other room so I can finish my meal without looking at you." I was like Cousin Oliver, but with a propensity for Lynda Carter

My hideousness, really had multiple layers. It was a tapestry of carnage, that was delicate in its wrongness, but robust in its in-bred like qualities. Added to the list, were a set of teeth that looked like they were embroiled in some serious battle with each other. Im talking..like.....some " Kill Bill", shit...but more violent and without Uma Thurman's skinny neck and bug eyes. My front teeth stuck straight out, as if they were both trying to desperately escape.

Do you think Im done?

WRONG, nigga! There's more.......how terrible/fantastic is that?

Huge nose, crossed eyes, buck teeth, and......to really dot the " i",

as in....."it"

as in..." kill IT before IT moves again"......

I was born pigeon toed. Now stop reading and sit back for a minute,..... ( or stop jerking off, if youre some German priest who's really into underage, in breds who could open a can of peas at a moments notice)...and REALLY let all this swim around in your brain for a hot second. I had it ALL! From top to bottom, I was state fair material, and when you add on the fact that it took me until I pretty much graduated from high school to figure out how to work a zipper on a coat.....

MMMmmm.

FIRE!

My feet pointed inward, and I was forced to wear braces to correct them.

Oh

And take ballet classes.

Ya......try not to lose your shit. Compose, yourself. COMPOSE YOURSELF, FOR CHRIST"S SAKE!!!! Im an in bred, blind, fucked up grill, gimpy ballerina..and I make zero apologies. You know why? I grew up, and things sort of righted themselves, out. I discovered the gym, spray tanning, chemical peels, and the date rape drug, so....... my aunts opinion of my future sex life, never really came to pass. I get plenty of tail. Its just that, its always a felony.

YOU GOT SERVED, BITCH! Hows it feel to be so wrong?!?!?!?

I just think we should've moved to Mississippi. I would've been king Glamor, down in that puke pile of a state. No offense to Mississippi-ians. Its just that you're all swamp creatures. I mean that, in the most beautiful way.

GIRLY MEN VS. BOYISH GALS.

WHAT GAY MEN LOVE:

- A nice Terra cotta wall color.

- Under eye concealer.

-Eggs Benedict.

-A Kelly Clarkson remix.

-Mexican housekeepers.

-Fabric softener enhanced with essential oils.

-Writing pissy complaints to the "Letters To The Editor" section of newspapers.

-"Lana", from Three's Company

- Putting pink bows on male dogs.

-Eye rolls.

-Ice cubes in red wine.

-Julia Robert's hooker boots, in Pretty Woman.

-Vanilla scented anything.

-Televised college wrestling.

-Bridal showers.

-Sconces.

WHAT LESBIANS LOVE:

-A wall color called, " Pragmatic".

- Chap stick

-Baked potatoes. No salt, no butter.

-Shawn Colvin singing standards.

-Old fashioned elbow grease, early in the morning.

-Borax soap.

-Writing physically threatening complaints to the "Letters To The Editor" section of newspapers.

-"Joe", from "Facts of Life."

-Obedience school for dogs

-High fives

-Warm, flat, Miller Lite.

-Any Sigourney Weaver flick ,that has some side boob.

-Pine scented anything.

-Women's decathlons.

-"Womyn's" meetings.

-Support Beams and Steel Girders.

HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE WORST WAITER EVER?

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ONLY YOUR HAIRDRESSER KNOWS FOR SURE....

Next time I get my hair cut, I am going to drive 100 miles into the smallest town I can find. Ill march right up to " Miss Lorraine's Beauty Spot", grab a seat in the waiting area, open up the latest issue of Christianity Today......and wait for that sexy bitch Lorraine to finish up her wash n set, so she can get to work on my luxurious tresses.

Maybe Ill comment on how I LOVE that Christianity Today only features wholesome, god fearing WHITES, and she'll let out a hearty chuckle. Because you KNOW she agrees. Ill grab a hard candy out of the dish at her station, and MMMmmm!!!! Its lemon!

