Is this....ummm....would this be considered gay?
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

This one's not really safe for work. 

So a lot of people were pretty upset about this writer's strike that occurred throughout the fall. 

Whether it was "Desperate Housewives" or "The Closer" or whatever network show you prefer, all were put on halt during what is usually the most productive season of the year for TV shows.  Lydia was crushed because the shitty "Office" was one of the shows that stopped producing new episodes. 

I, however, could not have been more thrilled, as no new scripted shows only meant more…REALITY TELEVISION!!!!!!  I love shitty garbage reality TV.  Not trash like "American Idol" or "Dancing with the Stars," but I love the ridiculous concept ones like "My Dad is Better than Your Dad."  Reality shows that should make our society ashamed of itself, that's my cup of tea.  And my absolute favorite of those is easily CBS' Big Brother. 

I fucking love this show!  Never heard of it?  16 people live in house for 3 months, voting each other off every week until one person is left.  They can't leave the house, and cameras watch them every minute of the day.  Not only do I love it because of the idea of people winning money just for living in a house, but I also enjoy it because of the absolute unpopularity of it.  It's been on 9 seasons, and yet I know almost no one who actually watches it.  My pal Nina is one of the few who is into it just as much as I am. 

I'm actually moving into Nina's apartment complex in a month; I'm hoping that maybe we can set up some Big Brother viewing parties when I'm not busy peeping on her.

Anyways, Big Brother only comes on in the summer, but due to the lack of scripted network shows, CBS started a new season a couple of weeks ago.  Since cameras are watching the contestants 24/7, CBS actually offers a live feed you can subscribe to where you can watch the house live whenever you want.  I've always been interested, but never subscribed.  More recently, CBS has partnered with Showtime to offer "Big Brother: After Dark."  Every night on Showtime 2, from 11 P.M-2 A.M, live feeds air from the Big Brother house.  I watch this religiously every night.  If I'm not home, I record it.  Why, you ask?  It's live.  I watch it for the same reason any guy watches any live televised event, whether it's the Superbowl or the Today Show or the president's funeral. 

One reason: what if a titty comes out?  That's right!  This shit is live, no censors!  What happens if someone's boob happens to pop out of their shirt?  I don't want to be the one guy who fucking misses a bare titty on live TV!  So for the past 2 seasons of Big Brother, I watch this fucking 3-hour program every night.  And for nothing.  I might see a g-string occasionally, but for the most part it's been people talking or sleeping or brushing their fucking stupid teeth.  I've gotten pretty discouraged, but I still watch, because what if?  What if I don't watch one night and that's the night there's a 3-hour handbra contest?  I can't take that risk!

So Sunday night I turn on Showtime, getting ready to be bored out of mind for 3 hours.  And what's the first thing I see on there?  2 of the female houseguests, topless, giving the other houseguests lapdances. 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!  Finally, patience pays off for something!!!  This shit was happening in real-time, and I was watching it LIVE!  I kept waiting for it to end quickly, or for Showtime to go to another commercial for the fucking "Tudors," but it didn't!  It only got more extreme!  Whipped cream was licked off of nipples, girls were making out with girls-it was crazy! 

The two slutty girls then suggested everyone go out to the swimming pool.  AWESOME!!!  Every guy in the house followed them out, of course.  After the two girls jumped in, a cavalcade of guys started jumping into the pool in their boxers.  Not as cool, but hey, there's still two naked girls on live TV!  Fuck yeah!

Then it became contestant James Zinkand's turn to jump into the pool.  I had the sound muted (because who wants to listen to a reality show when people are naked), and so I don't know if he was dared or what, but somehow James got the idea to take off all of his clothes before he jumped in the pool.  I guess it's only fair that if Showtime is going to show titties, they might as well give the ladies at home an obligatory dick shot.  So they cut to James, fully nude, and my jaw dropped.  "God DAMN!" I exclaimed out loud.

This guy James hasn't really stood out this season.  With his tattoos, scrawny frame, and stupid red Mohawk, he looks like your normal Hot Topic customer,

and someone who would not fare well in any type of game show.  I can't even really recall anything this guy has done this season, that's how little he stands out.  But not anymore.  James Zinkand has the biggest penis I have ever seen in my entire life.  Ever.  I'm not counting porn stars here, because they are supposed to be well-endowed.  But as far as regular nothing-happening guys go, James Zinkand takes the cake.  When the camera cut to him, I was in shock.  I even felt intimidated.  When the phrase "one-eyed monster" was coined, someone must have been thinking of this guy's fucking dick.  It was huge!  I'm surprised he didn't splash all of the water out of the pool when he jumped in.  And I just sat there in awe, shocked at the big cock I had just seen on my television screen.  I imagine I had the same look on my face as did the first people to test the A-Bomb. 

