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Why April first is my favorite day of the year.

Tuesday, May 10th, 2011

Every year I try to do at least one April Fool’s Day joke on at least someone. Some years I may do 2-3 jokes. Whether I’ve contracted the clap from the Bearded Lady at the traveling circus to pregnancy scares, to cutting off appendages with a power saw, miter saw, snapping turtle, sharp edge of a toilet seat, to wrecking cars, bikes, or Barbi power wheels, I always catch someone unawares, and enjoy a laugh or two at how I got them!

This past April first did not start out very good for me at all. When I tried to do the whole “you’re gonna be a grandma again!” thing on my mom it backfired. I figured that since I’m only engaged and not married and that since a big chunk of my pay is going to my ex-wife for my other two kids that my mom wouldn’t be to thrilled with me  being a dad at this time. Turns out that she was ecstatic. Now my joke was just plain mean. Not what I had in mind.

So I figured I’d try and save the day from being a total waste by coming up with something big, something that would involve multiple people and really come out of left field. I decided to go after the proprietor of my favorite watering hole.

Who’s your Papa… Smurf?

Wednesday, April 27th, 2011

So, while I was out of town for the weekend, my fiance decides to go on a little shopping spree. Going out of town sucks! She does go to Victoria Secret. Going out of town rocks! She buys new $20 sweatpants at Victoria Secret. Going out of town sucks!! The sweat pants are blue. She buys a white skirt (important later).

I come home, we go out to dinner. She goes to the ladies room. She comes out with a blue hand. She doesn’t know why. Later at dinner she decides to show me her new tan, by lifting up the leg of her sweatpants. Her leg is blue. I laugh… She laughs… I say “check please”. She looks confused.

Get her home. Tell her to put on new white skirt. She continues to look confused. (She is a long haired blond). Tell her to call me Papa Smurf. She laughs, and does so! It is on! Half-way done, novelty wearing off. Blue butt is cool in theory. Brilliance hits. Tell her to call me Gargamel. All the way done.

Am I sick?

My cousin Jimmy!

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

While I have to apologize for my overlong absence in posting, I also have to say that my absence is due to a disconcernment towards an attempt at publishing my short stories. Most publishers want more military and less frat-ire, while others want more frat-ire and less military. Why can’t I do both at once? Here’s more of a small mix of both.

A few months ago I had the privilege of attending my little cousin’s wedding. My little cousin had just made it back from the 56th Stryker Brigade’s first combat deployment since being designated the Army’s newest Stryker Brigade. The affair was also a privilege because I had missed 5 family weddings since my nearest relative got married due to deployments. I look at family as an ever growing reflection of myself. Where I came from, who I am, and who I may or may not become.

The wedding was classy, my cousin, who is a good guy and a stout soldier, definitely went above himself in finding his partner, a lovely lass named Alexis. Their nuptials and subsequent reception were an excellent affair.

The after party was where this story truly unfolds. It is all about my cousin Jimmy (not the groom). Now, let me fill you in on my cousin Jimmy. His own father testifies that if there is such thing as reincarnation that he wants to come back as Jimmy. I say this not as a hero worship to Jimmy. No, on the other hand Jimmy’s story is kind of a sad one.

Jimmy is a good looking guy, and a sweet guy. NO ONE dislikes Jimmy. My whore ex-wife actually came on to Jimmy during more than one of the 5 family weddings that I was overseas for. Jimmy lives in his Dad’s half-mil $ house in mid-Virginia with a few of his buddies, due to his parents having to move away for business a few years ago, and not wanting to sell or get rid of their house. Jimmy manages a local Papa John’s and goes to college for engineering. When he is not doing those things he is out on his parents’ ski-boat on their private lake.

Now for a a good looking, semi-independent, intellectual guy you would think that my cousin Jimmy would be rolling in the Pu-nahn-nea. Unfortunately, or maybe God’s way of cosmic justice, Jimmy was not blessed with the gift of game.  He is one of the shyest guys I know. He is so shy that I have actually witnessed good looking women blow him off when he had nothing to say to their flirtations but “right”. I guess somewhere along the line that someone told him that simply agreeing with women would help him score chicks. Oh wait, that was me who told him that, but never-the-less that was the only lesson in game that he had ever learned and it was not enough.

