May 16, 2008

It's worse, much worse

Yesterday I told you about my personal hell, You know the dream where what started off as the perfect re-enacting job turned into a nightmare. After that dream I was sure that there is nothing, NOTHING that could be worse than that.


Today on lunch Ktreva made me take her shoe shopping. She needed new shoes for her new outfit she bought for a wedding we are going to tomorrow. She needed orange shoes. Yes, I said orange. We walked into the store and right off the bat I see a pair of orange shoes that *I* think would look good with her new outfit. She tells me they won't and goes about shopping. She finds a pair of shoes she likes and tries them on. Too small, so I end up Tetris with shoe boxes to help her find the right size.

After what seemed like 2348 boxes not only do I find the right size, but also the right color. Meanwhile the other women in the store are staring at me like I'm some kind of foot fetish prevert! One kept eyeballing me like she thought I was either going to sniff them or put them on Mr. Happy. It was rather disturbing.

Ktreva decides she likes them and she is going to buy them. Alright we're done!


Nope, it's buy one get one half off. DAMMIT!

The other shoe she decides she likes is not only orange... but is the original shoe I pointed out! Again with the shoe box tetris. Why? Because apparently shoe sizes on women's shoes is just a number they stamp on there as decoration. Actually this has to be some kind of cruel joke to keep guys like me busy why women shop. I mean I had to unstack and restack shoe boxes a couple of dozen times. Especially since most of the shoes where stacked on a shelf over my head.

So guys, learn a lesson for me. No matter how quickly she says it's going to be, never let a woman talk you into taking her shoe shopping with her. NEVER!

Posted by Contagion at 07:31 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

March 05, 2008

Bud Light Chelada.

I was called out recently over my beer reviews. As many of you that have been around since the origin of the review, I started doing this to review beers so that you were forewarned. After a while I started reviewing more and more microbrews and I started finding some really good ones. Back in December a new beer was brought to my attention, and I quickly told everyone, I will never drink it. T1G and Bruce have both heard me say this. I even came close to violating my rule that I would drink any beer bought for me. Fortunately the arsehole gentlemen that was going to purchase it for me changed his mind. Finally a couple of friends told me I had to review this beer, they had been waiting for it. So here I am tonight reviewing the only beer Ive ever, EVER condemned before tasting. Tonight Im reviewing Bud Light Chelada, AKA Bud Light & Clamato juice (Clam and Tomato juice) by Anheuser-Busch. May the beer gods have mercy on my soul.

Bud Light Chelada.jpg
Sorry T1G, It was the first beer glass I grabbed.

IT came in 1 pint 8 fluid oz (22 ounce) silver can. It proudly advertises that it is Bud Light and Clamato (with salt and lime the perfect combination) Below that it shows a beer goblet with limes in the rim and Chelada across the front of it. On the side it has a box that has both Spanish and English writing in it. The English says, Enjoy the best of two worlds: a refreshing Bud Light and the unique flavor of Clamato. Drink a Red One, ready to go, or use your favorite ingredients to make it yours wherever, whenever! Ed note: Never

The color is like that of a dark pink grapefruit juice. There is a distinct red color to it. Its thick; light passes through, but barely. It just looks thick. When Ktreva walked into the room she said it looked like chum. There is no head at all and no lacing on the glass. There is a film, but it isnt pleasant looking. Its like floating bits of stuff have stuck to it.

The smell is mainly tomatoes, salt and only what can be described as wharf. You know, that scent you smell along piers that are in large bodies of water. There is a hint of lime and I think you might smell stale beer. Im not sure if it was there or just my nose wishing it was. Unless you really like the scent of fish and bloody marys, dont smell this. The taste is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. In 20 years from now Im going to wake up screaming while I have a nightmare remembering this review. First off, this does NOT taste like beer. Tomatoes, salt, clams with a slight stale beer backwash is what it tastes like. BTW, there are floaty bits in there. Not many, but there are some and yes they are chewy. Fortunately they are few, far between and small.

Id love to tell you what the mouthfeel is like on this beer, but honestly I didnt want it in my mouth long enough to find out. I will tell you that for the brief milliseconds I had it in my mouth it reminded me of drinking tomato sauce and vomit.