When I shaved my body last year, I put up a naked picture of myself with a bald eagle over my crotch.

It's majestic, I know, but size-wise, it's nothing to phone Grandma about.  A damn flock of eagles would not block out this James guy's fucking penis.   I don't know what bit of Americana to use to censor his crotch.

I don't even know why he's on a game show, because he's already fucking won.  If life has a lottery, James Zinkand is definitely the grand prize winner.  He definitely beats out Kristen's boyfriend, who was my previous designee for the "Life's Lotto Winner" title. 

James has probably never had sex in his life, because if I was terrified of just looking at his dick, I can't imagine how horrible the idea of having it inserted into me must be.  I imagine the Zinkand penis would part a girl in half like she was the Red Sea.

I did some research online, and it turns out that James has done a bit of amateur porn here and there.  Gay porn. 

Hmm.  I would make a joke about it, but all he would have to do to retort is mention that his penis is still the size of my arm, and he wins.

No joke, this guy has a pretty good-sized johnson on him. Kudos to the Zinkand family. Here's some links if you really would rather look at pictures of dicks instead of my poorly photoshopped censorings of them

NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!

8:01 AM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

How Many Iranians Does It Take...
Category: Life

So I've been getting asked a lot lately about my left hand.  If you've seen me recently I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.  The big smelly splint that's been on my left hand for the past month.

I made mention of it in the mustache winner blog a month ago, but said that I wasn't going to tell the story as it was too ridiculous to really convey on Myspace.  However, after being asked "What's wrong with your hand?" about 4000 times, I've decided that I'll go ahead and post the story anyways.  I usually have no problem posting anything on Myspace, as I have little to no shame, but I felt kind of silly about this story.  It's just so ridiculous and I don't really like talking about it.  But here goes:

I was the OK Bike Shop, which is my favorite downtown Mobile drinking location (located at 661 Dauphin Street in scenic downtown Mobile.  Now serving authentic Mexican dishes until midnight!). 

I'm a regular there, and have never really had any problems with anyone.  Thursday, December 20, was a different case though.  There had been this Abercrombie & Fitch-looking asshole,

completely trashed, who had been randomly harassing people throughout the bar.  He finally came and sat next to me.  The only thing that smelled stronger than his Bod Man spray was the Jaegermeister soaking out of his pores.  I had on a wrestling shirt as usual, and fucking Chip or Taylor or Graham or whatever his obnoxiously white name was took notice of it.  "Hey, asshole, you know that shit is fake right?  It's for pussies and faggots!"  I told him I was aware of that, and it was cool, as I happened to be both a pussy and a faggot.  This didn't dissuade him.  "I been training in MMA for 5 years, and I could beat the shit out of any fake faggot pussy!"  "Well, that's cool, man" I replied.  "What school have you been training out of?"  He stared at me for a minute, and then got up from his seat and walked away.  I looked back to the bar, when I suddenly felt my right arm get twisted behind my back and pulled as hard as it could.  Graham put his head on my right shoulder, and screamed into my right ear "What are you going to do, fake motherfucker!!!"  My mind raced as I pondered what indeed to do.  His face was on my shoulder and wasn't being protected, so I immediately took my left thumb and jammed it into his eye as hard as I could.  The only sound louder than the squish of his eyeball was the pop that the bones in my hand made upon contact.  We both wailed in agony as Graham fell back to the floor.  Unfortunately, he didn't let go of my right arm, so I continued to pound away at him with my damaged left hand until unconsciousness finally caused him to relinquish his grip.

Pretty crazy, huh?  That story is actually made up.  What really happened was that I got home one Thursday afternoon, and when I walked in the living room was dark.  I realized the light bulb was burnt out.  Lights are always burned out at my house, and my mom never buys new ones, because I guess she would rather replicate the feel of an opium den than a fucking living room. 

Even though I had to go to work in 30 minutes, the idea of just sitting there with no light bulb drove me nuts.  It makes me want to bash my head in with a fucking crowbar; I just cannot stand it.  My father didn't assassinate the Treasurer of Iran

and crawl through 1000 yards of sand tunnels so I could sit in the fucking dark on a Thursday afternoon.  My sister just moved out recently, and of course, there was still a light bulb in her room, because nothing makes more sense than leaving a perfectly good light bulb in a fucking empty room.

Even though my sister had moved out, some of her stuff was still in there, including a shelf I used to have in my room.  It was one of those cheap $10 self-assemble ones you get from Wal-Mart. 

It actually happened to be positioned right under the light fixture.  I was amazed at the convenience of this, as I wouldn't even have to move shit to get this light bulb out.  Whether it was from doing wrestling moves off of it or just randomly standing on it, I had climbed all over this shelf a million times while it was in my room; even though it had been a few years since I had climbed on it; what would one more time matter?