At the age of 25 my cousin Jimmy had experienced maybe two “hook-ups” in his life. This is where this story finds him. My fiance, my younger brother, Tim, Jimmy, and I were invited to an after-party at my younger cousin Kayla’s house. Now Kayla’s parents were the ones who allowed me to throw wild teenage parties at their house when I was a youngster. Oh, the stories I could tell about this place could fill one of those Penthouse novels that you find tucked away between the Anime and Tucker Max books at your local Boarders Books.

Now my “day” was over 16 years ago, and my cousin Jimmy was only 9 back then, and Kayla was only 2, but not much had changed. If anything things had grown, since there was a stable of 20 beautiful young whores women ranging from 17-23. Jimmy stood there with a big goofy smile on his face, but wouldn’t talk to any. Tim went on to the first fat one he could find, figuring he could only go up from there, and at worst he’d still get laid. (My brother does have some game, praise the Lord). Jimmy says to me, “Ronnie, you told me stories about your younger days, but I never dreamed that they were like this.” Not having a lot of time to cram much game, and not needing much. I told him to pick out two or three that he liked, and to go into a spare bedroom and get naked.

If you have never seen a certain hit TV show there is a playbook play called “The Naked Guy”. It is guaranteed to work two out of three times. My fiance and I have both found this to be true over the years. For those of you in a relationship, try it. When you and the sig other are having an argument while away form each other, if you get home first, get naked. When sig other gets there they will 2/3 times laugh, have great hate sex and forget the original fight. For those of you who are single, after a date that goes … who the hell cares how it goes, and you can tell that any future relationship won’t last very long, or you don’t want it to, find an excuse to go into their place or have them come into your place, beg off to the bathroom, or to go grab that bistro’s phone number, or that massage therapists business card, and come out naked. Chances are they will laugh, say “what the hell”, and go for it, or they will leave, and you will have an awkward conversation with your friend who hooked you up in the first place, totally worth it for a 2/3 chance.

So he heads off to the room, I call over one of the girls on his list, she has braces, so cute. I tell her that the tall good looking guy who came in with me is a famous porn star, and that he has picked out her, and (points out the other two girls he chose) to do a practice run with him for a high budget soft-core film. I tell her that he is in the other room naked and that she should grab her friends (as long as they are 18+) and go in. She does, they do.

They come out 20 minutes later. I ask him how it went. He freaks out on me, hyperventilating: “You said pick out two or three! I figured you’d send in one of them, not all three!! I’m not you!!! I can’t handle that kind of pressure!!!! THATS THREE CHICKS AT THE SAME TIME!!!!! I just talked to them in my boxer shorts. They are now my friends on facebook. I think I’ll try talking to them tonight.”

I smacked him right in the face and went home to bed. He didn’t score with any of the chicks that night. I don’t even think he’s still friends with them on facebook. If one has a two out of three chance to score and I send you 3 chicks that is a 100% chance of scoring. I can’t paint a better picture of fucking up a wet dream, can I?

On a happier note my brother Tim, did trade up two sizes smaller by the end of the night.

I still love my cousin Jimmy, but I agree with his dad. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as him, only with game.

Just to see how it feels

Wednesday, August 4th, 2010

Is there one story that you find yourself telling over and over again? My fiance and I recently bought a house in a nice little neighborhood in central PA. Since we have met and drank with a lot of new couples our “How we met” story has been told a lot lately. I don’t like telling that story unless asked, mostly because then I have to hear everyone elses’ boring “how we met on hopelesslosersonline.com” stories. Even if they don’t offer it up, I still have to ask because it is the polite thing to do after telling them about how awesome my coupling went (please feel free to offer up your stories in the comments, especially if they are funny).

No one here asked, but then again you haven’t asked me to tell you about Penis pumps, letter H-ing midgets, shit-facing my commander, getting checked for the clap, or any of the other crazy things I’ve posted here. 