Bud Light Chelada is proof that the gods of beer have a dark and mean sense of humor. This has to be the vilest and nastiest beer Ive drank in my life. Its not pleasant in any way or shape. It actually brought tears to my eyes at the thought of having to drink the whole 22 ounces and made me do the its icky dance. Any of you with young kids knows what Im talking about. Im not joking when I warn you, for the love of all that is good and right in the world, DO NOT DRINK THIS BEER. I give it .5 out of 10. Yes, point five out of ten.

Now if youll excuse me Im going to go gargle with Everclear.

Posted by Contagion at 06:21 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack

February 01, 2006

Biochemical weapons.

I am a Corn Nuts fanatic. They have to be one of my all time favorite snack foods. Normally I just pick up a bag of ranch flavored Corn Nuts and enjoy. For reasons unknown to me, I’ve decided to try other flavors. This is pretty unusual.

It’s not that I fear change; I just don’t like it. I get comfortable and then something changes and I have to get that comfort factor back again. Food is not one of the things I do a lot of changing. Heck, I’ve had Salami/Roast beef and Provolone cheese wraps dipped in horseradish sauce every Monday through Friday for the last 2 years. My lunch is usually summer sausage, hot pepper cheese and horseradish sauce. My normal snack foods are Ranch Corn Nuts, Popcorn, Peanuts, Doritos (Nacho Cheese or Cool Ranch) or Lays chips in a cheese sauce. Rarely do I stray, it happens but not often.

I had the regular… eh, they’re somewhat bland. Barbeque, not bad, I could handle eating these again. Nacho Cheese, Okay when I opened the bag of these the smell was strong enough to have people two cubicles away ask me what I was eating. The taste however was bland. Then today I saw a flavor I had never had before, Salsa Jalisco. I’m not even sure what that is, but I thought why not. Let’s try them. Worst snack food idea I’ve ever had! Hell the chocolate covered grasshoppers I had five years ago where better and more appetizing than these things are!

First, upon opening the bag the smell was over powering. Secondly, the flavor was that of moldy salsa. (Trust me; I’m familiar with the taste of mold). And not good salsa, but the crappy salsa that someone makes thinking it’s hot but really, it could pass as ketchup with onion flavors. You know the stuff, you’re grandmother may have even made it. I know mine did once! Third, the after taste has stuck with me and it’s been over 3 hours since I ate them. Finally, and the most disturbing part is that they make my breath smell so bad that I’m gagging myself. The Ranch make my breath bad, these make it toxic.

If I burp and the odor wafts back to my nose, my eyes start to water and I begin to twitch. I had to go teach one of my minions how to do something. While I was at their desk, I took a swig of pop. Shortly there after I had a small little burp, not audible… but it still stunk. My minion grabbed her face and gagged. After regaining the ability to talk, she asked, “What the hell did you eat? It smells like a vegetable garden went to compost in your mouth!” I would have taken another breath strip, but I didn’t have anymore. (I finished off my final five before heading to her desk.) I just told her that it’s an incentive for her to catch on quickly. The faster she learns the sooner I’ll go. I’ve never had anyone catch on that fast before.


Sorry, just burped. I swear I felt my nose hairs curl on that one. What you don’t see is that I stood up and walked away from my desk for five minutes. Meanwhile one of my peers quickly ran away with in seconds of my leaving.

Take this as a public service announcement. DO NOT EAT THE SALSA JALISCO CORN NUTS! You and everyone around you will regret it!

I’m going to go brush my teeth again.

Posted by Contagion at 04:13 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

January 03, 2006

No more for the road.

After the last four days, I no longer doubt that I am indeed aging. When I was in college, I could drink for days on end with no side effects. My partying could go on until the sun came up; I’d go home sleep until noon, get up and do it again day after day. Apparently, I don’t have that ability anymore.

For my party I bought a quarter barrel of beer. Yes, it was overkill, but I really enjoy draft beer. Knowing I had more then enough to last, I tapped her Friday night and started drinking on it. Saturday during the party, I think I was the only one doing any kind of serious damage to the contents of that barrel. The reason I say that is because I was constantly drinking from it using a 36 oz mug and I remember filling it a dozen times. Sunday morning when I checked it, ¾ of that keg was still there. DAMN!