Apparently I'm fatter than I used to be a few years ago,

because when I stood on the shelf it broke immediately.  Like speed-of-sound immediately.  Unlike when I broke my face a few years back,

this time I had the foresight to put a hand out to break my fall.  I subconsciously decided the best way to do this would be to land completely on my left thumb.  As soon as I hit the ground pain shot through my hand, and as I usually do when I seriously injure myself, I started laughing as hard as I can possibly could.  I went to grab my hand and put pressure on it, and I then realized my left thumb was completely out-of-socket.  I laughed harder and then proceeded to pop it right back into place (unfortunately without taking any pictures.)  I decided that since no more bones were out of the sockets, I would go to work.  Why not?  Due to the severe injury to my left hand, I was completely unable to button my clothes and needed help dressing myself.  My brother got that task.

KRIS (while buttoning my pants): This sucks.

NICK: Just be glad it was my left hand and not my right.  I've got to take a shit too.

At the advising of Lydia's dad, I went to (where else) Wal-Mart and got a thumb stabilizer.  

I wore that for the next couple of days and generally felt pretty shitty, until Lydia talked me into going to the emergency room.

As I was checked in, a wave of excitement rushed over me as I looked at the information on my bracelet.  My doctor was Dr. McMahon.  I turned and pointed this out to Lydia, who, as usual,  completely ignored me and continued to read "Gravity's Rainbow."  I smiled to myself, imagining the WWE chairman strutting into the room and barking out medical orders.

Unfortunately, it wasn't Vince I got.  I got James McMahon, who, although still old and a mick, did not own any wrestling organizations.  James chided me for not coming in to the E.R. immediately, and after X-rays, informed me that I had managed to tear every single ligament in and around my thumb, and I had also put a slight hairline fracture at the top of my wrist.  He marveled over my thumb splint, and said he was shocked that something that good could be sold at Wal-Mart.  He said the splint would be the "perfect tool" to fix my hand (so why did I need to go to the E.R.?), and there was nothing else he could do but give me a prescription.  He gave me 2 prescriptions: 1 for an anti-inflammatory, and 1 for some Darvocet painkillers (of which I did not take one, because I'm a hard-assed motherfucker.)  I didn't even fill the prescription; I threw it right in the garbage (Sorry, Jerry).  He also recommended me to an orthopedic specialist, but that part of the story is pretty fucking boring.

That's about it really.  The bad thing about torn ligaments in your non-dominant hand is that it's not bad enough to get you any sympathy; it's just a really big inconvenience.  Whether it's eating chicken wings or turning a key or grabbing two boobs at once, doing anything with it's been kind of shitty.  It's gotten better, but I've come to realize that it will never even slightly be the same.

Unfortunately I don't have a good line or joke to end this.  My body is slowly withering away and failing on me.  I'm about two years away from a wheelchair and a feeding tube.  Shitty.

11:45 AM - 8 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

I don’t have the internet right now

or a computer what so ever.  Lightning hit mine a week or so ago.  Even though my tower was plugged into a surge protector that was plugged into a surge protector, it still blew it out.  So my internet access is currently limited to the few minutes I have free to go to someone else's house and use it.  Hopefully this will be remedied soon.

9:33 AM - 11 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Friggin’ Giuliani!
Category: News and Politics

The 2008 presidential election race is finally here!  We're 24 hours away from the first primary, taking place in Iowa, and I could not be more thrilled.  I fucking love the race for president.  I'm exceptionally thrilled this year, as Rudolph Giuliani is campaigning for the Republican nomination.  I've been a Giuliani fan since 1996.  I didn't actually follow politics at the time; I just thought he was very charismatic.  I liked him even more when I actually started to follow politics and realized I agreed with most of his ideals politically.  When Rudy announced his intentions of running in 08, I knew he had to be a lock for president.  With his humor and charisma, not to mention his spectacular handling of 9/11 (he was called America's Mayor, and was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, for his strength in a time of such crisis),

I knew that people wouldn't be able to resist voting for this lovable Italian.  I anxiously awaited seeing Rudy's first political ad, as I was sure it would win over anyone watching.

My friend Carson, who had no intention of voting for Rudolph Giuliani, called me after he saw Rudy's first ad on the Youtube debates.  After telling me he watched it, I immediately asked, "So, you've changed your vote, huh?  Hopping on the Rudy train, right?"  Carson's response surprised me.  "No, I don't think so, Nick.  His ad was actually pretty shitty.  I would say it was probably the worst one they showed."  I laughed to myself, as I couldn't believe that Carson's liberal bias would cause him to lie to himself that much.  As soon as I got home, I got online and looked up my boy Rudy's new ads.

