Trailer Park Sluts

Epic Rock Band Reunion

It's time to get the band back together.  Hockey Teeth: Northeastern Geiger County's preeminent retro death country group has reorganized for a tri-county spring tour.  The only problem is, we have decided to change our name to keep up with the times.  We've come up with a couple names.  


Check it out.  And if you have better names, please comment and give us your suggestions.


BAND NAME SUGGESTIONS:


Adult children of Heterosexuals
Alcoholics Unanimous
Jehovah's Witness Protection Program
Are These My Pants?
Electric Death Chickens
Bordering on Retarded
Buck Naked and the Saddle Sores
Cap'n Crunch and the Cereal Killers
The Dick Nixons
Full Throttle Aristotle
Global Disrobal
Guitarantula
Hard Drinkin' Housewives
The Hostile Amish
Icky Boyfriends
Jazz Iguanas
Knee Deep Shag
My Dog has Hitler's Brain
Naugahide Chihuahuas
Not Drowning, Waving
UF Lowrider
Testoster-Tones
Waffle House Music
Fallopian Tube Socks
Goldfish Don't Bounce
Factory Dealer Incentives
Jean Paul Sartre Experience


Let us know your ideas.

Updated Vintage Ads

Somehow, it's not the way I remember the good ol' days

Strippers and Golf

It's a sign of the bad economic times.  I just realized I haven't been to a strip club in years.  There was a time when I'd get my quarterly bonus, or birthday card money and head off for some adult entertainment.  Times are tough.  I don't venture out anymore.  The Spearmint Rhino has closed.  Gosh, I hope it wasn't because of my lack of patronage.  Actually, I don't miss it.  Strippers and I have a checkered past.

Body glitter is possibly the worst invention invention ever created.  Each time you receive a table dance, the stripper ends up leaving her "mark" on me.  I not only end up with the smell of cheap perfume all over me, I get glitter all over me.

One night I went to a club and got a couple table dances from a cute little Asian gal.  I went home afterwards and went straight to bed.  The next morning, I am woke up by the girl I was seeing yelling at me and wanting to know who the slut was I brought home last night.  I proclaimed my innocence and ignorance.  At that point, she pointed out the glitter in my bed.  It wasn't only in my bed, it was everywhere.  I had left a trail up the walk, through the living room and into my bedroom.  That girl had done a number on me.  I was guilty by exfoliation.

When I worked for Red Bull, I was invited to a charity golf tournament thrown by a local club.  I was thrilled.  Stripper and golf, how could there be a greater sports entertainment combination.  We began by having breakfast at the club.  Scrambled eggs and G strings.  Things were starting out great.  Our marketing rep had acquired a "caddy" for us also.  What joy we had as we headed for the course.  We were going to have a lovely young lady to clean our clubs and read our putts.

We arrived at the course and things began taking a turn for the worse.  Strippers are like vampires.  Neither should be exposed to the sun.  Their pale skin and scars glared at us.  We got out caddy, and headed out to our hold assignment.  Our caddy started complaining about the heat.  This was only slightly less annoying than her chain smoking.  She didn't clean clubs.  She didn't read putts.  She was as entertaining as a paper cut.

We could see the other caddies dancing and laughing around the course.  That would have been great if our caddy did the same to distract us.  But, the action of the other caddies slowed the pace down to a crawl.  It took up six hours to play eighteen holes.

About half way through the round,a stripper pulled up in a cart to one of the on course bathroom.  We were waiting to tee off and I was bored.  I decided to take her cart and hide it around the corner of the building.  "Snicker snicker."  "I'm so danged funny."

She didn't think so.  She came out and started yelling at me.  She found her cart and left only after telling me to do something I couldn't physically do.  I didn't care.  I entertained our group.

After we finished our round, we staggered back to the club for the awards ceremony and a free steak dinner.  On the way back to the club, I was digging in the bag they gave us and found a coupon for a free table dance.  I knew exactly who I was going to have as my personal entertainer.  I found the girl that had cussed me out for hiding her cart and insisted she dance for me.  The other three guys in my group got inspired and used their coupons for her to continue giving me dance after dance.  The indignant look on her face made it all worth while.

