What Would Burton Do?

Groin Kick!

2012-10-04T04:25:00.000-07:00

I believe we were in the third grade when it happened; the class was called down to the cafeteria for an assembly. Since we were a small school all sixty or seventy of us fit without a problem, and we proceeded to sit in folding chairs that had already been rearranged in a large semicircle. At the time, the school would have a different person appear once a month to demonstrate hobbies and activities in hopes that we would take one of them up in earnest.

We had a potter one month...

A stamp collector another month...

And I think they tried to get a pole dancer in on another month, but that fell through for some reason. It didn't really matter to us, we just knew that it got us out of math class for a day. We were all a little excited to see what kind of crazy activity they would try to scam us with that day....
Would it be bee keeping??

Maybe alligator wrestling??

Perhaps chainsaw juggling?

Do not attempt at home

The possibilities were about ready to drive us into an ecstatic frenzy. Needless to say we were all a bit disappointed when a lady with bright red hair wearing a pair of white pajamas came out. The frenzy instantly turned into quiet disgruntlement.

The woman gave a great big smile, and we all stared back with distant apathetic looks, like mannequins in an abandoned department store.

The sight of our near lifeless stares definitely made her nervous (children can sense this), and she carefully started to explain that she was there to teach us "karate".
"Do you know what karate is kids?" she nervously blurted out.
We gazed back at her: a group of zombie-like kids, who pierced her soul with our basilisk's stare.

She somehow maintained her composure and proceded to give here lesson in karate. She showed us various stances and postures, along with some fairly impressive acrobatics. We were all being somewhat entertained, (anything was better than Mrs. Brussard's math class) then she said something...
"Now I'm going to teach you all something that you can do on your own!"
"HOW TO KILL SOMEONE!?" Half of us erupted in unbridled glee.

"No!, No." She countered "You little fuckin psychos!" Alright, didn't actually call us little fuckin psychos, but I'm sure that she was thinking it. With a steadier voice than I would have thought her capable of, she carried on.
"No, not to kill with, something to protect yourselves with."
We glared on.
Confident that she she had our indivisible attention she continued, and exploded into action.
"GROIN KICK!" Shrieked the red-headed harpy.

That got our attention.

She saw that her scream and kick display had an affect. So she did it again.
"GROIN KICK!" She hollared.

It was the best day of our lives...

"GROIN KICK!!" We practically had orgasms.

She was so happy to have a group of young enthusiastic Karate Kids that she brought us all into the center of the ring five at a time and showed us this new wondrous game called GROIN KICK!. We may have entered the the assembly as a group of apathetic brain dead zombies, but we left hyped up on the ifinite possibilities and power of the GROIN KICK. Recess was fast aproaching, and I believe the teachers were getting a little apprehensive about it. A few minutes later we were unleashed into the school yard; the entire class became a an explosion of GROIN KICKS, which quickly degenerated into screaming and crying, with both boys and girls groaning on the ground clutching their crotches... it was a massacre.

This was the quickest pecking-order I have ever seen established. It happened so fast, in fact, that the monitors in charge of watching us had no chance of preventing it, we were an unstoppable tide of groin kicking psychopaths. After what was probably the most stressfull day the teachers and school nurse had ever had in their lives, they had to call the karate lady back in for another assembly to explain that the groin kick was for self defense only, not a playground game.

Grill Master Of The Universe!!!

2012-09-05T10:33:00.001-07:00

I went through a brief period of time when I was unemployed, and of course we all know that idle hands do the Devil's work. So in an effort to not become a felon, I decided to try and expand my culinary abilities. Figuring out how to turn on the oven was my first challenge, and it was all up hill from there. Up until that point in my life I had been about as domestic as a child raised by wolves.

Yes, this is an actual baby photo of me.

I had gotten to the point where I was comfortable cooking rice, soup, microwave dinners, and toast. I felt proud and almost adult. I could actually feed myself if I became stranded on a deserted island that happened to have a fully stocked kitchen. The day of the Chicken Incident started like any other; I woke up, took the dog out, and waved good bye to roommate as he left for whatever it was he did during the day, he had alluded to something about work, but it was hard for me to say. I have the attention span of a gnat; as soon as something is out of my sight, it ceases to exist in my microcosm and I no longer acknowledge its existence.

these are the things that go through my mind...

As soon as roommate left, I started scanning the kitchen to figure out exactly what I wanted to create for food that day. I was thinking of trying something really complicated, like a rice/soup/toast concoction. I rummaged through the cabinets and drawers, tossing random cans and packages of food around the kitchen.