Hmmm…that one wasn't too great.  Maybe even a little forced.  That's okay. First-time jitters, I'm sure.  Now that the first one was out of the way, I'm sure the rest would be home runs. I went to his website and looked up the rest of his videos.

FUCK!  What the hell happened?  Like, isn't he paying millions of dollars to someone to write this shit?  Why is this so bad?  Why is he coming off so forced and not funny?  He's a funny motherfucker, believe you me.  Look at this video from when he hosted Saturday Night Live.  And yeah, that's right, hosted.  No cameo, no one-second skit, this fucking guy had the whole damn show written around him.

HAHHAHAHAAHHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!  Hilarious, man!  So why is this shit so bad?

The Rudy train has been kind of derailed lately, and as of my last check, he's not even leading the Republican polls for the primaries in Iowa or New Hampshire.  I think these commercials are to blame.  And I think if this trend of shitty commercials continues, Rudolph Giuliani will not be the 44^th president of the United States.  And there's only one thing left to do to change that.

I am going to start writing commercials for Rudolph Giuliani.

You read that right.  I usually don't like to volunteer for politics too much; usually the only volunteering I do is showing up at the victory parties and consuming as much food as I can.  But I think desperate measures have to be taken here.  And I know how to make people laugh, and I know what traits Rudolph Giuliani needs to focus on, because it's those same traits that attracted me to him so much, and those will be the qualities that will win the American public over.

I plan on submitting my scripts for these commercials to Rudy's official site, and I'm hoping that maybe by posting them on Myspace as well, they'll garner enough attention where Rudy's handlers have to take notice and get me to save the campaign.

So here's the script for my first commercial, complete with images.

RUDY AD 1: WHERE WERE YOU?

NARRATOR:  In the 2004 fantasy film "Fahrenheit 9/11,"

a major question is poised.  What was President George W. Bush doing when the World Trade Center was attacked by terrorists?

He was making an appearance at an elementary school, reading a book to a child.  Even after being informed of the attack, he remained at the school and continued to read for several more minutes.  This raises an interesting question: how can someone lead us against the terrorist threat if they can't even bring themselves to stop their own personal activity in the midst of an attack?  People railed President Bush for this, and maybe with good reason.

But now George W. Bush is leaving office, and the Islamic extremist threat is still as great as ever.  So shouldn't we hold our Presidential candidates up to the same microscope that we held our current one?  How important did these other candidates think the 9/11 attacks were as they happened?  We'll show you.

8:48 A.M:  Joe Biden, Mike Gravel, Dennis Kucinich, and John McCain were having their weekly "Loser's Brunch" at a local Washington D.C. Waffle House.

8:48 A.M.:  Bill Richardson was attempting to smile big enough to tear his facial muscles.

8:53 A.M:  John Edwards was taking in a mud bath, just as he does on every Tuesday, or 11^th, or if it's a cloudy day outside.

9:00 A.M.:  Mitt Romney was engaging in the usual morning rites of passage for all practicing Mormons.

9:04 A.M:  Barack Obama was sitting at his house, doing nothing.  He was only in the Illinois state Senate at this time, and actually had nothing of importance to be doing at this time.  Senator Obama would like you to know that, regardless of what he was doing, he was against whatever anyone else was doing, and he has always felt that way.

9:12 A.M.: Ron Paul was planning his escape.

9:15 A.M.:  Fred Thompson was participating in the worst photo-op of his career.

9:22 A.M.:  Mike Huckabee was diligently doing Internet research on issues important to him.

9:34 A.M:  Hillary Rodham Clinton was getting her bimonthly update at the lab.

Only one candidate was there in the midst of the attack.  Only one candidate stopped what he was doing, and shared first-hand in the pain and suffering of the American people in the midst of this attack.  Only one man:

NEW YORK MAYOR RUDOLPH GIULIANI!

He breathed in the ash, he felt the heat of the fire, and he pulled those on the brink of death back into life.  From a few minutes after the attack, until late in the afternoon,

Rudolph Giuliani was there, side-by-side with the everyman, American citizens like you and me.  And it's experience like that, which lets us know we can put our faith in Rudolph Giuliani.  He's seen first hand the tragedy that a terrorist attack can bring, and he knows why he must make sure it can never happen again.  That's why, whether it's the people he rescued to the firemen he stood next to, they only have one choice for President of these United States.

The preceding ad was provided for by the Nick Shantazio for Rudy 08 committee.

