3rd leg
What're you Thinking?

Friday, November 15, 2002


Pop quiz, hotshot: What do the Energizer Bunny and 3rd Leg have in common?.... They've both been known to wear shades when they hit the skins, and they can keep going and going and going...

Not to give away all my secrets, but here's a few of the things I've thought about to delay my own gratification for the toe-curling benefit of a few select leg-humpers:


Strom Thurmond
Dead Puppies
Dead Babies
My Checking Account Balance
Ranking my top ten favorite movies of all time
People who’s name starts with ‘X’
Who I’d rather trade places with: Prince William, Fred Durst, Toby Maguire or Hugh Hefner
My friends and family eulogizing me at my funeral
Selecting my pall-bearers
The exact lyrics of Louie, Louie
That freaky dude from the Hellraiser movies
Ways in which I could get myself in the Guiness Book of World Records
The number of consecutive wind sprints I could run before vomiting
Cleaning up a vomit accident
Johnny Hates Jazz
Dumpster diving
Cheese Whiz
Dick Clark’s birth
Nell Carter taking a dump
Teddy Ruxpin
Q-Bert
Who’s more gay: Danny from Who’s the Boss? Or Wesley from Mr. Belvedere

A 3-way with k.d. lang and Rosie O’Donnell
The Greek alphabet in reverse
My high school alma mater
The chronological listing of all my teachers/professors starting with Kindergarten-Mrs. Benton
Jai-alai and curling
The Gimp
Dame Edna in dominatrix gear




Pink and Black


It's Friday, David Bowie's singing to me about Modern Love, Heroes, and Fame and I'm thinking about actually getting some work done. Like a whole entire day of billable hours. Aw, who am I kidding. Actually I'm much more concerned with making it through the day without finding out who got voted out on Survivor: Thailand. I've got it waiting for me on tape when I get home---so don't tell what happened!!!.

Had I been thinking I would have spent 5 hours of last evening listening to Dickie Vitale over-energetically and maniacally christen the 2002-3 ncaa hoops season, but instead I committed myself to a night of theatre. I'm not really a ballet kinda guy, like at all---but I made it through two intermissions of an Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre Group performance. I consider that a rather noble accomplishment worthy of a self pat on the back. The theme of the evening was complicated love, assisted by simple yet dramatically lit sets and outstanding music---and absolutely no spoken words. Because really, words just make love even more complicated. Like when my date admitted to not liking ballet either, then why in the hell did she want to go so badly making me sacrifice an evening of hoops t.v.??? See?... Complicated.



I'll bet my evening wouldn't have been nearly as complicated and much more satisfying if I lived in New York. I'd have picked up my barely legal date (believe me---when you're closer to 30 than you are 20, 19 qualifies as b.l.), scalped tickets at the Garden----caught the second half of Syracuse/Memphis, then persuaded the trendy girl on my arm to stay for the main event, Oklahoma/Alabama, and then taken her home to see if she had my favorite pink and black bra and panty set on underneath her overcoat. That's a lot of hoops for a non-sports lovin' girl to suffer through in a single night, so I might have had to promise her an extra half hour of tongue aerobics at the Y and let her tie me to her bed with her blue and marroon scarf. Then I would have taught her about the intricacies and visual poetry of the game of basketball; the double team, the slam, the jam, the finger roll, and she'd tell me that she likes her current definitions of those words and phrases much more.

I'd have woke up with a sore neck, and she'd be walking with a bit of a limp today----but I'm a gentleman so I would have offered to let her borrow my cane.


Now and Later

Thursday, November 14, 2002


When I was younger and happened to look forward to a future date or event in the presence of my grandfather like "I can't wait til Christmas" or "I can't wait til I turn 16 and can drive myself where-ever I want, whenever I want", he'd advise me against 'wishing my life away'. The theory being that you should appreciate the now, and the later will come soon enough. That's nice grandpa, now don't forget to take your dentures home with you, I get kind of grossed out when you leave them on the end table.

