Saturday, February 25, 2006

Female Hockey Players do it without an Audience

I must admit, I'm kind of glad the Olympics is finally over. It's like this giant vacuous hype machine that takes over the world every couple of years. Sort of like general elections, only you don't get cookies or a sticker. The arial skiing is kind of cool, though. Mostly because the entire team from Belarus is so fucking hot I've had a hardon since the opening ceremonies, but also because you wonder how they learned to do this without all becoming parapalegics. Miranda told me that they practice by launching into a pool with special bubbles, which in turn made me picture Dmitri Dashinski soaking wet with special bubbles running all over his svelte Eastern European body, forcing me to borrow a notebook.

Speaking of Miranda, the Olympics and special bubbles, I enjoyed the loveliest of times with Milkshake drinking punch with special powers, talking high school fags and watching the figure skating finalists make complete asses out of themselves. Seriously. One girl skated into a wall. Incredulous, Miranda and I could only laugh as the little Japanese girl, close to tears, proceded to spend the majority of her set on her ass rather than her skates. As Miranda put it, "Are they just letting people wander into Italy and compete? This is supposed to be the fucking Olympics!" True enough, and I was growing bored with figure skating, so I didn't feel that bad when I revealed the final standings to her an hour before competition was over. God bless the International Date Line.

Oh, and if any of you are unfamiliar with 'Walking Sickness', go out and catch it immediately. It fucking rules. I have a whole trashcan full of snot-soaked tissues you can borrow. Sure, I was basically a human mucus factory and sounded like Demi Moore with a trachaeotomy, but I felt better than usual (probably all the tea), got 5 days off work (the star of Ghost does NOT answer phones) and went out every night (scoring quite a few sympathy drinks along the way). My only wish is that it would turn chronic. To cap the night with a cherry, I even succeeded in snagging a hot boy despite my aural skills deteriorating to those of a deafmute with great hair. Oral skills suffered no such setback.

Lastly, all my apologies to Milkshake for totally dashing out of Tunnel Top before the ass-shaking could commence. You did get to meet a little asian girl named G-Money, though. And, the elevator boy made a brief appearance, but then proceeded to dash out of the bar at breakneck speed. Apparently, the thought of having to do all those Hail Mary's again scared the bejesus out of him. No matter, he's with the Lord now. But seriously, I swear on the life of Three's Company's Mr. Furley that I will never ditch you to go make out again.

Oh, wait...


Wednesday, February 22, 2006

This post sucks dick.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Shaun White...mmm...

So I was watching a little Olympic Mens Half-Pipe Snowboarding a couple days ago and came to many startling conclusions.

1. Shaun White spells his name like Boy Wonder, rather than the more common Sean or Shawn.
2. In Torino, his nickname translates to the Italian: El Tomate Valante or something like that. Ask our resident Italian Oregonian; again I refer to the one and only Boy Wonder.
3. I was this close to rooting for another athelete in this event, Mason Aguirre, because if you say his name really fast it sounds like “Mason and Geary” which as every Tenderloinite knows is where Jack in the Box is. He didn’t even make it to the podium, although it’s kind of fitting (considering our gang) and why I dub this fine rider the Official Snowboarder of the Tenderloin (Go Mason! You suc…I mean rule!).
4. If I ever meet Shaun White in person, I’m gonna be all like: “So Shaun, yeah, it’s Miranda. Anyway, I heard you give nice solid pumps in the flats. Yeah? Wanna teach me how to go big sometime? Did you say nineteen? Um…yeah, whatever. That’s totally cool. I’m nineteen too.”
5. Does he even skate anymore? Or did The Tomato quit his pro-skateboarding career already?
6. I know I said I’d stop after that one pro-skier (mmm…Sexy Rexy. Cut from marble and Canada’s answer to Big Air Skiing), but can’t a girl bag a pro-snowboarder before she dies?
7. Bob Kostas is a dick. If I was nineteen, which of course I am, I would totally use my gold medal to pick up chicks. Note to Bob Kostas who is of course reading our blog: YOU ARE A LOSER WHO NEEDS TO GET LAID. YOU ONLY MADE FUN OF THAT BEAUTIFUL LITTLE TOMATO BECAUSE YOU YOURSELF WISH YOU HAD SOMETHING THAT YOU COULD WEAR AROUND YOUR NECK THAT WOULD MAKE WOMEN WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU (psst…your crappy tie isn’t working).
8. Shaun White can fly my tomato anytime.
9. I am nineteen.
10. “Shut up QC, I so am nineteen! No, Shaun, it’s okay. I have no idea what that fag is talking about. Buy beer? I can’t do that silly! What? No, I didn’t just say ‘I could ride you until you cried’, I said ‘do you want to play Monopoly’. Yeah. I can see where you might have gotten confused. Why do we call that guy Pant? Oh, ‘cause…um…let’s just make out.”