7:33 PM - 19 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Mustache Contest Winner!!!!
Category: Blogging

So a couple of weeks ago was the big "Mustache Before Christmas" contest I had promoted.  I tried to get everyone I know to have a mustache December 14-16.  Unfortunately, the weekend ended up being kind of a bust.  It poured rain 15 minutes before the Christmas parade I was supposed to be in, enough so where I thought for sure it would be cancelled.  It wasn't, and I missed the parade.  I had been pretty excited about parading my mustache through downtown Mobile, and was pretty bummed when I found out I had missed my chance.  And that's how the majority of the week went.  I had a mustache for one week.  The third day in, I developed a really bad fever that actually reached 102 degrees at one point, and kept me awake with really weird fever dreams of me doing shit that I actually would have to do later that day.  The day I started to get over my fever, I tore all the ligaments in my left hand in a fashion almost too ridiculous to really convey in a story on Myspace.  It's almost as if God were trying to teach me some sort of lesson, for bitching so much about the celebration of Christmas and holding this stupid mustache thing the week before the holiest of days. 

If that's the case, well, don't worry God, your day is coming, I can promise you that.

But anyways, with all that going on, I kind of forgot to post the winner of the big mustache contest.  The results completely surprised me.  I legitimately had at least 40 people tell me they were going to participate in the contest.  People from all over the country emailed me, friends said they were getting everyone at their job to participate; I was legitimately shocked by how many people told me they were participating.  In the 2 weeks since the contest, I have had at least 25 people ask me who won the contest.

So with all this interest invested, do you care to guess how many people had a fucking mustache that weekend?  Take a stab at it.

5 people.  1 fucking hand. 

That's counting me.  5 fucking people had a fucking mustache.

So let's see how that affected the contest.  Like I said, I had disqualified myself, so I wasn't even in the running.  My buddy Carson had a sweet handlebar mustache, but didn't enter in the contest.  I unfortunately didn't get a picture of his, but he's still got it, if you want to check him out at the Bike Shop downtown.  He apparently grows one every year at this time.

So we're down to 3 people with mustaches.

My friend Kevin Martin was one of the main people interested in the contest.  I had gotten a few messages from him talking about the contest; specifically referring to how little growth he was experiencing with his mustache.  I told him it would be fine, but Kevin I guess felt otherwise, as evident by the email I received on the last day of the contest.  I hope Kevin doesn't mind me reprinting this.

Hey Nick,

 I hate to say it, but I'm resigning from this mustache contest.  However, I will continue to nurture my budding 'stache into rugged manliness.  I had some big plans for my entry, but they fell through.  Yeah, I know, I'm a pussy.

Thank you for your understanding,

--Kevin Martin

So with Kevin out, we are now down to two mustaches.

My friend Art was actually the first to send me a mustache picture. 

He looked like he was about to appear on "To Catch a Predator." 

It was pretty good, but unfortunately the picture was taken in his bathroom and not out in public.  Art plays music in New York, and actually had two shows that weekend that he assures me he had the mustache for.  Unfortunately, I've yet to see pictures of this, so Art didn't qualify for the contest.

That brings us down to 1 man.  1 mustache.

I don't know how I can describe the courage of the winner of this contest.  He had never grown a mustache before, not even with a goatee, and has trouble growing facial hair as it is.  His effort creeped out his wife, and made most of his friends laugh at him.  But he continued on.  It's no surprise that he displayed such dauntless behavior.  This man served the United States Marine Corps in Iraq, and engaged literally in hand-to-hand combat with Al-Qaeda itself. 

Ok, maybe not literally, but it's closer than I've ever gotten, unless arguing with my dad about appropriate tipping amounts at Golden Corral counts for anything.

The winner of this contest didn't have access to a digital camera I guess (how do you not have access to a digital camera?), and so he actually called me up that Saturday night and insisted I bring my camera downtown so he could enter in this contest.

And now he's won it all: the Fire Mountain giftcard, the condoms, the Bod Man spray, the whole deal.

It just goes to show you didn't have to have the biggest mustache to win this contest; all you needed was the biggest heart.

I'll stop with the build-up.  The winner is…DRUMROLL PLEASE!

Currently listening : Alice By Tom Waits Release date: 07 May, 2002

9:59 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Mustache contest this weekend!!!!!
Category: Life

The time is here.

Tomorrow, December 14, 2007, the mustache contest starts.  I've had about 40 people tell me they were participating, so hopefully this weekend a slew of mustaches will be let loose throughout the Gulf Coast, and maybe even nationwide.

I just ask that everyone growing one be extremely careful, especially if you've never had just a mustache before.  You're going to be packing about 300% more testosterone, and not everyone can handle that much.  Last June Chris Benoit decided he was going to take his family to Disneyland.  He wanted to really surprise them, so he decided he would shave off his beard into a mustache before telling them the big news.  But the mustache was too strong for him, and the only trip they ended up making was to the Fulton County Morgue.