For those of you not in the know, a quarter barrel/keg of beer holds 7.75 gallons of beer. That is the equivalent of about 71 pints of beer (With a half-inch head) or 3.4 cases of 12 oz cans. It would be morally and ethically wrong of me to waste that much beer. Being the honorable man that I am, I moved the keg next to the couch. While watching football on Sunday with a friend that came over I kept filling my glass with out having to get up. Guys, if you’ve never done this, I highly recommend it.

I don’t know how much I had to drink on Sunday, but my friend (whom doesn’t drink beer) said I had 8 pints by half time of the Packer game. According to Ktreva, I pulled my last pint off it around 8:30 Sunday night. Monday morning when I checked it, I figure I must have drunk close to 25 pints on Sunday. There was still ice-cold beer just waiting for me Monday morning. It was my duty to make sure that beer was consumed.

Calling for re-enforcements, I had my buddy Shadoglare come over and give me a hand. I even pressed Ktreva (good for about 3 pints) into consumption service. Sure enough, I started pulling pint after pint out of that keg just before noon on Monday. I finally decided I could not drink another drop of beer around 7:30 PM. I believe there is about half a gallon left in there.

Not once over the last four days did I get a hang over from drinking all that beer. Nope, not even a hint of one. However, today I as I sat at work I could feel my stomach and bowels revolt against my mainly liquid diet of the last 4 days. My head feels like it’s in a thick fog, my hands are a little shaky and I can NOT get the taste of beer out of my mouth no matter what I do.

The part that gets me the most is my stomach and bowels. I sit here with ulcers flaring in a gastro-fireworks display. I can feel my stomach churn and cramp with every move I make. My bowels have decided that they don’t want to handle anything solid. I’d go into more detail, but I’m sure you get the picture. I’ve spent more time in the bathroom then doing anything else. Of course, Ktreva has no sympathy for me, not that I’m asking for it. She believes, rightly so, that it’s my own fault I’m in this condition. She’s right; I thought I could do something I hadn’t done in 9 years.

God I’m getting old.

Posted by Contagion at 04:59 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

October 05, 2005

Pretty pink hell.

A couple of days ago my wife advises me she needs a new bra. One of hers needed replacing; some wire had come out and was poking her. Okay, I have no problem with her buying a new bra, that’s all fine and dandy. However, I did not see any reason to throw out a perfectly good bra. Okay, so it had a loose wire. I told her I could fix it. Guys, back me up here anytime you have a lose wire you just secure it or remove it. I could have soldered/welded/taped it back into place. Ktreva did not find this to be an acceptable solution to her problem, even as a temporary fix.

This morning she tells me she has to get a new bra today and wants to run on lunch to pick it up. Since it was morning and my brain was still groggy, I blindly told her, “Sure, anything you want.” If it had been even two hours later, I would have thought about it and found some reason not to go. You need to understand that we work together, different departments, and we generally go to lunch together. This means I have to go with her, we both rode in my truck. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but it was were she wanted to go that bothers me.

The Mall. I blame ArmyWifeToddlerMom for this; I left a comment on a post earlier today stating I was glad it was she and not I that had to go to the mall. Karma came back and bit me yet again. I’m really starting not to like Karma, I think I need to sick my dogma on it!

The Mall is the second vilest place on the face of the earth. There are things I would rather do then go to the mall, this list includes dental work, drive through Chicago at rush hour and go see a Packer game in Philadelphia (Philies fan’s treat visiting team fans the worst then any other home team fans). When Ktreva told me she wanted to go to the Mall I actually felt an icy grip on my stomach grab and twist. Trying as hard as possible, I tried to convince her to go anywhere else… Target, Kohls, K-Mart, even Walmart to no avail. What she said next is what almost made me scream in horror.

Ktreva, “We have to go to the mall because I only buy bras from Victoria’s Secret.”

Me: (Falling to my knees, eyes widened in fear, head turned to the heavens) “NOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo! Oh Jebus! Why?!?!?!”

This was a double whammy. Victoria’s Secret is probably my number 5 most vile place on Earth. The mall being the second most vile place on Earth is pretty bad, throw in Clitoria’s Secretion Victoria’s Secret and this is pure hell, and not the good hell, but the bad hell. You know the really bad hell, watching Lifetime movies instead of football hell. I despise having to go into that store. Just like a Jeff Foxworthy routine, bad things happen to me. Today was no different.