Sunday, February 12, 2006

I guess they already know

Elizabeth Taylor has AIDS. I knew it.


Saturday, February 11, 2006

QC the Starfucker

This is an open letter calling for more physical science in our schools. The average American possesses, at best, only a basic working knowledge of physics. It is estimated that less than ten percent of the population can actually recall a single formula or describe a fundamental law. Few understand just how indisposable physics is to, and indeed responsible for, all modern scientific thought. It is this very ignorance which leads to events such as ME GETTING KICKED OUT OF SOME SHITTY PARTY FOR KNOCKING MAGNETS OFF A FRIDGE.

Thats right. I was ejected from a very shitty party for knocking magnets off a fridge. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. The night began as I found myself leaving work teamless. Counts was busy with homework, Miranda was watching the Olympics (??), and Big D was doing whatever it is people in Arizona do. Looking at rocks, shooting Native Americans, how should I know? A quick call to Jane Brady produced news of a party. Not just a party, this was supposed to be a kickass, balls to the wall bash, complete with two stories, a sweet garden, and a kissing booth staffed by someone so hot he'd make God himself come in his pants, if he wasn't dead.

Supposed to be. The party was lame, the kissing booth was empty (save for the frizzy-haired shrew I probably would decline CPR from), the crowd sucked, and the music sucked worse. At one point I told the hostess that if "My Humps" was played one more time, her laptop would soon be traveling one way to the sidewalk via the open window. Desperate messages were sent to Counts, all in vain. It wasn't all bad, though; I ended my dry spell with the help of a hot little Mexicano who, as it turns out, is a local celebrity thanks to everyones second favorite weekly SF publication.

And thereupon, things stopped making sense, and I was unpolitely asked to leave. Because of the magnets. Sure, they got knocked off cause the Mexican boy and I were furiously making out against the refrigerator, but it was supposed to be a party. And they were just fucking magnets, they weren't even holding any pictures up. Trying to reason with the girl proved futile, as something as complex as the rules of magnetism was apparently too cerebral. I decided a better idea would be to loudly let the guests know that their hostess was a racist, which I was fairly sure would be funny if she actually was. I was right. And to boot, we were kicked out of our cab home, again for the making out. Apparently the cab driver had never been to San Francisco before, and had seen quite enough dirty faggots on the Brokeback Mountain ad in the Chronicle. The sex, however, was eye-rolling mind-blowing hip-aching-climax good. It would have to be, considering the foreplay alone had gotten us ejected on two separate occasions.


Thursday, February 09, 2006

"AIDS is funny!"

So while hanging out with the Ninjas the other night, QC and I came up with the best game ever. It's called:

How do you know if you have AIDS?


QC: How do you know if you have AIDS?
M: How?
QC: When even Count Dracula wont suck your blood.
M: Hahahaha!! Okay, do you know if you have AIDS?
QC: How?
M: When your face finally has more sores than your crotch.
QC and M: Hahahahahaha!!!!

Just thought you might want to know.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Courting in the 21st Century

Perhaps it was the two episodes of Sex in the City we had just watched. Perhaps it was the cold beers we were consuming. Or, perhaps it was the fact that Milkshake was trimming my pit hair at the time. Regardless, of the reason, we had decided that there had to be a better way to get a date. Let me first clarify that we mean 'date' in the traditional sense of an event or activity two people share prior to banging, in the hopes that it will lead to said bang. The Team Tenderloin sense usually looks something like running into that guy you banged two weeks ago at the bar, and avoiding him like the plague cause you have no idea what his name is.

But I digress. In the span of my entire life, I have probably been on something like four actual dates, all of them mind numbing. They generally went something like this:

Queer Comandeer: This place is really good.
Stupid Fag: I know, I love Chinese food.
QC: This is a Thai restaurant.
SF: Well Orientals are the best cooks, anyways. Didn't you totally cry at Oprah yesterday? Oh my god, I was bawling.
QC: I wish you were dead.
SF: What?
QC: I said I don't feel well and have to go home. Thanks for dinner.
SF: But we haven't even gotten our entrees, and I only have seven dollars on me.
QC: Good luck with that.
[Exit stage right]

There had to be a better way to get laid in a socially approved, albeit antiquated and boring way than this, Milkshake and I reasoned. And when the answer came, it was clear as day. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you The Makeout Date. The Makeout Date is virtually infallible, as you would only schedule one with a person you're already attracted to, there is no risk of having to sit through a bad movie, and it lasts like three hours, tops. I can't believe we never thought of this before. Check out how smoothly it runs:

QC: Hi, how are you?
Prey: Pretty good.
QC: I didn't ask for your life story. [Attacks]

See, perfect. Fuck convention.


Monday, February 06, 2006

Ready to Strike

All y'all gon' be jealous 'cause I got Ninjas living three blocks from me.

Real live Ninjas.

Let's see if they'll make the Team Tenderloin grade (seeing as we have very high standards).

To be continued...