Caribbean Adventure: Stage Shows, A Belly Flop Contest and Coming Home

This is the last post about our Caribbean Cruise Adventure. Hope you liked the series.

In the middle of the week of our cruise, I came down with a fucking sinus infection from hell. My chest was congested with gallons of snot, I was running a fever and my throat was sore to the point of bleeding. Still, I carried on. I pushed through my physical woes and told my body to basically go fuck itself and that I was going to push forward, full snot ahead. I wasn't going to let a little thing like being sick as a dog get in the way of our good times.

One thing I did to take my mind off the mucous hacking, forehead splitting headaches and sweating like a crippled obese guy, covered in honey and surrounded by a village of starving Ethiopians, was to pop copious amounts of acetaminophen tablets and Valium into my gullet.

One night we went to a show on the boat that featured a comedian and an aerial acrobatic act. I had taken a Valium before going to the theater, which was bigger than I thought it would be. We take a seat in the very front row, an hour early.

After the hour passes, the curtains part and right away, a guy in tights is running wildly towards this bungee cord/rope thing hanging down from the ceiling and grabs the motherfucker like he just caught a crazed dragon by the tail. Meanwhile, there is his female partner, with a ton of eye make up and she's doing about a dozen flips, backwards, from one end of the stage to the other. The dude hanging on the cord is shouting something in a foreign language about this time and with the Valium pushing me into another dimension of reality, I'm not sure what to make of it. I thought I was hallucinating all of it.

With the sheer force of his run and his ability to shift his body just right, the acrobat takes the cord and rides it, flying around the entire interior circumference of the theater. Around he goes, feet going up, head going down. Now he's holding on with just his ankles. When he gets back to the stage he flips and lands back on his feet. This guy is a freaking monkey!

Before I can take a fuckin' breath, the dude runs quickly to the back of the stage and then runs even more quickly towards the bungee cord up in front. All eyes were on this crazy bastard. He clutches onto the cord and with only a shot glass worth of space to spare, he takes flight and barely misses the top of my wife's head and in that split second of witnessing him doing that, I'm thinking (A) If his foot hits the top of her head, he's going to goddamn scalp my wife and I'll never hear the end of it and (B) Wow! This is cool!

But I don't know which came first. With the Valium, who knows?

An hour of this entertaining show went by and the comedian that took the stage after the aerial act was funny but not as much as he thought he was and, in fairness, he did have a mind blowing act to follow.

During one of our days on the ship, we went to the pool deck and promptly learned it was a good idea to have sandals on your feet or you would suffer the blistering torment of the scalding hot cement floor around the pool area and the flesh-bubbling hot deck floor with the lounge chairs above the pools. I think I lost a pound of foot flesh during one of those days I forgot to wear shoes of some sort.

Anyway, on one of those days, they held a Belly Flop Contest. You could win either 1st, 2nd or 3rd prize based on how big a splash you could make with your portly flab pot of ugliness. You were also judged by the audience (the standing crowd) by the great technique you showed when leaping and slamming your bulging balloon of whale belly into the water.

Only six guys volunteered, even though the top prize was a thousand dollars. Not a bad reward, I thought, for thoroughly embarrassing yourself in front of a sizable crowd and having a huge red painful splotch on your belly from the hardcore impact of your overflowing gut meeting H2o.

It was all fun and games as one by one took their turns, making their crowd-pleasing splashes (not drowning anyone by the ensuing tidal waves) until one hairy old dude in a pair of loose swim trunks had his fifteen minutes of fame. He launched himself with all the dignity of coked up walrus and created a tremendous belly flop in the water. Everyone applauded.

There's always one bad apple in the bunch, as they say, and in this case, two very large fat white buns and butt crack was in this bunch and were exposed as the old fat dude grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up. Unfortunately, his ill-fitted trunks did not come up with him and everyone was treated to a sight that likely made everyone want to skip their next meal at the buffet that night.

I think I heard the cries of children and maybe a few of the unborn.

Now this pic isn't of the dude who had the wardrobe malfunction during the belly flop contest but it sure looks like him. This wasn't even taken on our ship. I just needed this for my post. This guy looks like he's been stuck on a cruise ship for about a month, however. All you do is eat and eat till your stomach bloats while you're on the boat.