The lessons I learned that day were:
1.  Keep strippers in poorly lit places
2.  Breakfast is better with pole dancing
3.  Golf and dancers don't go together
and most importantly
4.  The lap dance is always better when the stripper's angry

The Most Evil Food Known to Man

I'm sure everyone has watched Fear Factor.  And, I'm sure you grossed out as Joe Rogan made contestants eat fried tarantulas or raw sheep eyes.  I had a hard time stomaching some of the atrocities bestowed on the poor souls vying for ten grand.  But there is nothing on that show worse than the culinary obscenity that is Twinkies.

Those repulsive yellow spongy cream filled log of preservatives has been the bane of my existence since I was a child.

I can remember my dear, sweet Momma coming home from the Piggly Wiggly with the groceries and giving me wondrous new treat.  I admired the yellow nugget and bit in.  "Not bad," I thought as I tasted the vanilla sponge cake.

But, that happy feeling was short lived.  I took the next bite and was shocked to taste the filling.  I don't know what cat vomit tastes like.  But, I am sure it is not too far from the taste I had in my mouth.  I immediately spit it out and hacked and gagged my way out of the kitchen.  

As the years have passed by, I my disdain for Twinkies has only grown.  The fact that their illusive expiration date gives them a shelf life longer than a Vampire's life make me think they might not be of this world.  

The unnatural yellow coloring is also suspect.  

Set a Twinkie on your from porch for a week and you will discover two things.  First, the animals in the neighborhood will not touch it.  And, second, it will still be of the same consistency at the end of the experiment.

What conclusion can you reach from this?  Cockroaches and lawyers have found another partner after a nuclear war.

When Pigs Fly

I'm flying out to Saint Louis in a couple weeks.  I'm looking forward to the TSA inspection.  I'm going to double up and get my prostate exam out of the way while I'm there.

I don't fly as often as I used to and am a little rusty on flying protocol.  Things certainly have changed.  

Hopefully, I'll get to fly out on one of Boeing's new 797 StratoSuckers.

But, I believe that I'm sure the company is going to send me out on the Lockheed Bumble Bee.

I pray that I get an aisle seat.  

At least I don't have to go through Atlanta this time.

Porn of Yore

The internet has completely changed the way teenage perverts got their jollies.  Sure, you're a responsible adult and have put up all those firewalls to keep Junior's mind pure and uncorrupted.  Think again folks.  My son's an adult and admitted that he could get past Net Nanny faster than I could log on.  I guess that might have been the beginning of his ambition to be a programmer.

Back in the day, we would have to sneak around and check out the Sears catalog lingerie section.  If we were lucky, there would be a real lingerie catalog laying around the house.

The selections were very Battlestar Galactica inspired.  

Every month we would look forward to the National Geographic arriving.  It was time to sneak into the bathroom and hope there was a naked African tribe being featured.

I ran a statistical analysis of nudity in National Geographic.  The journal would only give us the present of boobies no more than twice a year.  The other ten issues would give us happy penguins of the arctic or hot babes like this.

As we got older, we needed more.  Time to do a little recon around the house.  My dad hid his Playboys underneath the night stand.  That's very clever, old man.  But, not clever enough.

Unfortunately, my dad wasn't a subscriber or regular reader.  I think his stash didn't get an addition more than one or two times a year.

Fortunately, after a while, I learned that older cousins and friends with big brothers were a great source of material.  With the addition of the new stashes we  discovered Penthouse!  Oh happy day.  Boosch le grande.  Who knew such things existed.

As time went on, we built our own collections.  Mine was as big as the library of congress.  

Then we found the greatest piece of literature ever written

I would like to personally thank Xaviera Hollander for making study hall a much more interesting place.  I didn't understand many of the euphamisms she used.  But, my fertile mind was making it up as I went.  That book got passed around so many times.  I surprised we didn't read the words of the pages.

Videos didn't exist back then.  There was no option to watch real porn.  We did have B movies, though.

The constant feast of slasher films and women's prison movies kept us at the twin cinemas every weekend.

There's too much adult material out there today.  There was something special about having to search out, find and hide our porn.  It created what was essentially the longest most fruitful hobby I ever had.