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Testy

 

Life is one big test.

We are testing ourselves every day.  We test our spouses, coworkers and kids.  Others are testing us.  Your god is testing you every day – whoever that might be.  We are all testies.

As kids, they are testing us all the time to see what they can get away with.  It’s inherent in their genes – if we weren’t natural scientists we would not have made it this far on earth.  Our ancestors were the ones who were, like – “Hey!  I wonder what would happen if we picked up the burning stick and brought it to our cave?”  It sounded less eloquent than that probably, but the point was made.  They tried new things.  They took a swing and sometimes missed.

They tested life.

We need to test ourselves.  With the modern age, we still wonder – how would we react in a situation?  What if a masked gunman tried to rob us?  What would we do?  What if our kids fell off a cliff, and we had to pull them up to safety?  Could we do it?

Kids do it for themselves, too.  I see my son testing his limits all the time.  “Could I climb a little higher and jump off?” he’ll say to himself, and then do it, until at some point the height is just a little too much, and he climbs back down.  In 6 months it won’t be too high anymore, and next time he’ll do it.

It’s important in life to be a testy.  The stronger your testy instinct, the farther your essence will shoot out.  In life.

You thought this post was going to be about testicles, didn’t you?  Perfectly understandable.  I did too at first.

Raincheck?

 

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Bikini Baristas – Beauty and Caffeine

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the barista’s at Starbucks wear boring uniforms.  And they’re generally surly college students or pseudo intellectuals who’s thesis is not paying the rent.  Or assholes.  And their coffee is pretty much the same as everyone else’s, they just have those cool cake pops.

 

If you live in an urban area, there’s a chance there’s a better alternative.  It’s called a Bikini Barista shop, and it’s probably the best invention in the last 10 years.

Before you poo poo the idea as sexist, or dirty, or stupid, or “my wife won’t let me go” or “I’m afraid my neighbor will see” – consider this: Beauty and coffee – a perfect marriage.  Try that tag line on the wife.

And while I’m sure there are the guys who go and are inappropriate or ogle, my experience has been that these girls are nice, sweet, NORMAL girls who are making coffee and brightening your day in a cute outfit.  It’s like going to the beach on a day you can’t actually make it to the beach.

We all want beauty in our lives.  In my opinion, women are beautiful.  All shapes and sizes, they are beautiful creatures.  And these girls aren’t all stacked and skinny – most are regular shapes, big busts and small, big butts and small, blemishes and all.  They aren’t airbrushed like the victoria’s secret catalogue you bring into the bathroom with you.  They’re real, and beautiful, and they make a great cup of coffee.  It’s inspirational!

Excuse me.  I’m going to go start drafting my plans for a bikini tire shop.  See ya.

The Snooze Button Antichrist

Everyone is worried about the end of the world.  If I hear one more time that someone thinks the president or a presidential candidate or a possible secretary of treasury might be the antichrist, I’m going to go all 666 on someone.

The antichrist is supposed to come out of nowhere.  Someone everyone least expects.  It’s not going to be a high level politician.  Those guys are too douchey to be the antichrist anyway.  The real antichrist is right in our bedrooms as we speak.

No, I’m not talking about your wife (well, maybe yours Larry), I’m talking about a cancer in our rooms that is spreading globally.  In fact, when it reaches the remote villages of Africa, I believe the human race is doomed.  Yes, I’m talking about the snooze button.

Think about it – what all could mankind have accomplished if the snooze button didn’t exist?  We’d probably on Mars right now if those scientists didn’t take that extra half an hour each morning, trying to get up but taking “just 10 more minutes” of snooze time.  And we all know it’s a worthless amount of sleep – it does nothing for our bodies.  It just delays the inevitable.  And steals our eternal souls.

But I’m powerless against it. At 4 in the morning, when I’m supposed to get up to exercise, I know it’s there.  Waiting for me like a hit of crack – just ten more minutes.

Screw you, snooze button.  You may herald the end of the world for us all.  But I don’t have to like it.  Now excuse me, I’m going to get just a few minutes more sleep.

VACA

Vacations rock.  I like them second only to vaginas.  Is there a V theme there somehow?  I’m not sure.

I like to take a vacation every chance I get.  Monthly if I can.  Daily if the boss will let me.  And of course, they’re even better if you bring a vagina along to keep you company (mine has a name of course, but I’m keeping her identity safe).

Lest the ladies think me sexist, I’m just as interested in the smile and walk and talk of my lady as I am in her vajazzle.  She’s my best friend, and a vaca isn’t a vaca without her with mei.

I took a vaca this weekend with my lady, and it was amazing.  It’s awesome how much a little leisure time makes you love you wife more, makes you love your life more, makes you love your kids more…

Some people like to say that you need to treat your whole life like a vacation.  I’ve seen books that say it’s a negative thing to look forward to the 2 weeks a year you get as a vacation.  You need to live your life as if every day is a vacation.  You need to appreciate the every day things as if they were a vacation.

I agree. You need to appreciate every day.  You can’t be miserable 350 days of the year, and happy for 15 days.  That’s stupid.  But vacations are nice too.  It’s like anything else – you need to have a balance.  But I sure love my vacation sex.  It’s like regular sex, with sprinkles on top.

Live for your every day.  And live a little more for the special days.  Thanks for a great weekend baby.  I love you.  And your vagina.

Pricks

I’ve recently come to the realization that I’m kind of a prick.  It’s not my fault per se – I just think I’m kind of a dick all the time.  And I think it’s because of my penis.

Let me explain – I’m motivated by my penis.  When it wants something, I want it too.  When it’s angry, I’m angry too. When it’s happy….you get the idea.  In fact, about half of the reason I do things is because of my down there dude.  I’m completely controlled by my wang chung!

I think it takes a certain amount of enlightenment to acknowledge this.  Civilized creatures would say this is not a good thing – that I should rise above.  Of course, I have to make non-peep related decisions at work and at home.  I can use my brain.  It’s just the other one is VERY convincing sometimes.

And women always bemoan this like they hate it.  “Oh, you’re just thinking with your prick” or “use the head on top of your shoulders to think”.  Yea, Yea.  But then when you want something from us, you conveniently try to convince us using which head again?  Why are you not rubbing my eyelids when you want to ask to go out to dinner tonight?  Because you know what body part is really in charge.

Why do I go to work?  To make money, so I can have sex with my wife.  Why do I do the laundry?  So my wife will have more free time…and hopefully use it to have sex with me.  Why do I go to the gym?  You know.  Why do I drink too much beer?  To drown the hurt inside when I don’t have enough sex.

Why do I have kids?  I think most of you know how that happened.

I’m just a prick, and not ashamed to admit it.  Maybe a little ashamed, but my boss in the trenches tells me to be proud of it, so I’m going to listen to the little guy.  He’s very smart.

New Rear Goggles

http://reargoggles.blogspot.com/#!/2012/02/planet-dodgeball.html

Rear Goggles Forking

Check out http://www.reargoggles.com for more