The host, the cruise director of our ship, made a joke about his crack and proceeded, after milking some laughs, to move on to the next contestant. The old fat dude ended up winning the bronze and received a Royal Caribbean hat and a lifetime of future therapy as his 3rd place award. Hurrah!

It's too bad we couldn't throw darts at him.

The last day on our ship was a lot of limb-breaking, mind-numbing fun as we woke up exhausted and struggled with our cumbersome luggage at five in the morning, going down decks and walking from checkpoint to checkpoint. With documents, customs forms and passports in hand, along with carrying heavy luggage, we somehow managed to get from security checkpoint to security checkpoint, then shuttle bus to airport -without any problem.

That is until we reached Orlando International Airport. It was at the airport security checkpoint that we had our biggest problem. When we tried to get our carry on bag through the x-ray scanner, while emptying our pockets into a plastic tray, the alarm went off and a security person took us off to the side. I was hoping she wasn't going to do a cavity search on me because she looked like she was "on the rag" and her pussy cramps were pissing her off, plenty.

She took our "suspicious" bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile, both of us voiced our surprise at the sudden situation. The security woman said she was looking for a container that made the scanner go off for whatever reason. I asked her if it was a can of shaving cream or the little bottle of rubbing alcohol. I pulled the lighter out of my pocket, at one point and asked, "Could this have set it off?'

She said, "No." None of the above.

I thought, briefly, how much fun I could have by asking her it was the bomb in my underwear that was setting the alarm off. Then I realized how severe lack of sleep could alter your judgement on what was stupid and what wasn't.

Finally, after digging out numerous breakable souvenirs and an entire rumpled suit ensemble, she found the dangerous culprit. It wasn't a lighter, an aerosol spray can or flammable rubbing alcohol that had to be disposed of... It was suntan lotion. She said I couldn't take it on board the plane. I said that's okay and to just throw it away. The lighter and the other things were okay but not suntan lotion. I don't get it.

I was already nervous about showing all the right papers at the right points and getting home alright without complications so getting rid of a fucking bottle of suntan lotion meant nothing to me in light of my goal.

In closing, we were picked up by my wife's parents at the CVG Airport and eventually made it home after several stops. After dragging our souvenir booty and hernia-inducing luggage up our apartment steps, we both collapsed on the bed, face first. My cat immediately jumped up, pranced between us and lay on my back. I didn't have the energy to shake him off.

Looking back, we had a lot of wonderful, exciting experiences which will stay in our minds for the rests of our lives. I wouldn't trade any of them for hardly anything. I'm sure I've left some things out but I feel like I've mentioned all of the main events that happened. If I didn't write everything that happened with words, I think I covered it with the pictures that were taken.

Speaking of pictures, here are some miscellaneous photos that were taken on the ship, ocean or the islands we traveled to and from.

Cozumel, Mexico

Orlando International Airport trams and terminals

This Caribbean adventure we took was just the kind of relaxing, learning and fantastic event we needed in our lives. I'm glad we did it and we will always treasure the memories this trip provided us.

Links to all the posts (except this one), from beginning to the end, in this series:

Back From My Caribbean Adventure

First Day Nearly Killed Me

Enjoying The Beach in The Bahamas

Grand Cayman Islands

The Top Deck Action

Inside My Pirate Ship... Argh!

Swimming With The Dolphins in Cozumel, Mexico

I've got a buttload of more photos of our trip on Facebook, if you're hankering to see more. My next post will be about sex and chocolate pudding. Ahoy!

Popular Misconceptions

There have been many popular misconceptions coming and thankfully going after they have been crushed by repeated explanations of the truth of things since the dawn of man. The truth usually needs to be repeated due to humankind's inability to accept new information or the lack of wanting to read and/or learn. And then there are the occasions when even that isn't entirely true. Sometimes, stuff falls through the crack of your life that you missed finding out about.

Hopefully, your crack (not the one in your ass) isn't that wide. Heh heh.

When They Hit The Earth, Meteorites Are Hot

I imagine you have, like I, seen plenty of cartoons and sci-fi movies where a meteor falls to Earth (at this point it becomes a meteorite) and once it is embedded into the ground, car or some poor unfortunate soul's head -it is glowing red and smoke is coming off of it. This is a famous misconception. The truth is that small meteorites are cold when they hit Earth; in fact, numerous ones are found with frost on them.