Finally my eyes rested on the back deck, where roommate's brand new stainless steel grill sat. A maniacal smile slowly etched itself across my face, and gears in the back of my brain started to turn. An idea was hatching, and roommate wasn't there to stop me...

I believe that he paid roughly several million dollars for it, but it could have been several hundred, or he could have even gotten it for a handful of beans, I had no idea. But he seemed to think it was worth several souls at least.

My mind was made up, I was going to use a grill for the first time in my life. I approached the device with a little trepidation, and looked the whole machine over carefully before I dove in. It was huge and shiny; a mountain of stainless steel and random knobs. After an hour or so I got a flame going, and I was satisfied that I had become a grill-MASTER! Almost like He-Man, but with grills instead. I overflowed with confidence, and was ready to grill a whole cow!

Unfortunately roommate had not anticipated my sudden culinary genius and had not purchased a whole cow for me to cook, he and I would have a discussion about that later. I knew roommate would be home for lunch eventually, so I continued to dig through kitchen searching for something to grill. The neighbor's cat ran through the back yard, but I decided that it was too fast. I opened the freezer and there it was, in all its glory; a frozen chicken. It glowed like the holy grail and beckoned to me, The GRILL-MASTER-OF-THE-UNIVERSE!!!!

Inspiration courtesy of He-Man

I grasped the frozen chicken as though it were some lost relic, and proceeded to peel the plastic wrapping off of it. I vaguely remembered my mother cooking a chicken or some other fowel, then again it could have been a macaw for all I knew, and she had said something about giblets, or gibbets, or gerbils, again the details were fuzzy. But according to her there was definitely something within the chicken that we were not supposed to eat. I looked in the cavity expecting to find a black mamba nestled in there and I was a little dissapointed when nothing sprung out at me.

To the best of my knowledge I had the chicken fully prepared, and I was sure that Colonel Sanders was looking down from heaven in approval. I knew that I couldn't just toss the chicken into the grill carelessly, so I grabbed a cookie sheet, placed the rock-hard frozen chicken on it and popped the whole mess into the grill.

Of course side dishes were something way out of my league at the time so I figured roommate would be pleasently surprised with a whole roasted chicken. The last time I looked at the temperature on the grill it was somewhere around 450 degrees, and I figured that would be sufficient to cook the chicken, so busied myself with important work elsewhere: video gaming.

I had probably saved the planet from zombies several times, and I figured that roommate would be home soon, and the chicken should be done. I imagined a golden succulent chicken dripping with juice and maybe stuffing had magically grown inside it too. It was going to be an epic meal. Then a strange acrid odor permeated my brain, as though something was burning.

"Odd," I thought, "the neighbors must have burned something horribly by the smell of it, they really ought to be more careful." I turned off the video game and headed toward the deck and the amazing chicken that was surely waiting for me. What greeted my eyes was not what I expected. It vaguely resembled a mushroom cloud erupting from the grill. Hiroshima and Mt. Vesuvius had bred and this was their offspring. I had somehow split the atoms of a chicken.

For some reason I found the sight awe-inspiring, but was unsure what to do. A foggy memory of roommate demonstrating how to use a fire extinguisher stumbled through my brain, but all I could recall was him saying "blah blah blah fire blah blah blah... are you listening... blah blah you're going to burn the fucking neighborhood down Blah Blah Blah". He sounded sort of like a mix of Charlie Brown's teacher and Fire Marshall Bill from In Living Color. The flames went a bit higher, and I had a nagging feeling that roommate would be agitated if I somehow burned his house down. So I grabbed the extinguisher and snuffed the flames before the entire house was immolated.

As the last of the flames were extinguished, I turned around there was roommate. I think his brain took a few minutes to assimilate what he had just witnessed. His eyes zeroed in on the grill, and his face went through a vast series of emotions within a few seconds... you can see how his face morphed below in slow-motion.

inspiration for this illustration comes from Hyperbole and a Half's "New Pain Scale"

Of course we have to realize that the receptors in roommate's brain and the receptors in my brain work very differently... as pictured below.

I'm pretty sure it was somewhere between the two.

We finally worked up enough courage to see what might have been left of the chicken. The cookie sheet I had placed it on was black, and had somehow curled into the shape of a cup, which held some ashes and a few bone fragments. With a huge smile, I looked at roommate and said
"Holy shit! I incinerated it! Lets play video games!"

Yes, he is capable of turning this color

To this day no new grill has been forthcoming from either party.