She'll ask me if I have a wife, because her granddaughter is ON THE HUNT! Ill let her know that I just got through a very messy divorce, ( she was cheating on me with a...... Cuban. Ill whisper the word " Cuban", because frankly, NOBODY wants to hear that word. Well, unless " was just arrested", is following it.) Now Im just trying to pick up the pieces of my life, with the help of Jesus. ( which ironically was the name of the Cuban slut my ex wife was cheating on me with.) Lorraine will pat me on the shoulder, give me a look of compassion, and let me know that Id be in her prayers.

" Thank you Lorraine. And pray that she gets Cuban AIDS, if you have an extra second or two."

Lorraine will pull out her clippers, and start my haircut. I picture it will go a little something like this. Enjoy the clip, below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNaYSoeKqd4

"DIZ" TO THE "ORA"

My grandmother's name is Dora May, and she is hot. Chances are, hotter than you. But definitely not hotter than me.

She is hot, because she is 89 and god damned hysterical. She doesnt mean to be, which makes it THE SHIT! Where as I am hacky, pedestrian, and offensive.....she is to the point, spot on, and doesn't miss a trick.

Some quotes:

#1. In response to my nephew...who was talking to a group of us in the kitchen about his roommate, who was dating 2 black bisexual strippers.

" they really know how to move".

#2. In response to me, telling my mother how I had stopped at an adult bookstore to buy a plastic vagina as a joke gift, but the cheapest one that they had was $50.00

" thats too much!"

#3. When asked if she would be open to posting an online add for people over 80, she waved her hand and scoffed. I told her we could take a picture of her on the sofa...maybe her dressing gown would be falling over her shoulder while she held her cup of coffee. The caption would be " DORA THE EXPLOR-A". She indicated she wasnt interested. I told her we could find an African American fella to...." turn her out"...I said this while holding each index finger up on both of my hands, about 15 inches apart." No dice. Then I said that if she found a man...maybe he would take her up to the casino, and pay for her gambling for the night.

Her lack of response said without saying..." this idea, intrigues me...."

#4. She loves to claim how she has " no problem with anybody". Oh really, gram?", I say. I crinkle my nose and move in closer. " What about Puerto Ricans?"

"I dont have a problem with them", she says ostentatiously. She wont even look at me, and dignify this whole game, by meeting my stare.

Okay, I say. I narrow my eyes, and inch ever closer. What about blacks? I really hiss out the "ssss", on the word blacks.

"Colored people dont bother me a bit. "

Im in heaven. The phrase " colored people", is like a summer breeze on my ears when its coming from a hot nana with nothing to apologize for. At this point, Im giddy.

My brow is sinister. Im 5 inches from her face now. My focus is unforgiving. " What about......homo's?"

"Theyre great tippers, Ill tell you that much."

Dora was a waitress back in the day, and like every server after her....recognizes that fags tip huge. ( and in my case... if youre a stripper with a C section scar, Ill just give you my credit card.)

This was it. I wrung my hands in evil anticipation. Our faces were almost touching. My snarling lips, just mere centimeters from her ear. " How about.................. Jews?"

She ever so slightly turned her head towards me, and through the tops of her glasses said,

" well......."

Who's head is down, hands slapping the table? I think you know.

To all my Jew readers.....you KNOW I love you. I love a hot, Jesus hating Jew. But you're not the greatest tippers, and you know it.

Oh Dora, you're the less Jew-y Sarah Silverman of Central Maine.

ONE NIGHT IN SAN FRANCISCO

Ive always adhered to the belief, that if a little bit of something is good....than a lot of it, is even better. While this may be the case with some things......more often than not, Im just acting like a junkie mess.....and sorrowful times, ensue.

A LIST OF TIMES TO REALLY STICK TO THE "LESS IS MORE MOTTO".