I can't wait for this day to end. The college basketball season kicks off in less than two hours! I'll keep my hoop thoughts to a minimum here as I do have another web outlet for my infinite sports knowledge and I get the impression that most of you could care less----but here's a link you can visit to quickly get yourself up to speed about what's hot/what's not about the upcoming season. Though I'd like to go on record as saying I don't appreciate the hating on Chris Duhon, Dahntay Jones and Duke in general. Actually, take that link with a grain of salt---only idiots predict a Final Four in the pre-season. The true insiders know you have to at least wait until the brackets come out on Selection Sunday, or what I like to call 'The Most Glorious Time of the Year'.

My ankle is still killing me, I actually think it's getting worse. Thank God I'm not in any kickball leagues. Actually that's not true, I do wish I was in a kickball league. I'd ask for my 'pitches' to be slow and smooth, forget all that bouncy crap, and I'd probably play hurt and risk permanent damage to my swollen wheel. You know because I'm a team player, and 3rd leg at 65% is still better than most at 100%.

A few other things I can't wait for---6 days til Brooke vs. Helene, 13 days til the Mighty Mighty Bosstones come for a visit, and hopefully any day now when Meesh finds some pics of herself in Princess Leia garb and posts them on her site and I get my copy of Dude, Where's My Blog? by Tony Pierce...

What the hell was I thinking???
It's Better to Have Loved and Lost...


If you missed The Bachelor: The Women Tell All reunion show, then you missed seeing Christi (the psycho Miss Idaho), Heather (the psycho Texan flight attendant), and broken down Gwen have an opportunity to get a little closure from Aaron.



Though "surprise guest" Aaron only took questions for about two minutes we learned that he really was scared for his life with Christi around (me too dude, me too!), that he was trying to see for himself what everyone else (including his friends from home) saw in Heather and that Gwen's lack of passion in her 5-minute plea led to her ousting.

Surprisingly Christi seemed the most balanced and well-adjusted of the trio in focus, though she did lie a little claiming to have never boiled a live rabbit, and saying that she's had more date offers in the last month than in the rest of her life combined. Uh-huh. Heather tried to knock Christi by calling her out saying, "I'm not emotional. I'm strong. Christi's the emotional one." Then she broke down crying a few moments later when Frances was joking about her cooking and liberal use of hairspray. Luckily the host didn't ask her what she thought of Christi saying that she wasn't the type of girl that Aaron could be proud of bringing home to mom and dad. All that said, she was looking pretty smoking in those black leather pants.



Most every girl dressed as though this were a skin-to-win contest, except Gwen, who dressed in a modest white turtleneck, making me think she's put on a few pounds since her dismissal. If nothing else her face is looking a little fuller, and who can blame her. She allowed herself to open up to the process and fall in love in less than a month's time---and had good reason to believe that Aaron was in love with her too, and she finishes just short of the prize. And what does she get for her trouble?----A nationally televised broken heart.

While you can't help but feel sorry for Gwen, knowing that she could have been a little more persuasive in helping her own cause and at least had an opportunity to go head to head with Helene, you just know she's the front runner to star on The Bachelorette II.

The best part of the show, and you may have missed it, as it was shown alongside the rolling credits, was an edited package of every time Aaron's tried to get someone in the hot tub. The editors obviously had plenty of material to choose from. "What do you say we open a bottle of vino and get in the hot tub?", "Hot tub anyone?", "I wonder if they'd let us use the hot tub".

They could have put another package together when Aaron was visibly buzzed from a couple of glasses of "vino" and attempted, usually successfully, to make out with one of the bachelorettess. Even as a fellow man, I just can't endorse his actions. I can understand getting close to the final four, and wanting to feel the electricity and intimacy of a kiss, then using that information as a barometer for your true feelings. But, I'll bet that Aaron's had his tongue down at least half of the girls' throats. Even the two psychos- Christi and Heather, who he was never even that in to.