We arrive at the mall and I can feel my pulse start to rise. Everything is okay, no urges to run back to my truck… yet. The mall isn’t very crowded at all, so we are able to make our way quickly to the store. Don’t get me wrong there are still too many people there for my comfort. Confirmation that my “mall” face is on when I make eye contact with a local cop patrolling the mall and HE averts his eyes and changes the direction he is walking. The crowd of on coming people parts around me like a school of fish avoiding a shark. Then we arrive at the store.

There it is in all of its pink glory with tables and displays of bra’s and panties. They pick some of the most interesting colors of pink. I still don’t understand why they use pink; it’s not a good color for a store. It’s not as if they have to make sure people understand it’s feminine. Bras and panties are for women, I have yet to meet a man that wears them. That I know if… (Eyes Bad Example Family closely). The doors to this pinkish hell are wide-open, inviting people in. The glass on both doors is reflecting the pink interior giving it a resemblance of the labia, opened and inviting you to enter.

In we walk

Ktreva finds the bra style she wants. How many different styles of bras do females need? By all that is good and right in the world I’m not kidding when I say they had at least 100 different styles. I’m not talking different colors, but different styles. Every way I turned my head in this pink hell there was a different style of bra staring me in the face!

After picking the size she wants, she goes to try it on. This leaves me alone. First I waited outside fitting room area, but the women going in and out kept giving me strange looks, so I decided to go else where in the store. Then one of the clerks comes up and asks if she can help me find anything. I tell her no, I’m waiting for my wife. Other female customers start eyeing me as they enter the store. Okay, they think I’m some pervert. To ease my discomfort I start checking out the quality of the lighting fixtures.

Where is my wife?!?! She sure is taking her sweet time! Another clerk comes up and asks me if I need any assistance to which I reply, “Nope, just waiting on my wife. By the way you might want to have an electrician check out those lighting fixtures, they are flickering and may have a short.” With a grin of satisfaction on her face, she tells me she’ll advise the manager and walks away. Some of the other customers are walking around and I hear a voice behind me say, “Excuse me sir…” I quickly interrupt with a yelping, “I’M WAITING FOR MY WIFE!” Sweat is starting to bead on my forehead, my pulse is probably around 165, and I can hear the blood flowing in my ears. The customer laughingly tells me she wanted to look at some panties and would like me to move.

I move out of her way and return to my examination of ceiling tiles. This time when I hear a voice behind me asking if they can help me, I about jump out of my skin. What the hell! We could NOT have been in there that long. These clerks are screwing with me! I curtly reply that I am fine and just waiting for my wife to try on an outfit. I like to test drive before I buy. My comment was not appreciated. Once again, I return to staring at the ceiling. What happened next is the truth, there was a flash and I heard the sound of a Polaroid camera. I whip around and the three clerks are huddled together talking and glancing in my direction smirking. Finally, my wife comes out, apparently, her jubberlies have grown and she had to try on different bras to get just the right fit.

She decides she is going to pick up two, one white and one pink (there’s that damn color again!). They go to ring her up and each bra is $50.00. FIFTY DOLLARS A BRA! Son of a goat! These aren’t even sexy bras, these are plain, no frills, and the woman looks better nekked bras! I could understand $50.00 for a bra if it was leather and had metal studs or if it was lacey and came with a pair of crotchless panties! However, this is what she wants so okay, two $50.00 bras… I don’t want to hear a complaint the next time I buy something pricey. I can get a three pack of my underwear for $10.00! Boxers ladies, and I wear a kilt, and work boots. That’s right, swoon now! ;)

We finally leave the store; she is carrying this little pink bag that defies the laws of physics. There is no way in hell they folded both bras into this bag, yet somehow they did. People are now staring at me; apparently, a flyer with my picture was passed around the mall warning of a pervert hanging out in Victoria’s Secret. I needed to go some place just to calm down. My heart is pounding like an air hammer and it looks like I just stepped out of a shower. Quickly I pull my wife into the sports memorabilia store to look at what they have. When I’m able to get my breathing and heartbeat back to normal (Normal for being in the mall that is), we left.

My wife is laughing at me the whole way back to work; she insists it was my imagination. I tell her I saw the flash from the Polaroid when they took my picture! She is adamant that I’m just being paranoid. I think they added me to a book they have under the counter of possible sex offenders!

Posted by Contagion at 04:51 PM | Comments (18) | TrackBack

September 15, 2005

Where was Ben Stiller?