Think about it. A meteorite has been in near-absolute zero temperature of space for perhaps billions of years, so the interior, of course, is extremely frigid. The tremendous speed at which a meteor travels is enough to melt it's outer layer, but any molten material will be swiftly blown off and the interior of the meteor doesn't have time to heat up because rocks are shitty conductor of heat. Another thing: Atmospheric drag can slow small meteors to terminal velocity by the time they hit the ground, giving them ample time to cool down.

Blind Bats

A common misconception perpetuated by its use in metaphors and similes, bats have fairly normal eyesight, although they are very photosensitive and often dazzled by excessive light. Bats, however do often use echolocation in situations where their eyesight fails them, such as times of darkness.

The Spinning Of Toilet Water

Toilet water does not spin in a certain direction in coordination to which hemisphere its at on Earth. That phenomenon only occurs in weather patterns hundreds of miles in size, like hurricanes, due to the rotation of Earth. So no matter where you are, your turd will always go the same direction. Isn't that comforting?

Humans Evolved From Monkeys

Bear with me and read about the following misconception, carefully and thoughtfully.

A popular misconception about Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection is that Darwin claimed we evolved from chimpanzees. Darwin never actually stated this, nor will any respectable biologist. This myth was actually spread by religious zealots during the nineteenth century in order to try and discredit Darwin and promote anti-evolutionism among the religious. Humans and chimpanzees are actually cousins (I have a cousin that appears to be a direct descendant of a chimp with all the goddamn hair on his back). Humans share about 94% of our DNA with chimpanzees and both evolved from a common ancestor, thought to be Sahelanthropus tchadensis, around seven million years ago.

"As Fit As A Fiddle"

This common old saying comes with the misinterpretation as meaning "fit" to being "healthy" -which is a nineteenth-century definition. Its original meaning was "suitable" and it is still being used in that context in the sentence, "fit for a king." "As fit as a fiddle" means "as appropriate as can be, not "in excellent health."

Remember gang, no matter how much you diddle your fiddle, it will not make you fit. Did that help? No? Oh, well.

Well guys and gals, those are all the misconceptions I have for you now. I hope you enjoyed learning new things or reading about some tired old info you already knew about. Heh heh. Either way, I've gotten it out of my system and I'm watching it go round and round and round here in the bathroom.

Supposed Scandals and China Nonsense

What's this sick, hardly disguised fascination with celebrity men being caught cheating on their girlfriends or wives? Every other channel on TV I bounced back and forth to, yesterday, had Tiger Woods' public apology video on it. This is yet another example of blatant, cold blooded ignorance, coupled with greed.

Woods shouldn't have to apologize profusely to anyone but his wife. Yeah, he's a sex addict or whatever. I don't know for certain or care. I certainly don't give a rat's ass how many women he's fucked. By the way, Tiger, I thought I'd let ya know.... They could be boinkin' ya because you're rich and famous and not because of your less-than-sparkling personality. Not that you would care about that or anything. Heh heh.

Pressing onward... The thinly veiled spectacle was on TV all day and night, yesterday. The media was feasting on the supposed "big story" like a retarded, cross-eyed lion chewing on a zebra. No offense to the mentally impaired. Just my hearty offense to the media.

Like the David Letterman "big story" about him and his interns before Tiger and whoever before that -Whatever is going on in anyone's personal lives has nothing to do with the rest of us -unless real help is wanted -and should not be exploited as an excuse that it is somehow "news". It is a greed-oriented media/government and/or corporate kind of mind trick that should be exploited as the real news.

These supposed scandals certainly should not involve the media. The media believes it is their job of publicizing "news" that really isn't news. I'm hopeful you aren't blind to the fact that it is all done for profit. The bigger the supposed "scandal" (which isn't really a scandal), the more money they make with higher ratings. We, the lesser- We, the consumers- Are tools for their greed. As long as people keep tuning in to these non-scandals, non-stories and buying newspapers, books and whatever media they are selling about their worthless shit, the more Corporate America will keep putting it out there.

To the corporate ran media the motto is: To hell with how the people of those "scandals", the victims directly involved, feel about being publicly disgraced. That is the main message they send out and it is obvious to any individual who can think or feel.