So while I'm usually unsympathetic towards someone going on a reality game show and then crying sour grapes after they're unhappy with the results, I can definitely understand how some of the bachelorettes on this season were a little mis-guided. Even Heather and Christi... And you can add one more broken heart to the pile after next week's finale, though I'll bet that either Helene or Brooke will handle it a little more gracefully, and attempt to follow Gwen's lead.


Nice Ankles

Wednesday, November 13, 2002


Samantha Fox and I have something in common----you know besides having no viable musical talent and being born with a sweet ass, we’re both trying to gut out painful ankle injuries. I know this only after investigating a Google referral for "samantha fox broken ankle". Mine could be broken too, but so far I’ve been too stubborn to get an X-ray. I’m thinking of getting a cane. That would be pimpin’ hella cool. Remember Pete Nice? Pete Nice----what do you mean you don’t know who I’m talking about? The Prime Minister…..Sinister…. Pete Nice, Nice, Nice, Nice, Nice, Nice, Nice. Alright, so maybe MC Serch was the one with all the juice, but how cool could he be---he couldn’t even spell his own name! Then he had to get all crazy and start dissing my boy Ad-Rock!



My point is Pete carried a cane, and he even had his own throne that he sometimes set up in the middle of a busy street. Then again that might have been MTV 80’s video-making magic. The throne, not the cane. The cane was real. I bet I’d pull more chicks with a cool looking cane.

God bless you, Google. I’ve been quickly brought up to date on Miss Fox’s health and had a few fond memories of Mr. Nice to boot. Now if only you could tell me what Brooke’s daddy did to get himself thrown in the Alabama Slammer. Aren’t I clever? Oh well, maybe next week.

Oh yea, get well Samantha!!!

Here's Your Freakin' Pics!


I wish I could thank one of you for sending me XXX amount of referrals through a link on your web site, but the truth of the matter is I get more randoms looking for pics of Real World babes Brynn and Trishelle than I'd like to admit. There's even a couple of folks looking for pic's of Alton's 3rd leg, but you can rest assured that'll never happen. Besides, I don't know about you---but I wasn't really that impressed anyway. More like a baby's arm than a leg.



Not much to say about last night's episode other than it sucked completely, and may have been the worst Real World episode ever. Last week the 'to be continued' build-up would have had you believe that Irulan's man Gabe was going to come to Vegas poised to kick Alton's ass for getting horizontal with his girl. Instead they're like new best friends (of course it helped that Irulan didn't exactly come clean with her fella), and even worse it took us the full 30 minutes to realize there would be no conflict, and even more worse---if you blinked you probably missed all of Brynn and Trishelle's screen time!



This is two weeks without any go-go dancing! One week without Trishelle throwing up!!! Throw us a freakin' bone here.



That of course was followed by my favorite travelogue, which is proving to be a strong anti-marketing campaign for each city featured thus far, I'm talking of course about FM Nation.

This week they followed a trio of nasties aspiring to be groupies for Warrant (had obnoxious, borderline disgusting Rosa not been in tow---the two other chicks might have had a chance, though not nearly as good as the blonde in the white tank top who no doubt got busy right after the skanks were given the boot), Scott ---a freaky virgin church-goer who thought it would be a good idea to profess his love to this normal, decent looking chick from Sunday School at a Lover's Lane type of place with the use of some toy boats ("This is the friend ship. But there's another ship in the harbor, a relation ship..." after giving him no indication of interest he went on to say "Is it short, fat, white and desperate in here or is it just me?") and Tandra ---a hot little blonde Mormon in search of her first kiss before heading off to college. But she failed miserably since all the guys in Salt Lake City are freaks, goobers, or too lame to realize when a girl is giving them the all systems go.

Salt Lake City, one more place I won't be visiting----like, ever!!!


