bwahahahaha My wiufe's looking at me like ive lost it!
Oh that story reminds of the below story, "Texas Chili." If you havent read it yet, do so!
Notes From An Inexperienced Chili Taster Named FRANK, who was visiting Texas from the East Coast:
"Recently I was honored to be selected as an outstanding Famous
celebrity in Texas, to be a judge at a chili cook-off, because no one
else wanted to do it. Also the original person called in sick at the last
moment, and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking
directions to the beer wagon when the call came. I was assured by the
other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that
spicy, and besides they told me I could have free beer during the
tasting, so I accepted.
Here are the scorecards from the event:
Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili
JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
FRANK: Holy ****, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried
paint from your driveway with it. Took me two beers to put the flames out.
Hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy.
Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili
JUDGE ONE: Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.
JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken
FRANK: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am
supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted
to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to walkie-talkie in 3 extra
beers when they saw the look on my face.
Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili
JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans.
JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of red peppers.
FRANK: Call the EPA, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like
I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Barmaid
pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest.
I'm getting ****-faced.
Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic
JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or
other mild foods, not much of a chili.
FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to
taste it. Sally, the bar maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills;
that 300lb. ***** is starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear-waste
Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover
JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding
considerable kick. Very impressive.
JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must
admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
FRANK: My ears are ringing, and I can no longer focus my eyes. I
farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed
offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my
tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. It
really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.
**** those ********!
Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety
JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of
spice and peppers.
JUDGE TWO: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and
FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous,
sulfuric flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut
Sally. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!
Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili
JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of
chili peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about
Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing
FRANK: You could put a ****ing grenade in my mouth, pull the ****ing
pin, and I wouldn't feel a damn thing. I've lost the sight in one eye, and
the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered
with chili which slid unnoticed out of my ****ing mouth. My pants are full
of lava-like **** to match my goddamn shirt. At least during the autopsy
they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too
painful. **** it, I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll
just suck it in through the ****ing 4 inch hole in my stomach.
Chili # 8: Helen's Mount Saint Chili
JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all,
not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced chili, neither mild
nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out,
fell and pulled the chili pot on top of himself. Not sure if he's going
to make. Poor Yank.
FRANK: Editor's note: Judge #3 was unable to report
I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to alt.tasteless, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble ting.
No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.
I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.
I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.
Little did I know.
I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.
Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic - molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky /sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.
Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering /sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."
Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.
As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.