After my cheating whore of an ex-wife left me, I took some time to myself and stayed celibate for a bit. After that month was over I went out on the hunt. MWR was my nickname, not Morale, Welfare, and Recreation, though I must admit that I provided that for quite a few ladies during my year of being single. MWR stood for Man-Whore-Ron. (more…)

Why I’m never allowed to help with my little brother’s homework again.

Thursday, June 10th, 2010

I have a 16 year old little brother, and a couple of college degrees. Because of that my mother has asked me to assist my little brother from time to time with homework assignments.

For the first assignment my degree had nothing to do with me being asked to help, just having been in college did.


The Orange Mop of Death

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010

My roommate’s girlfriend, who is also my roommate, believes in ghosts. Not only does she watch those ghost hunter shows, but she believes that the house we live in is haunted.

Mr. Clean has a mop out there that looks like the back of the head of a Raggedy Ann doll. My roommate bought one of these for his girlfriend because she mentioned that she needed a new mop.

Nice guy my roommate, right? Apparently not-so-much. His girlfriend was ragging it and in a generally pissy mood when he gave her the mop, and it turns out that she has used that type of mop in the past and doesn’t like them. She made no bones about telling him how much she hated the mop and what a dumb-ass that he was for getting that type of mop.

Now I like both of my roommates, and I do understand what PMS can make a women say, but that didn’t mean a little revenge wasn’t in order.


My son, the next Me!

Thursday, February 25th, 2010

I may have very well created a monster in my boy. He is girl crazy and he’s only 10.

I’ve caught him numerous times staring at my fiance’s breasts when she’s in a bikini, and when caught he says “well dad, in my defense, my future step-mom is really hot!”

We went to Cracker Barrel last night for a family dinner, and a pretty girl of about 10 walked by and my son nearly fell out of his chair looking at her. He gave her a wink and a smile, and she smiled back at him. He asked me what I would do. I told him that when I was single if a pretty girl smiled at me I’d buy her a beer. The little girl’s table was getting “happy birthday” sang to one of them at that very moment by the wait staff. The next time the waitress came up, my son asked her to send a rootbeer over to the little girl. I was too stunned to even stop it, I just gave the waitress a nod, which meant “Sure, you can be party to my son’s future as a player.” As the waitress walked by our table with the rootbeer, my son stopped her again and said “here give her this as well.” He put both his mother’s and my phone numbers on a napkin.


I give my final rose to….. Corky!!!

Tuesday, February 16th, 2010

Was watching TV last night and caught about half an hour of The Bachelor. This show and shows like it are total crap. Who wants to see a bunch of good looking people enjoying all expense paid vacations and acting as dramatic as possible just to get 15 minutes of fame? Has anyone done a statistic of how many of those relationships actually last?

I want to see a reality dating show that actually is entertaining and enjoyable to watch. I want to see The Bachelorette: Special Ed edition. Now before you get down on me for making fun of retards, I think that if done with heartfelt good intentions that the show could be not only heartwarming and entertaining, but a way to put back into the nations’ minds that mentally retarded people can have relationships too.

But if Fox gets ahold of the idea forget about it. I could see it now…


Things somehow end pretty well for me

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

Had a fantastic holiday back home. Saw lots of family, enjoyed some excellent food, stayed away from all holiday cookies (pretty proud of myself for that one). Stayed with family over the Christmas break, and with all of the holiday brew-ha-ha never had any time for intimacy with the fiance.

We rushed to get headed out on Saturday for the long 4 hour trip to Harrisburg from Pittsburgh. In our rush we ate some quick wraps from our local Sheetz gas station. (This becomes important later).

About half way through our drive my fiance realizes that she hasn’t gotten any in almost 4 days and wants to rectify that at 70 miles per hour. (No, this story isn’t going to go all penthouse letters on you) There is still ice and melting snow on the road, plus a nice layer of fog in the air. While I love my fiance, I love my life, and low car insurance premiums more.  At the very least I love low car insurance premiums on the same level. 


Time to make the doughnuts

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

I was running early this morning. I hate running early, because it means that i could have been sleeping, but instead for some ungodly reason I woke up the first time my alarm rang. God bless the snooze button!