Tuesday night I was sitting in the house bored off my arse. Ktreva had the computer to play these stupid cheesy games she likes thus I was relinquished to the TV. To be Cliché, it’s amazing how with digital cable you can surf through 150+ channels and find nothing on… Except Tuesday night.

Tuesday when I hit channel 405, the Game Show Network, I found the most interesting show. EXTREME DODGEBALL! I kid you not; I spent an hour Tuesday night on the edge of my seat watching two teams of seven adults, the New York Bling and Denver Hurlers, playing dodgeball. I thought this was only in the movies, aka Dodgeball. I didn’t realize adults ACTUALLY played this game… for MONEY!

In the first quarter the Denver Hurlers lead by 12 points and kept a lead on the New York Bling all the way up to the last two minutes of the Fourth quarter when New York took the lead and the game, after slowly whittling away Denver’s lead through the second, third and fourth quarters.

This has to be the newest greatest sport! Possibly, even better then Football….

Okay, I over stepped the line there and I can’t keep this up. This was one of the most stupid things I’ve wasted my time watching. They even had celebrity captains on the teams, some boxing chic and a snowboarder. There were goofy rules for scoring points depending on which quarter it was. The players had some goofy nicknames and a couple wore makeup or costume accessories to their uniforms. They had this female “reporter” down on the field that looked like a crack whore they picked up off the streets, showered, put in a decent pair of jeans and a shirt, handed a microphone to and said, go pretend actually to care about this sport. It was tragic.

I don’t know what was worse, realizing that players where around my age or that these people where actually winning money to play this. Burger King was a sponsor, they even had the Burger King “Hit of the Game” or something like that. Their affiliation with this “sport” (read game… it’s not a sport) makes my want to not only have nothing to do with them again, but to also disavow their existence. Well this and all those commercials they have of the Burger King playing football… okay any commercial involving him.

Needless to say, I doubt I will go out of my way to watch this again. I think I would rather spend a night watching maggots grow in a dirty diaper.

Posted by Contagion at 12:56 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

August 27, 2005

Painful white sauce dripping from my nose.

When eating hot pepper cheese dipped in Horseradish sauce, try not to sneeze. It causes for some very unpleasant feelings in the nasal passage. Just a word of advice.

Now I’m debating if snorting the iced tea I have will help.

Posted by Contagion at 10:01 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

July 20, 2005

Why don't I think?

Have you ever done something stupid and right after realized not only that it was stupid, but also wished you really had thought it through before you acted? That is exactly what I did last Sunday, and I’m still paying for it. While sitting in my living room watching a movie, I noticed water dripping in front of my big front window on the exterior. Normally that wouldn’t be unusual except for two facts. First, it was sunny. We are in the middle of a sever drought here, any dripping water outside instantly attracts attention. Secondly, my big front window is under the roof of my front porch. Even if it was raining there should be no water dripping there.

Walking out of my house, I look at the ceiling, sure enough, there is a giant wet spot, and water is dripping fairly evenly. Where the hell is it coming from? There are no pipes up there or in the wall it is attached. Investigating further, I walk out to the sidewalk in front of my house. Right above my front porch is my bedroom. The window air conditioner is running and I can see water dripping from it. Now I know where the water is coming from, but how is it getting through the roof and dripping through a wood ceiling? Going to my garage, I pull out the largest ladder that I own bring it to the front of my house. I decided I had to go up on my roof and see what is going on.

At this point, I need to stop the story and share some very important facts with you. Few things in this world scare me. I am able to overcome most of my fears very easily. Heights is not one of them; unsecured heights to be precise. Looking out the windows of skyscrapers, looking over a ledge with a handrail, repelling is all fine. I feel secure and am not worried about falling. Transitioning from a ladder to a roof is terrifying. That brings us to our next fact. The ladder I own is just barely long enough to reach the roof. There are only a couple of inches to play with if the ladder is set at a slight angle. It’s an old folding ladder. It’s in decent condition and is sturdy, but the rungs are really thin.

Last Sunday we reached a record high temperature for the day. It was up to 95 degrees. My porch faces due south. It was so hot that day, no creature was moving outside. The only time there was movement was when a car drove past or the occasional slight breeze stirred up dust and trash. When there was a breeze it was like you where standing in front of a furnace blower. The only air conditioner we have is the one in our bedroom window. In order to try to stay cool I was wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt.