To anyone participating in the contest, let me make a clarification.  To enter, all you need to do is send a picture of you and your mustache to christmasmustache@hotmail.com .  But this picture needs to be good.  If it's a picture of you in your bathroom, that shit is not going to cut it!  I need to see you taking this mustache out in public.  The more public a place it is, the better.  Feel free to be creative too, as I am the judge and it's possible I'll be easily swayed by a good picture.  For example, here's a picture of some asshole right after he shaved his beard into a mustache.

Still in his bathroom, probably shaved it off right after he took the picture.  Fucking pussy.

You want to see a winner of a mustache?  My friend Celia's dad, the late, great Dale McIntyre, used to grow a hoss of a mustache back in the day.  Check out this picture of him Celia sent me.

HA!  Pretty fucking good, right?  That's what you should strive for in your pictures.  If it's a picture of you with a mustache and a buddy at McDonald's, that's pretty good.  But if your picture is you and your mustache in a seersucker suit at a Playboy party, then you're probably going to win the contest.

There will be a couple of events going on this weekend if you want to come out and celebrate your mustachiness.  I've somehow managed to finagle my way into the Mobile Christmas parade this Saturday at 1:30.  It'll be downtown, and my mustache will be on full display.  Come look for me; I'll be in the Regions Bank section and I'll be the most Christmassy motherfucker in the whole parade.  Later that night I'll be mustaching it up at the Bike Shop downtown.  My buddy Carson who bartends there is also going to be sporting a mustache, so come join us in the fun.

I'm going to announce the winner Tuesday morning, so make sure you get those pictures in!

8:20 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Looking for a way to celebrate the holidays?
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

This is a blog I had planned out a month or so ago.  I've found that I've been increasingly uninspired this past month and have put a ton of things on the back-burner, including this blog.  So I won't include the normal introductory bullshit and I'll get straight to the point.

I like mustaches.

Not even like.  I love 'em.

I don't know why.  Whenever I have one, I get a lot less action from Lydia, and a lot of people take me even less seriously.  Plus, I get ketchup and stuff in it, and drinking anything just becomes plain silly.

But there's just something about it that wins me over.  It's that aura of confidence I feel when I look into the mirror.  It's the smile on someone's face when they see my mustache out in public and they get it.  It's the distinction that says no matter what might be socially acceptable, damnit, I've got the sophistication and class to have a mustache on my face!

You can eat all the steaks you want or stare at the flag flapping in the breeze, but having a mustache gets me more jacked up than any of that combined.  I think anyone who's ever had one probably feels the same way; like you could fight the world and win.

Lots of cool people have them too, and that's always important.

The crazy thing though is that most guys…have never had one.  Sure they've had goatees or beards or whatever, and they had a mustache when they first started growing facial hair, but most people I know have never had an honest-to-god mustache on their face.  Whenever I suggest it to people, most take a deep gulp and apprehensively confess "I don't know man, I've uh, I've never had just a mustache before."

Well, I'm hoping that I can change that.  Maybe I can give people a little motivation.

That's why I'm declaring this coming December 14-16

'TWAS THE MUSTACHE BEFORE CHRISTMAS WEEKEND

That's right!

I'm calling on any male that reads this to cast aside any concerns they've had before aside, and for this one weekend to proudly declare "You know what?  I can grow hair on my upper lip-and it looks pretty fucking good there!"

Are you with me?

Not yet, huh?  That's what I figured.

That's why I've made sure to sweeten the pot.

I want anyone sporting a mustache at all that weekend to email a picture of it at christmasmustache@hotmail.com.  I don't care if it's big and bushy or barely there-send me a picture.  The best/my favorite mustache is going to win a mustache grand prize pack!

Want to know what all comes in this awesome package?

An 8-inch comb with long handle,

So you can make sure your mustache is always straight.

$5 bucks.

You just won a contest, go get yourself something special, my treat.

Aviator sunglasses.

If you have to ask why, then you have no business growing a mustache in the first place.

Bod-Man spray.

Because even your 'stache will lure girls in like a fucking tractor beam, you still need to smell good.  Nothing goes with a mustache like some Bod-Man spray.  After all, you want a sophisticated scent to go with your sophisticated look, right?

Trojan Condoms.  Ultra-ribbed and Lubricated. A 36-condom economy pack.  Box never opened.

For all that mad pussy you'll be getting the whole weekend.

A $15 gift certificate to Fire Mountain.

Also good at any Ryan's.  It'll let that special girl you've just come inside know you're classy without you having to break out that Red Lobster money.  Plus, their buffet has a good amount of food that won't stick in your mustache.

All this comes in a collector's edition "Scarface" box.

The film "Scarface" is not included, but that red satiny shit in the box looks real nice.  You could probably reuse it again if you take out the Al Pacino shit.

All this could be yours for free-all you have to do is not shave your upper lip.  This contest is open to anyone.  If you don't live in the area, I'll mail it to you.  You deserve that kind of VIP treatment, superstar.