I say, "Fuck that!" And I also say,"Fuck the kind of society who feels that intruding on a celebrity or non-celebrity's personal life is anything resembling news." I can't speak for the rest of the world but the United States is completely fucked up. This country's society seems to be the most puritanical, backward and hung up on sex than any other country in the world.

Do you want to know what news you don't see more of that reflects the reality of life? And is the real news.

Try: Poverty, the hunger of millions of people, global warming, deforestation, pollution, future deadly climate change -for the real story. The real news.

Too much news and reality for ya, America? Better divert your eyes, mind and ability to fight for what's right, as you usually do! Movies, video games, sports idolizing and other diversions of reality.... HERE WE COME! Come? Fuck it, we're here already here and have been for so long that generations of people have been brainwashed into thinking it is normal.

And what's the big deal about Obama meeting up with the Dalai Lama. The government is worried about what Beijing, China thinks? It's none of their fucking business. I don't care what kind of threat or concern they feel with the Dalai Lama meeting the U.S. president. The Dalai Lama, someone who teaches and understands what real peace is all about is absolutely to be thought of, highly -and their problem with him is absolute nonsense.

Even more importantly, so what if we owe Beijing, China a trillion dollars? China's corporations owe us the lives they've taken with their shitty products. In my opinion, they should get down on their knees and apologize for sending/selling the U.S. countless poisoned bags of pet food, lead-laden children's toy trinkets, recent poorly produced lethal cars and and more. Fuck you, government and corporations of China! Go take a hot lead and melamine bath! Before you do, be sure to ask the American media to join you!

Thank you and have a rip-dandy day! :)

A Slightly New Direction With PC

About the 3 part series of posts: It was something I had to get out of my system- something to get out of the way before I start raising some real hell around here.

Before, the website was, for the most part, less personal, always kind of covering up what crap I was going through at the time. But since my outlook has changed and I truly don't give a shit anymore (in a good way-for me), I'm not going to write for the entertainment of the readers, but for myself. Self therapy, if you will. Sure, there will be the funny/serious observations, pics, videos and so forth but from now on- I'm really going to get real and more brutal with the honesty- with everything and everyone, as a matter of fact. A lot of fuckers won't like what I have to say and I think you know how much I care about that.

Also, I don't care about winning any sort of popular blog contest.  I notice many bloggers these days are whoring themselves out to the extreme in the social networking fray.  Joining this, twittering that.  Ha ha.  And hey,  I might do the twitter thing now and then or whatever other new and ridiculous bullshit is out there, but frankly, I don't need the attention or numbers for blog visits to give me a boner.  I'm not that insecure.  Personally, I think it's sad what lengths some folks will go to for fame or money, for that matter.  The excuses used for it all are lamer yet.

Like I said, I'm doing the blog entirely for me now.  If ya like what I got- that's fine.  If not-that's fine, too.

That's it for this post.  Take care.

Face Stomping

Hee Ho.

What delightful fun, Mr. Coleman is having. Ooops. It was an accident. Giggle` Giggle. High fives to everyone around him.

Wallowing In Shallow

Big deal about the Golden Globes. The only reason I have ever watched them in the past was in the hopes of seeing up-close, partial boobie shots of my "favorite" actresses.



Hee ho.



What's so horrendously stupid is the media making a big deal about who is dressed in whatever brand name/"artificial" person as they have year after year. Who freaking cares?

I just wanna see boobies.



Most of these celebrities have so much goddamn makeup painted on their faces, they resemble department store mannequins. Have you ever seen one without make up. Scares the shit out of me when I see a picture of one. I want to throw up my hands and say, "Are there anyone of these media-worshiped people going to get to anything close to real looking. Not real close. I don't want to be startled and make a mess in my pants."



Anyway....



We've known a long time that you look pretty much like the rest of us. Tell your agent that your face needs to look like you've gotten out of the house a couple times in your lifetime.



And for all the rest of these wankers who buy those paparazzi rags over the counter. You can stand up and be counted as being just as shallow. Who's give a shit about celebrity lives?



Chance are, they may be as fucked up as the rest of ours. Again, who cares?



