FIVE QUESTIONS WITH KAM!

I was tagged with questions. So I answered them.

1. Do you want to be my baby daddy? Who else besides Natalie "I-went-to-the-same-acting-school-as-Jennifer-Love-Hewitt" Portman would you like to be your baby mama?

I actually want to bear your children. Because my boyish hips will not allow for this, I suppose the next best thing would be to impregnate you. I have a few reservations which include (but are by no means limited to):
a)People always say that if you are thinking about being with a woman forever,you should take a good long look at her mom first. While I have taken a few very long, very hard looks at your mother and enjoyed them, the thought that her psychosis lives deep inside of you gives me erectile dysfunction.
b)There was a kid that used to live on my street who tortured animals and beat people up. He had no social skills and ate grass. It is my belief that this behavior was directly caused my his non-cleaning, non-cooking mother. I don't want my child torturing animals...only insurgents. USA! USA! USA!

I can not think of any other woman on the planet who I would like to have a child with. The thought of Natalie getting fat and moody makes me cry.

2. Why do you insist on making up your own annoying lyrics to that Sixpence None The Richer song from the Ortho Tricyclen commercials? Please share them with the Internet so that they might be equally as annoyed as I.

Once a song is used in a contraceptive and/or herpe medicine commercial it belongs to the public domain. It is my dream that one day, the songs in said commercials will actually be about said pharmaceuticals. When I change the lyrics I am working towards the manifestation of said dream. "There she goes, having rough sex with virile strangers." and so forth.

3. Did your college girlfriend really have DD-sized breasts? Do you have pictures to prove it?

She did. I don't know if I have pictures of her gals, I may have a few of her face.

4. How is it that some days you insist on taking 45 minute showers and on others you are perfectly content to take a "sink shower"? And what the hell IS a sink shower, anyway?

First of all, I am never "content" with a sink shower, but have no time for a more thorough washing. You know why I take so long to shower. It is a 2-part phenomenon. First, I simply love showering.
Hot water + good smells + my naked body = A Great Fucking Idea!

Second, I am a bit OCD about how I wash myself. I prepare by standing under the showerhead for approx. 6 minutes with my eyes closed before I proceed. Next, I lather and rinse my entire body three times. I wash my hair once with a liberal amount of shampoo, and after rinsing, give the sides and back a touch-up wash with a dime-sized amount. I do not see the need to explain how this routine changes when conditioning, exfoliating, or body hair removal is involved. A sink shower is really just a shave, teethbrushin', facewash, and smell check, followed by a thorough saturation and towel drying of the hair.


5. Your Uncle Peter is a creepy pervert. Can you please tell him to stop staring at my flotation devices?

Uncle Peter had a brain tumor, this means that nobody is ever going to tell him to stop being creepy ever again (calling out people who had bad things happen to them is just not socially acceptable). It's more productive to feel sorry for his children and wife than it is to pay attention to him. But it really does creep my out the way he sits next to you at family functions so he can look at your lap.

I'll need to see a photo I.D., and also your cock please.

Some things just have to be Blogged.
I work for a Business Equipment company and spend alot of time meeting strange people on their turf. I deal mostly with sales and management matters, but occasionally I will be in the field to handle a repair. Last week I went out to a very large software company to work on a copier and try to make a contact. This place is a fortress (to protect against corporate espionage) and is the size of a school campus. 12 buildings, all with laser doors and robot turnstiles, bells and alarms and hologram badges. In the middle of the lobby, at the security desk, sat a portly dark-haired gentleman. While I was waiting for my contact to come stamp me with a barcode so that I could access the copy room, the security captain struck up a bit of a conversation with me. He mentioned that he does some print work for local clubs, and I thought I might be able to sell him a printer. He expressed faux interest and wrangled my e-mail. After he had it he quickly changed the tone of the conversation, expressing to me how hansome he thought I was, and how perfect I would be for modeling. Today, he sent me the following e-mail.


Well Hello just wanted to touch base with you on modeling? I also ventured out and started a Video Production company and Escort service if you felt like being a bit more adventurous! The money is awesome in that industry! I have escorts bringing home 1500 on up a night! Just something to think about! I know your handsome and would make a killing!! Let me know either way if you would be interested in any of the offers!