To make it fair, I've disqualified myself from competition.  My facial hair-growing abilities are thrice that on a mortal man, plus I don't fuck wit rubbers anyway.

To make it even more fair, if you've already got just a mustache, you're disqualified as well.  If you've got a beard or goatee and shave the rest of it off, that's fine.  But anyone just rocking a plain 'stache doesn't get to enter.  We already know the thrill guys, let's let some of the new recruits get a chance.  So that's right Sam Elliot, head out to pasture, because you won't be welcome.

Don't reanimate yourself just yet, Richard Pryor-your pictures won't be counted.

Don't even think about it Wilford Brimley.  Your upper lip is only good for one thing, and that's spewing out the relentless bullshit you peddle on my TV.  Why don't you go suck a diabetes-laden dick, Brimley?

And last, but certainly not least, don't you even think about entering, ROH timekeeper guy!

Now who wins the contest, you braggadocious son of a bitch?  You can't beat me!  Ask me to take down a goddamned wrestling ring again; you'll be lucky if I don't put a damn ring around your mustachioed neck instead!  Got it?

Anyways, that's the contest!  I know it only leaves a couple of weeks, but I'm not going to be that picky, I promise! You've still got plenty of time to grow something halfway decent, and then you'll still be able to shave it off when Aunt Doris comes in for Christmas. I just want to see some people with mustaches!  Tell everyone you know about this, you'll feel a lot cooler if everyone you know has a mustache as well.  I've got bigger mustache plans to announce come January, so this can be just the beginning!

Need some ideas for a mustache?  Check this link out:  Mustache stuff!

Currently listening : Elect the Dead By Serj Tankian Release date: 30 October, 2007

5:40 AM - 27 Comments - 17 Kudos - Add Comment

Animal Planet

I'm not really a pet person.

I used to be.  When I was younger, we had 3 dogs at my house.  One of these dogs my mom had had since she was 17.  Of course, as all things do, the dogs eventually passed away.  When our last dog, Hampton (yes, after the Tiny Toons character),

passed away, I just really stopped caring about having a pet.  I felt no other animal could mean the same to me as those dogs did, and so any other pet we got would just be a failed attempt at replacing the deceased ones we so cared for.

Unfortunately, my mother and sister felt otherwise.  Over time, we got another dog, 2 parakeets, a fish, and a rabbit.  Of course, since these animals were gotten as replacements, eventually the interest in them faded away.  Once it was realized that they couldn't fill the hole left, the animals slowly became ignored.  They were still fed and everything, but no one paid much attention to them.  They got lonely.  And then they eventually died.  Once our dog, Indy, died, I was ready to be rid of the rest of them.  If I didn't care about having a dog anymore, there was no way I was going to deal with a rabbit and a stupid fucking parakeet.  Oddly enough, a couple of months later, the parakeet died.

I was almost into the clear.  But I figured it would be a long wait.  The rabbit my mom had gotten was only a couple of months old.  Every day, I would loudly state my wish that her rabbit would soon be deceased.  A few months later, I went to Birmingham for the weekend.  Before leaving, I told my mom "When I come back, I hope this rabbit is dead!"  I even got down and pointed my finger in its face.  Oddly enough, my mom called me 2 days later.  "Well, you got your wish.  Our rabbit died yesterday."  I let out a Roger Daltreyesque yell of excitement.  Turns out the rabbit died from some unforeseen circumstance.  We didn't get a fucking rabbit autopsy or anything, so who knows what killed it?

I was relieved.  No more pets.  No more shit smells.  No more feeding animals I could care less about.  Nothing.  And it's been soooo nice.  It's not like I hate animals in general.  I like other people's pets.  But in my house…no chance.  There have been a couple of times where my mom or sister has stated, "It'd be nice to have a dog again."  Anytime I hear this, I jump right on it. "We can't have a fucking dog!  Think of how much money we save on not buying food!  No one's here during the day but me!  I'm not watching it!  It can't be an inside dog!"  This will go on for about 30 minutes.  I could probably get a job with Fox News for how well I spin this argument. 

But from my perspective, it's all true.  I don't want to listen to a dog yap when I'm the only one here.  And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to pick up an animal's shit.  I wasn't the top loader at FedEx Ground so I could pick up the waste of something that can't even talk!  Apparently, my argument was pretty well made.  Either that or I just wore everyone down to where they were tired of hearing me bitch.

So last Thursday, as I walked into my house from getting off of the bank, I was quite perplexed to see a giant box sitting in the middle of the living room.

"What's in the box?" I asked my sister, to strangely no reply.  I went and took a look inside.

And I was so not expecting this that it didn't even register.  "Why is there a puppy in a box in the middle of our house?  Did somebody need a dog-sitter?"  Still no reply.  "Why are we sitting someone's pu………AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!  JESUS CHRIST, IS THIS OUR PUPPY?"