So I am now a Blogger

2012-09-03T06:02:00.002-07:00

So I guess it's official, I am now blogging... I have never done this before, so I can't promise how it will come out. I have all the technological skills of a badger with cataracts and I fully believe that computers were put on this earh for the sole purpose of vexing me and making me feel stupid. In my mind they are bizaare esoteric magical machines that are beyond the scope of my understanding. And I'm not even old, I'm in my mid thirties, one would think that I would have picked up on them just from the sheer proximity of the damned machines.I just got my first cell phone a few years ago, and I looked like a frickin monkey with a typewriter. I was so perplexed by the device, I was convinced that I had to sacrifice a goat or something to get it running.

yes, that is a sacrificed goat

As you have no doubt already noticed, I will be using my own poorly drawn illustrations throughout this blog. Please do not ask if I have hired a toddler to do my drawings, the last thing I want is a diaper filling brat running around my house. And who thought up the word "blogging" anyway, I mean it sounds like it was made up by someone with both autism and that disease Corky had on "Life Goes On". And NO, I am not politically correct, I will make fun of/poke at anyone: minorities, majorities, fat people, skinny people, handicapped people, gay people, straight people, Christains, Catholics, Atheists, nazis, bunnies, me, pregnant women... no one is safe. If I happened to miss whatever group you belong to, don't worry I'll get to to you eventually. If you happen to be one of those thin-skinned assholes who gets offended by the slightest off colored joke, you should go to another blog. Like Mary Mother Theresa's blog if she has one, or the Hello Kitty blog. I dont need e-mails telling me that I'm going to hell; I already know that.

random demons tormenting me in Hell

Now I must give credit where credit is due. The inspiration for this blog comes from Hyperbole and a Half, which was created by a genius of a girl named Allie. My favorite piece by her is Cat Safety Propaganda, I watch it almost every day and it still makes me crack up. Allie, if you happen to read my blog, please e-mail me and give me some tips, I sure can use them. Please check out her blog, I guarantee that you'll be laughing for days.

So again, if anything offends you, go to another blog.

The Story Almost No Guy Will EVER Tell

2012-08-31T12:21:00.001-07:00

Every guy has a good masturbation story, but will almost never tell it… here is mine. Several years ago I had left a bar around one in the morning, and I was VERY drunk so I decided to walk home as it was only a few miles. Or should I say stumble home. Armed with my backpack and a BAC roughly at .25 I trudged toward my house.

Of course I had not thought to get the flashlight out of my truck as that would have required a few functioning brain cells. About a half mile into my stumblethon, my alcohol-drenched brain decided that the walk was going to take too long, and even though the voices in my head told me not to, I decided to take a shortcut through the woods to get home. Of course there were no trails, but I used to be a Boy Scout, and I’m a MAN, and I’m DRUNK. So I do MANLY things, like rampage through the underbrush. I was hoping to come across an animal I could eat….

My testosterone was flowing like a swollen river in a hurricane, and I was convinced that I would start growing chest hair before I got home. After clambering through the darkness and thick vegetation for about ten minutes I came to a very steep hill, a cliff really, all rocks and vines. Easy enough, I thought, so being a tough rugged MAN in the woods, I climbed the steep cliff using vines, rocks, branches… anything I could grab to ascend the 20 feet or so to the top.

At some point my drunken foggy brain took a wrong turn in the woods and I ended up coming out into civilization about a mile and a half from my house. Disgusted, and hyped up on beer and testosterone I angrily marched home. After a few more beers from the fridge, I decided I had had enough and went to bed. Before passing out though the testosterone overload I was experiencing came to a head, and my groin demanded some manual attention. I will now pan ten minutes into the future to save you from the sordid details. With a contented smile, I passed out and probably snored like a bear with sleep apnea.

The next morning I awoke with not a hangover like I would have expected, but a strange itching sensation between my fingers. Through bleary eyes that I could barely open I saw a red blistery rash all over my hands. Horror raced through my brain like a retarded camel. I flipped back the blankets to confirm what I thought… OH THE HUMANITY!!! My EVERYTHING was covered in poison ivy. Then the itching began in earnest. I ran to a mirror as fast as my slightly drunken legs could carry me to survey the damage. My face, shoulders, chest, stomach, junk, legs and feet were covered in the worst red puss-filled rash I had ever seen.

My eyes were swollen almost shut, and my nether-regions looked like I had contracted super-herpes from Mars. Needless to say, if you’re going to take a short cut, bring a flashlight so you can identify poison ivy before you use it to climb a cliff.