-Thanks Kris


Never give a stranger your e-mail, because he might just ask you to be a fucking hooker.

My Poetic Contribuition

Turd in a punchbowl
With a lovely dish of Brie
Turd in a punchbowl
Spiked with royal wee (the editorial)

Clutch City

Kameron, 5' 11, 160lbs

I have LOVED sports my entire life. I am by no means athletically gifted, but I played everything as a kid. I wasn't the "last kid picked" in any of the sports I enjoyed playing and I wasn't an awkward kid, I was just INCREDIBLY small. I followed Pro Teams religiously, and not because I wished I could be "like that", but simply because I am fascinated by sport.

Some of the most vivid memories in my life were built around watching TV. That's what sport can do to me, and I make no bones about it. My Grandfather and I were talking a few months ago about the time we spent watching the PGA on Sunday monings when I was VERY young. Anyone in my family would be hard pressed to remember a quiet moment with me, but those mornings were still and intense, and remain clear in my mind.

I remember the first heartbreak I ever experienced as a sports fan, Jan. 3, 1992, when my Houston Oilers were at the short end of the Greatest Comeback in NFL Playoff History. It was Oilers v. Bills and I watched it on a 10 ft. projector screen that I always begged to setup during the Playoffs. Even worse, I watched it with Justin Starr, my best friend growing up, who was originally from Buffalo, and a HUUUUGE Bills fan.

I remember shaving my head SKIN BALD and wearing a Clutch City SANDWICH BOARD to school when the Rockets got past the Suns in 1994, eventually going on to win the NBA Championship. I looked like a REALLY sick child who was given front row seats by Make A Wish, but I didn't give a shit, because I am a fan.

I remember the stunned and muddled look of my best friend, a Sox fan, in the bar where we watched the impossible happen last year.

I am writing this because Saturday was THE day. Draft Day, Astros v. Cards, and Game 1 of what is shaping up to be an incredible Lone Star series. Monday night saw clutch shots from the Mavs and the Rockets, and showed that T-Mac is a bad bad mothah, sent to our planet to make the jumpshot look too damn pretty. I'm starting to get the feeling people. If you're reading this, and you are my girlfriend, I have plans tomorrow and Saturday that include a giant sweaty Chinaman and his partner Lazy Eyes.

War Rockets in 5
War Texans making a run at the Playoffs next season
War Roger Clemens keeping his ERA under 1 (It's nasty, nasty stuff)

I am out.

Live at 5, with extra jive!

Last night, several Houstonians were stranded at a Conoco Station on the North side. They had filled up with Gasoline that was contaminated with large amounts of water. The local news stations scrambled to the scene, looking for a knowledgeable witness to shed light on the incident...

This is what they found.

NewsMan: "Tell us what heppened when you tried to start your car."

Busted Crackhead Woman: "I had turnt on tha key, and it said...krunk."

NewsMan: (look of concern) It "krunked"?

Busted Crackhead Woman: "Uh huh, an I said naw, thaddon't soun right."

NewsMan: "So what DID you do?"

Busted Crackhead Woman: "I turnt it again, and it KRUNKED again!"

NewsMan: "As you can see, the situation here is tense. People missed work today, and some were stranded for up to FIVE hours.


Editors Note: If this crackhead has a job, it's at the DPS, Post Office, or as a Tech Support Rep. for Hewlett Packard. Either way, nobody missed her.

Breakfast: The Most Important Drink of the Day

Goood Morning! Monday was my first day back from vacation, and there are stories aplenty to keep my reader interested. I do not have the time to indulge you right now though, as I have a pretty serious stack of real-world garbage in front of me. I would like to share an incident from breakfast on Sunday, an incident that provided me with some of the wisest words I have ever heard.

First, a little exposition...

The second, and final leg of my vacation brought me to the cabin of a dear friend in the San Bernardino Mountains. The camp that he oversees is operated by an Armenian group, and visited by different groups of teachers, students, etc. Having been friends with Serge (Armenian) and his sister for some time, I have realized that Armenians are a very PROUD people, and given the way the women look and the men drink, they have plenty to be proud of. Needless to say, many of them don't care to mix with mutts the likes of myself. When I found out that a group would be coming up while I was in town, it was implied that I should stay low, avoid spooking the guests, and stay away from the hot daughters at ALL costs. When they arrived however, they proved themselves to be far more liberal than was expected, and more welcoming than Serge or myself thought possible. We were graciously invited to all meals, including breakfast on Sunday morning.