Storytime

Monday, November 11, 2002


So, I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways in which this blog could be improved, and how to best serve a diverse audience of readers. The guys I think I’ve got pretty well covered, obviously throw up some pictures of half-naked women and they’re in. The ladies definitely are not going to get nearly nude pics of dudes, unless it’s of me---and then of course I immediately lose the dudes, well at least the heteros. But, I don’t think I necessarily lose the female audience just because there are pictures of beautiful women, I mean who doesn’t enjoy looking at a beautiful woman, and really the pics you see here are probably tamer than you’d see in any Cosmo. Seriously, and feel free to throw that one back at any chick that tries to decry the worth and decency of either Maxim or Playboy, the only two magazines to which I’m currently subscribing… Which reminds me my Maxim is either late, or I’ve got a mail-swiping pervert for a mailman…

In any case, I’ve decided until told otherwise that the best way to entertain and capture the female audience (besides recaps and predictions for The Bachelor) is to share insights of the male mind, through observations, explanations and anecdotes. I hope you all enjoy.

The time was shortly after being called an A-hole by those three Alpha Chi’s but still smack dab in the middle of my sophomore year of college. I attend a house party with a guy who knows the guy throwing said party. I’ve met him once before, but not enough to attend the party on my own. I literally know no one else in attendance, which can be a positive in that no one’s around to call you on any bullshit, and there’s no one to serve as a crutch for you to lean on (i.e. you’ve got to get out and mingle or risk looking like a complete loser). So I start chatting up this brunette with a hot body (think a post Bayside/pre boob-job Kelly Kapowski, err... Tiffany Amber Thiessen----alright, alright, her hair was a little shorter and a little straighter. There! Are you happy now?), but some kind of small spider bite slightly below and to the right of her mouth. I know it’s a spider bite only because she tells me it is, and it’s not quite grotesque enough to scare me off. She eventually forgets the name I gave her, and starts calling me ‘Jamie’. That sounds close to the name I gave her and after unsuccessfully attempting to correct her a few times, I decide ‘Jamie’s close enough. We’re both having a good time, but she’s clearly having a better time, either that or I just could handle my alcohol better than she could. I tell her I’m in a fraternity, I even specify which one, but she decides I’m a Delt (or what we referred to as Delta Tau Delta at my campus). I’m not a Delt, though Delta was one of the three Greek letters of my fraternity and we were located just two houses down the street from each other, so again I say what the hell---I guess I’m Jamie the Delt for the rest of the night. As the party draws near, my ride is nowhere to be found, he either locked in on a target of his own, or just got tired of waiting on me. So, I catch a ride from this chick and her friends, and at this point I have absolutely no idea what her name is. We drop a couple of her friends off, and then we somehow get to the house of a couple of her male friends.



Now this is dangerous territory, because if some hot chick brought some random to my place to bone back in the day, there might have been some trouble. At worst it would have been something to happen only once---and then all parties involved would have learned their lesson. These guys turn out to be tools though, since they’ve no doubt agreed to let me get busy on their fold out couch, and leave us on our own fairly quickly. See I was (and am) the type of guy that would have made it nearly impossible for any fun to be had by staying up all night, and not letting anyone have any privacy---not in my freakin house you don’t! So who’s up for a game of Monopoly!?!!? But like I said these guys were tools, so it’s on, and we’re going at it in the living room on the fold out of some dude’s apartment, and it’s not like we’re being coy and hiding beneath the covers, we’re talking I’m slapping her ass and pulling hair kind of action and we’re not even trying to be quiet. So after we’ve had as much fun as could be had with one condom, I go to the bathroom and get cleaned up----and what’s the first thought that comes to my head?