Keep all that in mind; it’s pretty damn important to this story. After getting the ladder in place, I proceed to climb to the top of the ladder. Once there I look around and figure out the best way for me to get onto the roof and psyche myself out to do it. After probably 15-20 minutes of me standing on this ladder, I finally push myself up and over onto the roof. It doesn’t take me long to find the problem. The flashing on the roof has pulled away from the side of the house working as a funnel. The water from the air conditioner was running down the side of the house, dripping into that gap, flowing down the siding and coming out the underside of the roof. Knowing what I needed to fix this I turn around to go back down the ladder. I take one look at it and I know… There is NO WAY IN HELL I’m going to be able to motivate my but over that edge. That’s okay; I need to stay up here to fix this anyway.
Knocking on the bedroom window, I surprise my wife. Telling her that I need her to get me some items. She hands me up what I asked for and I fix the roof. After I’m done, I sheepishly ask my wife to hold the ladder for me. I just feel better knowing it won’t fall over as I try to navigate it over the edge. I mean the top legs only extend about 2 inches over the edge of the roof. As she holds it, I’m trying to climb onto it. Quickly I discovered that in order to do this I will have to get on my hands and knees and back over the edge. As soon as I get down on my hands and knees, I can feel the pain of a burn. I quickly stand up and look at my hands and knees. When I climbed up, I must have given myself a minor burn on my hands and knees. After attempting two more times to get down and burning myself even worse, I decided I was a stupid, stupid man for climbing onto the roof wearing shorts and no gloves on a hot summer day. Attempting to navigate this tricky maneuver four times, I finally gave up. While contemplating dropping my shorts and changing into pants on the roof of my house, I sent my wife to get a pair of work gloves for me.

By the time, she returned I had decided that I was just going to have to pay the price for my stupidity and not change into pants. With my pasty white legs, as soon as my shorts came off, the blinding glare would cause everyone in twenty miles to turn and look. Nobody needs to see me pantsless anytime, let alone on a very hot Sunday. The heat made a very good motivator to get off the roof ASAP. I didn’t dawdle while I tried to psyche myself up. Pain was all the inspiration I needed to get my arse off that roof.

It has been 4 day since I’ve done that, my hands are fine. My knees are not doing so well. It hurts to wear pants. When I’m wearing shorts, it looks like I’ve been doing all kinds of “extra curricular” activities on a carpeted floor while the wife was away. At least the pealing has stopped. That was really disturbing to watch my knees peel.

I learned a valuable lesson last Sunday. If I’m going to climb up on the roof, make sure I have jeans on!

Posted by Contagion at 04:36 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

June 16, 2005

My pain for your pleasure.

I was wracking my brain for an idea on what hellish torture I could inflict on myself for your entertainment. Some of you may remember that last month I went to a Super Wallyworld on it’s grand opening. As I tried to find a new location, nothing was coming to mind that I would be able to do right away. Then something happened last night and I tortured myself for two hours, just for your entertainment.

Anathematized came over last night to hang out with my wife and I. I was flipping through the channels at 7:00 pm CST when, I swear I heard both my wife and Anathematized say they wanted to watch a show I passed. Apparently, I misunderstood, but the damage was already done. I had stopped on the channel and decided this is what I’m going to do to myself for your entertainment. What show was on that would cause such a vehemently painful reaction from me? Why that could only be Dancing with the Stars.

After 5 minutes of watching, I decided that if I was going to do this, then I need to anesthetize myself. I went and mixed me a 32oz Jack and Coke… STRONG! With drink in hand, I continued watching. The whole premise of this show is a celebrity is teamed up with a professional dancer. They work on a dance routine and are critiqued and scored by three judges. Then the American public can vote, ala American Idol, for the couple they like the most. The team with the lowest combined score is booted off the show. The celebrity dancers are Trista from the Bachelorette, Rachel Hunter of Super Model fame, Kelly Monaco a daytime Soap Actress, Joey McIntyre of the New Kids on the Block, Evander Holyfield the boxer, John O’Hurley an Actor (Played J. Peterman on Seinfeld).