We were at breakfast, chowing on "Ful" (Lebanese Bean Brekfast Matter), when a friendly older man who looked remarkably like Donald Sutherland sat across from us.
He asked Serge a question in Armenian, to which Serge replied "Something in Armenian". The man seemed angry and confused. He stood up and said in a VERY firm tone, "SOMETHING IN ARMENIAN!". He reached swiftly for the vodka, which naturally was next to the muffins and malto-meal (They dont call it malto meal, they put string cheese in it and have some fancy ethnic name for the stuff), and poured us half glasses. He poured himself and raised it high, we did the same, and proceeded to choke down breakfast vodka at 9:00 in the morning.

This interaction left me VERY confused. The men had been pouring Johnny W. Black down our throats since they had arrived, which is why we had not made it to breakfast the previous 2 days, and thus had not experienced morning vodka. This is how Serge recapped it for me, to clear my ugly American head.

Donald Sutherlandian: "Would you like some Vodka?"
Serge: "No"
Donald Sutherlandian: "WHAT?! HOW CAN YOU EAT BREAKFAST WITHOUT VODKA?!"
Serge: "Uh, I..."

The man could see that Serge did not have a good reason. Come to think of it, neither did I. I have yet to make any real sense of this interaction, but I have decided to drink Vodka for breakfast every day for the rest of my life.

T-Minus 4.5 Days Until Lift-Off!

Let me begin by saying that I have not had a vacation since my 21st birthday. I am ALMOST 23!!! Well, it feels like a long time, so don't bust my horns about being spoiled. Anyway, unless you count waking up in strange places with vomit shirt and missing pants, I have not had a vacation in almost 2 years. I am excited and "stoked" to announce that I will be getting on a plane for Las Vegas, "The Tackiest Place on Earth" at 1:30pm CST, Mon. April 4th. I will spend 3 days in The Vegas before traveling to SoCal for some quality time with nature in the LA National Forest.

My last visit to LV coincided with the National Swingers Convention, and many of these old pickle buckets and knee-sock ninjas were staying at the same hotel as myself. On any given night, while traversing the magic carpet of the Aladdin, I would find myself engulfed in a crippling tangle of lace and wrinkled skin, left disoriented in an acrid cloud of ben-gay and semen flavored air. On one particular night, I stepped into the elevator with my younger brother, right into the eager embrace of the AARP's most notorious sluts. We were quite drunk, headed in fact, down to the gift shop for more Jägermeister and Red Bull, and the ladies could smell our weakness.

I stood quietly, trying desperately to mask my pheromonal emissions with power-farts. I used to volunteer at a nursing home, and I saw enough old lady tit to learn valuable evasive maneuvers. My little brother did not recieve similar training, and was thrust into this confrontation ignorant to the powers of geezer lust. They closed on Dillon before he could react, pinning him against the back wall and descending on his proverbial shaft. When the elevator reached the lobby level, I was able to slither out unnoticed. I looked back to see my poor brother, too young to be drunk, and too old to block out a molestation, staring desperately into my eyes. I laughed, HARD, and waited. Several minutes later the elevator returned (no longer under seige by Norah Jones listeners) and my brother trickled out of its doors.

We got very drunk that night, and Dill never told me what happened after I got off the elevator. Las Vegas proved itself to be a place of mystery and decadance, and secured a place in my heart. I am so happy to be going back, not just because I have a gambling problem, but because I really don't think there is any place quite like the Vegas.

Dillon still can't look Gamma in the eyes.

My very first SPD!

I have worked hard for three years to get where I am. Believe it or not, my first office was just an endtable and a stool in a dim closet where the custodial staff lived. I learned some Spanish, but customers don't warm up to salesmen who smell like lysol and chicharrones. Now, because of my hard work and dedication, I have marble walls, comfortable seating, and drinkable water...ALL IN MY OFFICE!




And here I am, HARD AT WORK!