"Isn't he cute?"  My fucking mother exclaimed as she ran in and picked him up.  This time, I didn't respond.  She handed him to me, I guess so I could examine his cuteness.

My sister piped in.  "He walks like he's drunk, so guess what I named him."  A litany of names ran through my head.  A really cool name might redeem this dog.  But my sister didn't have any good names of drunks.  No Gibson,

no Kennedy,

not even Necro Butcher.

No, my sister went headed a much different direction down ol' puppy name road.  "His name is Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Not just Captain Jack.  Not Jack Sparrow.  Oh, no, not for my sister.  She goes for motherfucking CAPTAIN FUCKING JACK GODDAMN SPARROW!  This was spiraling out of control.  I jumped into spin mode.  "Well, first off, it doesn't matter what you call him, because we're not keeping this dog!  And for the short time he's here, I am not referring to him by that name!  I'll call him Captain, if necessary, but the only time I'm going to even be calling him is when I'm booting his puppy ass down the trash disposal!"  Oh, I was pissed.  I turned from my sister and looked angrily at the dog.

Look at him.  I hate his smug little puppy fuckin' guts.  This dog is so small, I could crush him with one hand and he doesn't even realize it.

My mom said he's half rat terrier and half border collie, which equals 100% pain in my ass.  I looked up that mix of dog online, so I could find out their typical behavior patterns.  I was shocked, to say the least.  Turns out these dogs are bad news.

I went and took at look at the dog, which was just sitting retardedly in the middle of the room.

I'm sure you're all thinking, "Nick, this is terrible!  What a cute little guy!  Can't you just leave him alone and make a Terri Schiavo joke or something?" 

But that's because you're not really looking at this fucking dog.  You're not getting past the "little puppy" factor.  Look closely at that picture again, open-mindedly this time, and maybe you'll see what I'm talking about.

This dog, man, this fucking dog.  When everyone went to sleep, I decided I had to put an end to this.  I set up a table in the kitchen, one that was about 3 feet off the tile floor.  Then I put the dog on it.  My hope was that he would be too fucking stupid to realize the table ended eventually, at which point he would fall off
and land on his stupid puppy head. 

But oh no, Captain Jack Sparrow is too good for that!  He just fell asleep on the table!

Do you know how long it took me to come up with that plan?  I went through a whole case of Dr. Pepper!  There were calculations made and fucking diagrams drawn up and everything.  If our military had this plan, they would have been out of Iraq for 8 years!  That's right, it was so good that the military would traverse back through time and be finished with this before it had even happened.  But I guess a great idea doesn't matter when your opponent just falls asleep on the fucking table, does it?

And you wanna know what I hate the most about this fucking puppy?  All those things I bitched about earlier, all the reasons I said we shouldn't have another dog; well, this fucking jerk has yet to do any of them.  He doesn't yap all the time, he's yet to piss or shit in the house.  As a matter of fact, the only time he really barks is when he needs to go to the bathroom.  He doesn't bite; he hasn't torn anything up.  It's like he's fucking mocking me!  "Oh, I've got to be a well-behaved dog so I can make this guy look stupid!"

Lydia thinks I'm putting on an act; that I really like this dog and think he's adorable.  I like this dog about as much as I like getting punched in the fucking teeth.  Fuck Captain Jack Sparrow!



I can assure you, I do not favor this puppy in one bit or fashion.  And when I go missing, and an Iranian finger turns up in puppy stool, I can only hope that my point will be proven to all of you.  Until then, I'm sleeping with my eyes open.

Currently listening : Down - Over The Under By Down Release date: 25 September, 2007

9:12 AM - 15 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Shameless plugs
Category: Friends

There's not a whole lot to this blog; I'm just giving a nod to several people or events going on that I think you should check out.

And if I'm going to promote people, well, who better to start with than myself?  If you're a regular reader of my blogs, then you remember my milk-drinking promo video from a few months back.  About a month ago, Myspace took it down due to violation of copyrighted music.  Huh?  I got a message from Tom and everything.  But never fear, because now the video is up in its full glory on Youtube!  Don't feel like searching for it over there?  I've also added it back into all of my old blogs, and fuck it, I might as well put it in this one too.

Speaking of videos, the Lagniappe, which is a local alternative paper here in Mobile, recently had their 5-year anniversary.  To mark the occasion every year, they have a Best in Mobile award ceremony, otherwise known as the Nappies, that are voted on by the readers.  This ceremony is held at the Saenger Theater here in Mobile.  This year, the fine people at the Lagniappe wanted to have someone film an intro to set the mood for the event.  They got up with my buddy Carson, who recruited me.  I unfortunately didn't get to be there when they showed it, but was told it went over huge.