Yeah, I Don’t Think That I Can Make It There…

July 22nd, 2010

or The Chronicles of Riddick II, at long last, a True Electric Boogaloo

First Mistake:  Assuming Hec was simply speculating when he whispered, “Bell, they’re Swingers.”

Second Mistake:  Oh….just being Bell.

Let’s begin…

So we’re hanging with the happy-hour horde at the Embassy Suites hotel in Manhattan when Hec decides to make small-talk with The Man with the Black Penis.   It began innocently enough – with Hec commenting on The Man’s foresight to bring a glass from his hotel room to Happy Hour, thus enabling him to drink his adult beverage from an adult beverage receptacle.   (Not that I’m complaining; the plastic cups were flimsy, but the drinks were free.)

“Oh, I’m an alcoholic,” responded The Man with the Black Penis.  “I know all the moves.”

Big Fucking Red Flag.  But Bell from Oblivion loves her a dude (or chick) willing to give up the blue-chip and keep on keepin’ on…

Turns out he’s a salesman of the sparkling beverage Nuvo.  We knew it was true because he was wearing the t-shirt.

Now, pay attention kids, because I’m about to tell you how Sports Talk is the Verbal Gateway Drug to Sex with Strangers:

The Man:  I live in Georgia, but I’m from Manhattan.

Hec:   Blah-blah blah, Knicks, blah-blah blah.

The Man:  Blah-BLAH!  Basketball, baseball, football, foosball…

Stage left:  Enter Woman.  “Samantha.”  Charming Southern Woman donning a red kerchief dress and carrying a torch for Peyton Manning.

Loving me my Manning Brothers as I do, I was then ingested into the banal Verbal Gateway Drug to Sex with Strangers.  Eventually, however, Samantha wandered over to me and the Connecticut Chick Cult (sans one, who stayed home, and doesn’t she regret it now!) and the four of us made nice-nice small talk whilst the boys talked about sports… and, apparently, Swinging.

Stage Below:  Enter Bell’s bladder.

As I’m meandering toward the ladies room, thinking, “My, What a Lovely Couple,” BOOM, The Man with the Black Penis is right there.  In my personal space.

The Man:   ___________________

Yeah, I’ve forgotten what he said, because I really did have to pee, but at some point, I blithely twittered, “Gee.  You know, we’ve all been talking for an hour, and I don’t even know your name.”

The Man:  My Name is Riddick.

Seriously.  No, SERIOUSLY.

Me (Inner Monologue):  Um, I don’t think “Riddick” is a real name.  I’m pretty sure it didn’t exist until it was given to Vin Diesel (also probably not a real name, as discussed in an earlier blog).

Me (Aloud):  Wow, like in Pitch Black?  That was a pretty good movie, but The Chronicles of Riddick totally sucked.  What was up with Dame Judy Dench agreeing to be in that film?  Ramble-ramble ramble.

Riddick:  So, are you all doing anything fun tonight?

Me (Inner Monologue):  Ugh, I’m an IDIOT.  This guy is so just talking to us to scalp some theater tickets.

Riddick:  Because my Lady and I, we’re Swingers.

You know, one would think that there is just no smooth transitional phrase to connect The Chronicles of Riddick to Swinging, and one would be right.  The thing is, no transitional phrase is really necessary, because how often are you going to make that conversational leap?  Unless your name is Riddick… and you’re a Swinger.

Being not so much a Swinger but yet, still so undeniably hip, I simply nodded.  “Good for you, Gosh Darn It.  Swinger Pride!”

Determined to not come off like a Country Mouse, I stood my ground, thus goading Riddick to continue with The Hard Sell:

Riddick:  You like My Lady right?

Me:  She seems delightful.

Riddick:  You ever have sex with a Lady?

Me:  Well, I saw these two pairs of shoes once in a bathroom stall in Vegas…

Riddick:  You should.  You should have sex with My Lady.

Me:  Now, would I only be having sex with Your Lady?

Riddick:  Nah, you’d have sex with My Lady, and then I’d fuck you.

Me.  I see…

At this point, I began glancing at My Supposed Posse, who was apparently oblivious.  Okay, fine.  Perhaps this was an appropriate time for me to practice putting down my politeness protocol (try not to step in the steaming mound of alliteration) and walk away on my own, but my pervading Bellamy acknowledged that this was one of the Most Awesome Moments of My Life.  Screw you, Suburban Swing-Squad and your snobbery; I’m in New York City and hey, hey, hey, look at me and my black man.  Because that was the next question:

Riddick:  You ever have sex with a black man?

Me:  In order to answer that question, I’m going to need to ask you a question:  When you say “black,” are you including American Samoans, Sub-Continent Indians, and Australian Outback Aborigines?

Me, In Reality:  Um…

And as I’m pondering whether or not NOT having had sex with a black man would make me a racist, Riddick Pulls Out all the stops…

Riddick:  Can I show you something; it may shock you a little.

Me:  Sure.  I am Un-Shockable.

Riddick:  No really, you won’t be expecting this, and I don’t want to freak you out.

Me:  I am both Un-Shockable AND Un-Freak-Out-able.

Riddick (Blackberry in hand, Photo Mode):  Okay…This is my Cock.

Me:  I see.