#1. When you find yourself in bed with a black guy named Kenya.

#2. When applying chemical peel solution to someone's face. One layer is wonderful. Seven layers, and the face looks like an abortion that complains about a stinging sensation.

#3. When flirting with a guy, and youre not sure of his sexual preference. " Wow! Your guns are huge. How often do you hit the gym"....is ok, and you may even be able to cop a casual squeeze. Asking him if he thinks that your face is innocently sensual or more sensually innocent", means you may very well end up in ICU. When he is through with you, I doubt you will look neither innocent OR sensual.

#4. When injecting liquid into the base of your penis, so you can walk around with an erection at some leather party in San Francisco.

Right? Its happened to you a million times! I can feel you all relating.

I was attending The Folsom Street Fair, in San Francisco. For those of you who are not familiar.....Folsom St.... is an annual festival, which is a celebration of leather, fetish, kink, eroticism, bondage, s&m, and any dirty birdy-ness.

http://www.folsomstreetfair.com/

Ive seen one guy pee into another guy's butt, and then the afore mentioned pee receiver, pushed it back out, into the crowd. Im pretty sure he was a republican. It was like a Gallagher concert, but with AIDS. Ive seen fists go into every body part, public whipping, masturbation on the street, and men dressed from head to toe in black rubber, with only a pipe running through the mouth piece, so he could breath.

Do you like how I act like its other people who did all this stuff ,and not me?

Its called "discretion." Maybe YOU should try it, someday.

My ex partner and I decided to attend one of the parties, in these black, kind of see through underwear. I had the GENIUS idea, of procuring a little something called, Trimix. Trimix is a prescribed injectable, that was given to men with erectile dysfunction before things like Viagra, came out. You literally inject it into the base of your penis, and within a few minutes, you get rock solid. It basically pulls blood into your dick, and then closes off any exit valve. Unlike Viagra, where you need some sort of stimulation to get it up, Trimix is automatic. It goes up, and stays up, for anywhere from 2-6 hours. Listen, Ive got a sweet two inches, and I was ready to give the entire thing to those lucky citizens of the city by the bay!

Oh, and by the way, YOURE WELCOME, San Francisco. You couldve at least sent a thank you note.

We were in our hotel room getting ready, and did the shots. I was told that within 2 to 5 minutes, the drug takes effect, and youre left with a full salute. We shot. We waited. 2 minutes went by. Then 5. Then 8.

Nothing.

Zero movement.

Well....thats when I decided to really use some intellect and real brain power.

I KNOW. WE SHOULD DO MORE!!!!!!

Genius, right? Frustrated that you dont have me making all of your important life decisions for you? Well, you should be, jealous face. I not only have a sweet 2 inches, I also have Einstein smarts! No wonder Im not single.

We did another dose of the Trimix, and waited. Guess what happened? Nothing. It was like rigamortis had set into my no no pole. At this point, I was wondering if we had gotten a bad batch, so.....once again...who flexed his brain muscles? The retard in black underwear. That's who. We did......a THIRD DOSE. It finally worked. I was so.....um.......awoken.....that I may have even gotten a good three inches out of it.

We got to that party, and you KNOW we worked it for all it was worth. "Oh, yes...hi..my name is Ryan. Oh that? Its nothing. Just my ROCK HARD PENIS....READY TO DO SOME DESTRUCTION!!! Oh, you just wanted to get by me?....um...sure..no problem." Of course, we were the bells of the Hepatitis ball. We laughed,we schmoozed, we let any woman know that If she needed a baby at a moments notice, we were ready and able. Willing? Not so much.

The night wore on, and we got back to the hotel. At this point, it was about 3 am, and the pain had become so unbearable, that I was sweating. By 6am, we were both shaking in agony.... we knew that we had to go to the ER. There was NO WAY IN HELL that we could put on a pair of pants. We had to slip on jeans, with our junk poking through the zipper hole,and carry the hotel's towels, bunched up near our crotch, to get out through the lobby, and into our car.