As the Ladies Man would say, "Um, yea that was fun----now I needs to be goin’". Problem is when I walk my butt naked self back down the hallway and to the living room she’s wearing my shirt. Well I can’t very well leave this apartment on what could be a long walk (mind you I am still without ride) half dressed. So, I wake her up and say, (and I’m not joking) "Could you give me my shirt back, I’m cold." She does this and I lie in bed long enough for her to fall asleep----or more likely pass out. So I slowly get dressed, check the tools’ entertainment area for any CDs that would be a welcome addition to my own collection and sneak out the front door. Now even to this day I’m horrible with directions, but there’s a gas station within sight, so I walk a couple blocks to figure out exactly where I am----this is waaaaaaayyyyyyy before kids started getting cell phones on their 16th birthdays along with their driver’s license or else I would have called up one of our pledges and had him wake up and come get me. It’s about 4a.m., and before I even get inside there’s a driver dropping off the morning newspaper, and I say, "Dude, any chance I could catch a ride to Greek Town? I’ll help you with the rest of your route." Rather than take my hungover ass up on the offer, he inexplicably drives me straight home and saved me an early morning 5 mile walk… Never saw that girl again, and I’m guessing she had even less luck finding Jamie the Delt.

Today’s Lesson: Never leave home without at least two condoms, and your cell.

Bring it On!


You know what they say about glass houses, right? If you live in one you better change your clothes downstairs. Maybe it's because it's Monday and I'm still wishing the weekend hadn't ended so soon, or maybe I'm still in a daze from finally realizing that the current cast of Saturday Night Live is either being completely under-utilized or they really are just that mediocre, but I've got a few things I need to get off my chest.

1. You are rude! Well, maybe not you in particular, but of the couple of hundred people who have visited this less than a month old blog, only one person has left an on-screen comment, and less than five have sent an email. Do you think I'd come in to your house or place of business and look around, leaving without saying at least a complimentary (or degrading) word or two? Of course not... Which leads me to number 2.

2. You can make a change! I'm a guy who's actually open to suggestion, and even critique. I'm a Virgo so it's completely impossible for you to be harder on me than I already am on myself, but if there's something you'd like to see here besides say photos of kick-ass babes, or a topic you'd like my comment on (you know besides who's going to win on The Bachelor), or hell a question you have about my gender (i.e. How can I get the guy from accounting's attention?)---fire away. The worst that can happen is I'll ignore you, and you'll have a lessened opinion of your own self-worth, leading you straight from work to the bar, where you'll have too much to drink, yet not enough to make you believe that you can't actually manage to drive yourself home, and then you'll get pulled over less than 2 blocks from your apartment and be forced to spend the night in jail and the next 6 months paying off legal fees, court costs, and a rise in insurance that together will run ya somewhere in the ballpark of $4,000. Or maybe you're the type of person who'd just get over it. Rrrrrrrrrright. And finally 3;



3. Naughty girls need love, too. Believe you me, I've understood this concept long before Samantha Fox was feathering her golden locks and jumping around on MTV in her ripped up jeans. If you're naughty and you know it, then send me a pic. If you're a web-cam girl, I'll even link ya if you're in to acquiring tens of dozens of new fans. I'll accept clean pics too, and may even recirprocate (don't get your hopes up), but most importantly I'd love to know what my audience looks like----and since I've not yet stooped to putting a PayPal link up, or an Amazon wish list, it's really the least that you can do without feeling like a complete free-loading mooch, right?... Besides, the Christmas season is upon us, and it's much better to give than to receive, yes?... Unless of course we're talking about head, and then that's a completely different story... and last but not least;

4. The word of the day is Legs, now let's spread the word. Actually, it's 'leg', singular, and just the 3rd one. But the point is, if you like this blog enough to come back again and again and again, then your friends will probably like it too, unless of course you have no friends, in which case I apologize for upsetting you and rubbing salt in your lonely wounds. But you have my absolute permission to link me, email your friends, relatives, neighbors, and enemies and talk me up, or even drop a phone call to your local congressman or favorite media personality, all to your heart's content. I'm fairly confident that this world will be a better place with a few thousand more 3rd leg lovers, and I've settled in the past for being used solely for my body---so it's really no trouble at all for me to feel used solely for my blog. Ready, on two----break!


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