At about 7:30 I went to take another drink and realized I had empty my mug. During the next commercial I made another, I needed it folks. I had just finished thanking the powers to be that I only had thirty minutes to go when I finally caught that this was a recast from last week, the new episode is being shown immediately after. I contemplated not watching the second hour and figuring that one hour of this tripe was sentence served. Then I realized that’s not fair to you, I didn’t leave my house and I was drinking. I need to serve the full sentence. I started drinking slower to make the rest of the Jack last for the long haul.

First off, I want to say that I know squat about dancing. Therefore, my reviews of this event are going to be based on how badly I wanted to drink myself into a coma by watching each group. I’m not doing these in the order they danced, as frankly I don’t remember.

The first dancer I’m going to review is the whore from the bachelorette. C’mon people she sold herself to get married and for millions. She’s a whore! First off, she was kind of wooden and bitchy. Every time they showed her in the rehearsals, she was complaining about something. The whore is a bitch.. hmm whore = bitch.. Interesting I think I just solved the equation that was an ex-girlfriend of mine. Anyway, this girl sucked, and not in the good way. She not only couldn’t dance, she couldn’t smile. Plus her professional dance partner was creepy looking. My wife and Aneth were both freaked out by the man. I just wanted him to drop the whore.

Rachel Hunter still has the goods to get my blood going. She has to be pushing 50, yet she can still bring out a stiff competition, if you know what I mean. I was having flashbacks to being a teenager looking through my dad’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues watching her move. I really don’t remember much else about her.

Kelly Monaco, okay this girl also sucks in a bad way. The only redeeming quality to her and her partner, that looked like the monkey boy played by Chris Kattan from Saturday Night live, was her costume. Even the host made a joke that they had sound guys from five networks volunteer to find a way to put a mic on her. She wouldn’t smile through the routine. I’m just glad her lovely juberlees and firm buttocks kept me distracted. She also had issues with smiling, not that I was looking at her face very often.

Joey McIntyre, This guy has something wrong with him. He was excessively happy to be out there. Every time he would take the floor, not only was he giving his biggest cheesiest grin, but also he would overact his facial expressions during the routine. I just couldn’t get past the fact that this is one of the guys my sister used to have a poster of hanging on her wall. I remember making fun of Mr. “OOOH-OH-OOH-OH-OOH White-stuff” when I was in high school. He did do one impressive move. I have to give him credit for that.

Crap, I need some Jack Daniels to continue writing this… BRB….

Okay, I’m back.

Evander Holyfield, He was probably the best dancer out on the floor… and the only reason I’m saying that is because I know he can kick my arse with out trying. He did however provide two good points. First, his partner looked like some kind of Eastern European Gypsy that was psychotic in that hot kind of way. During the second hour, her lack of costuming was distracting me. That and the fact that I swear I thought I saw her kitty, except they blurred it briefly. No one else saw it, but I know I saw a blur down there during one move! Second, I wanted him to go beat the snot out of this prissy Italian poofter that was judging. Especially when the guy said something like, “Watching you two dance is like watching the Terminator chase after Tinkerbelle.” This was somewhat true. He would fling this chic half way across the floor with out trying.

John O’Hurley, I think he was the oldest male on the floor, and part of the best team on the floor. I’m not saying he’s the best dancer, but him and his partner are the best duo on the show. They have a lot of chemistry, I mean a lot… How much? I can’t say for sure, but I would not be surprised if he isn’t doing the vertical horizontal tango with her between practices. She was touching him very possessively and he was doing the same back. Gentle caresses, glances, smiles, an improper erection. Wait, sorry no there wasn’t an erection that was me, staring at Kelly in her outfit that looked like two band-aids and a bandana, Sorry. I think the funniest thing was at the end of their dance she was on the ground in front of him, and I swear he grabbed her head like he was going to guide it to his love muscle. Aneth saw and thought the same thing so it wasn’t just me!

The judges where somewhat annoying, at least they provided a break in the dancing so my brain could recover from the seizures that where coming on. That and the Italian poofter guy had great taste in neckties. He even tied it properly, a Windsor knot.

After two hours of watching and three quarters of a bottle of Jack Daniels I couldn’t tell you who won or lost or how the scoring actually worked. I don’t care! I lost two hours of my life that I will never get back! Next month I’m definitely taking a trip somewhere. If any of you have any real suggestions, I’m open to them. It has to be realistic and unless you are going to foot the bill, pretty cheap.

Posted by Contagion at 03:51 PM | Comments (3)