I think I was meant to react with more enthusiasm, but honestly… And don’t get this wrong, because I am at least a heterosexual, but my only thought was, “It’s so veiny…”

No, that’s not true.  My other thought was too look over at My Supposed Posse with a pleading glare.  Because it really was getting a tad uncomfortable, and yet I couldn’t tear myself away.  Train wreck avec porn, Hello!

Riddick:  You know, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I didn’t want to fuck you.

And oh, once he brought on the flattery…

Riddick:  Because you’ve got that Librarian with a Wild Side look  going on for you.

Vanna, I’d like to buy a cliché…

Riddick (Again pulling out his “Blackberry”):  Look, these are some of the other people we like to party with.  (Naked-chick Naked-chick).  Oh, and that’s my friend Larry.  He was drunk in his car, so I took a picture of him.

Me:  Umm-hmm…

Riddick:  Your husband, is he a jealous man?  Cause I used to be a jealous man.

Me:  Oh no.  Not at all.

Riddick:  Because we don’t do this thing if your husband isn’t okay with this.

Me:  I’m sure he’ll be fine.  He’s very open-minded.

And at last Hec sidles up, having had a “You Didn’t Believe Me When I Told You They Were Swingers and Now You Must Pay” Intervention timetable.

Anticlimax:   We made our excuses and I finally got to pee… although…

I heard Hec exclaim as we walked out of sight,
“Have a great evening; too bad you didn’t get to smash out my wife!”


“Bubbly in Your Jubblies”

July 15th, 2010

If you’re still looking for that perfect birthday gift for Bell…

I generally don’t groove on the “Sports-bra” style (in consideration of my anti-sport stance), but I’d be willing to make an exception for this product.

I’m wondering if the size “small” refers to the fit or the volume of alcohol it can accommodate…  Either way, I may need to hold out until the mediums are back in stock.

Happy Birthday Bellamy!

July 15th, 2010

With all the Love in the world from your Man Servant Hecubus

Oh and your Gansett Girl Too!

Rhinestones Not Included…

July 11th, 2010

Parents, have you longed to share the style and comfort of Pajama Jeans with your baby (or life-like orangutan toddler)?  Would you like your baby to be a trend-setter in the infield at the next NASCAR race?  Is your child in need of an ensemble for the Trailer Park Baby 2010 Pageant?   Or do you simply tire of changing your baby daily and wish there was a diaper that would esthetically disguise your neglect?

Presenting Huggies Little Movers Jeans… the diaper for a future-generation of adults who will read at a bell-curved eighth grade level.

Sold exclusively at stores that end with the word “-Mart.”

Happy Birthday, Hecubus…

July 9th, 2010

Love, Bellamy & The Gansett Girls…

My Cat’s Breath Smells Like… Riddick-cule…

July 8th, 2010

And Now For Something Completely Ripped-Off:  ART.

At least the sign is correct in its usage of “its”…

My Own Personal JC’s Birthday-Eve:  The Chronicles of Riddick. Seriously “Dame” Judy Dench?   Sirs Elton John and Paul McCartney unplug their noses at you…

Oh, Hecubus…

July 8th, 2010

Hecubus sent a very nice “Thank you for the birthday gift” message to my mom’s and dad’s email addresses this morning, copying yours truly ~ and Yours Truly just snorted coffee out of her nose; Mom and Dad having been divorced for 30 years.

Oh my goodness, what would Dear Abby say?

I would form a defense for Hecubus with the argument that my current step-father’s first name is the same as my dad’s… were my dad’s email address not my maiden name spelled backwards, and considering that Hec’s somewhat dyslexic, he really should have gotten that one…

I realize that you may need to be an adult child of two individuals who still actively despise each other to get the humor behind that little anecdote, but personally, I’m filing it in the Classic Hecubus folder…

We Drink More Before 3 PM Than Most People Do All Day…

July 4th, 2010

If you received a voice mail from some arbitrary whack-job on Saturday morning announcing:  “I’m in an alley.  Behind Keystone Bank.  At Novare Res,” yeah, that was just me.  Sorry about that…

Ah, Novare Res, with such exertion did we pursue you…  Do we regret having found you?  No, indeed.  Although perhaps we should have spent a little less time getting to know you…

It all began spiraling out of control when Hec was presented with a 340 bottle beer list…  They even had a beer for Bell…

I would post the pic as proof, but I can’t figure out how to superimpose Kate Winslett’s face onto my own…

We didn’t spend the entirety of a beautiful day in a bar underground; prior to that, there was shopping.

You know, I’ve never browsed candy-necklace underwear while two men selected a male blow-up doll before.

\”Enhancing Relationships Since 1992\”.  I’m drawn to the fact that it’s “Family Owned.”  I’ve been thinking of opening a similar shop with my in-laws…

Here’s a product I wish Hec had the patent on… Apparently it’s all the rage with the college girls:

Alternately, is there an App for That?

Religious Musing…

July 3rd, 2010

The Bible placed by the Gideons is a far more effective mouse pad than The Book of Mormon (LDS).

“6 Minutes.” Yeah, That Sounds About Right…

July 2nd, 2010

“You know how I know you’re gay?”

Yeah, I think I’ll stick with the 42 minute dumbbell…