Or in my case, a face cloth.

We got to the ER, and I was near blackout from the excruciating pain. You know how everyone uses the pain of a spinal tap, as a litmus for describing other painful traumas? " PPppffftt. Screw that noise. From here on in, I want it to be..." God, my broken nose was almost as bad as the time Ryan overloaded on Trimix in his wiener."

Ya, that sounds about right.

The doctor laid me down, and took a look. " HHHmmm...we are going to have to do some blood letting". Im gonna just say here, that blood letting sounds super 17th century and witch hunt-y, but I DID NOT GIVE A FUCK!! " Chop the shit off and sew it back on if you have to. Just make sure if you do, let me check with a friend named Kenya, to see if he'd be willing to trade." They stuck 2 large needles into the base of my penis, and then just let pitch black blood drain from me, for about 2 hours. The pain subsided, and eventuality I went back down to normal. I was black and blue for 3 weeks, and the doctor said that if we had waited much longer, there couldve been so much trauma, that full erection wouldve been impossible for the rest of our lives.

Theres a moral to this story. The moral is......now that I look back on it, sheer black underwear is tacky. Always go with a jockstrap or chaps.

A HARD LETTER TO WRITE...

Dear Dad.

When I was 4 years old, you looked at me one day, and said..." Youll never grow up to be anything. Youll always be scared of everything". You sneered, and looked at me with complete disgust.

That was an emotional baseball bat to the head. Ive never recovered. I will remember that one sentence, for all of my life. I bet you wouldn't even remember saying it to me. Im sure I was crying about something, and you were most likely annoyed. You were probably drunk. Four year olds cry, and four year olds do get scared. Sadly, four year olds also carry a very primitive need to be loved, especially by parents. Four year olds believe it when they hear a parent say...' I see you for what you are, and its nothing..."

I was four, and if thats what you say...it is what I am.

My road ahead was destined to be hard. You made sure you lopped off my legs and arms, and then sent me into battle. Deep down, I think that you may have chuckled a little.

I saw you hurt animals. I saw you hit a mentally disabled man in the head with a shovel. I saw you tell my your mother, my grandmother, that she was an idiot, and was a waste of life. I was four, and I loved her. I felt like I loved her, because both her and I were the same. Stupid, and bad, and would never be anything in life.

As i get older....I see you in my face. I hear you when I laugh. It scares me to death, because I dont want you in my mirror. I dont want you in my voice. I dont want to be you.

But guess what dad? Ive done things. Amazing things. Ive been to the top of the Eiffel tower. Ive swam with dolphins. Ive walked red carpets, eaten dinner in Rome, partied in New Orleans, and stood on stage at the Greek Theater in LA in front of 5000 people . I love animals. I sing songs and make up dances when Im around kids. Ive had a best friend for over twenty years. Im kind to my mother. Ive made a million mistakes, and Im not afraid to talk about them. Ive done a million things right. I didnt even recognize those things, because of what you had said to me, so long ago.

IVE DONE A MILLION WONDERFUL THINGS.

You'll never know, because you are no longer alive. I didnt know what do feel when you passed away. I wanted to see you before you left, but you became even more cruel, in your final days. I mourned for the father that I wanted. I was sad that you didnt love me, because you didnt even know how to.

A month after you died, I felt you in my living room. It was 10 at night, and I was on my couch eating popcorn, and watching tv. You were there, and then gone...in ten seconds. In those ten seconds I felt your peace, and I felt you mourning the loss of a lifetime wasted in pain and anger and sadness. Yours, and mine. You wordlessly said what you needed to say, and then you were gone. It was the first and only time I had felt like I had a father.

I will always remember what you said to me, when I was young. But, I will also remember your visit, that April night. I will see you in my reflection, and I will hear you in my laugh.

I will also do all the things that you said Id never do.

Its who I am.

And what you never were.