I shall now get off my soapbox and open my latest boobie magazine. I thank you, gentle reader, for your patience. Please..... enjoy my sarcasm. Goodbye for now. Don't get hit by any metal trains. See ya.

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

New great video from Offspring. I loved the song. Had a lot of melody and frantic energy to it. The production value is high. The effects are well done. The imagery is pretty wild and has that creepy old film feeling throughout.




My take on the video's plot is this: Guy receives the gift of music and then uses it to gain fame and fortune. Eventually, he becomes corrupted by the music business. Then, as fast as all that was good happened to him, it is all taken away.

My Ode To Farts (Part 2)

Joseph Pujol, a man of singular talent, was born in Marseilles, France in 1857. In his early youth it became clear that he was a natural entertainer, singing, dancing, and performing for his parents' house guests. He had a love for music, and over the years he became handy with a trombone, but it was a different wind instrument that led to his eventual fame and fortune.


Young Joseph became alarmed one day when he was swimming in the sea, and took a deep breath before submerging. As he inhaled, he felt icy cold water entering through his rear end. He immediately returned to shore, and was astonished to see a great deal of seawater pouring from his backside. A doctor assured him that this was nothing to be concerned about, and it seems that Joseph took this advice to heart, exploring his strange new ability with a healthy curiosity.

While in the army, he mentioned his childhood sea-bathing experience to his buddies. They immediately wanted to know if he could do it again, so on a day's leave soon afterward he went out to the shore to swim and experiment. He successfully reenacted the hydraulics of his childhood experience there and even discovered that by contracting his abdomen muscles, he could intentionally take up as much water as he liked and eject it in a powerful stream.

Demonstrating this ability back at the barracks later provided the soldiers with no end of amusement, and soon Pujol started to practice with air instead of water, giving him the ability to produce a variety of sounds. This new development provided even more enjoyment for his buddies. It was then and there, in the army, that Pujol invented a nickname for himself that would later become a stage name synonymous throughout Europe with helpless, hysterical laughter: "Le Petomane" (translation: "The Fartiste").

After his stint in the army, Pujol returned to Marseille and to a bakeshop his father set him up in, on a street that, today, proudly bears the name "rue Pujol." At the age of 26 he married Elizabeth Henriette Oliver, the 20-year-old daughter of a local butcher. Pujol enjoyed performing, so in the evenings he entertained at local music halls by singing, doing comedy routines, and even playing his trombone backstage between numbers. He continued amusing his friends privately with his "other" wind instrument, but only at their suggestion and urging did he decide to turn this parlor trick into a full-fledged act for public audiences.

Pujol worked up a Le Petomane routine, and with some friends he rented a space in Marseille to perform it in. They promoted the show heavily themselves through posters and handouts, but word-of-mouth soon took over and they packed the house every night. Pujol's was a good act by any era's standards, but back then his scatology hit a raw nerve, and hit it hard, at an especially vulnerable time.

He developed the act in the provinces until he reached Paris in 1892. Insisting on seeing no one else, he persuaded the director of the Moulin Rouge, M Vidler, to engage him. From the first night he was a sensation.

He took the stage in a red coat, a red silk collar and black satin breeches. He began by explaining each impersonation that was to follow.

"This is a little girl... this is a bride on her wedding night (small noise) ... the morning after (loud rasping noise) ... a dressmaker tearing calico (ten seconds of ripping cloth) ... and this a cannon (loud thunder)."

The audience were at first astounded. Then there would be an uncontrollable laugh, followed by more until the whole audience was wriggling in their seats, convulsed. Women, bound rigid in corsets, were escorted from the hall by nurses, cleverly placed by the manager so that they could he seen in their bright white uniforms.

Pujol embarked on a highly successful tour of Europe and North Africa. On his return, he split from the Moulin Rouge and formed his own variety company at the Pompadour Theatre.

He continued to top the bill there until Europe was launched into a madness of its own in 1914. World War 1 had started. His sons were mobilised and Pujol never went back on stage. He settled in Marseilles to run his bakeries and then moved to Toulon where he established a thriving biscuit factory. He died in 1945, aged 88, and was buried in the cemetery of La Valette-du-Var, where his grave can still be seen today. The Sorbonne offered his family a large sum of money to study his body after his death, but they refused the offer.

Thirty Seconds Of Fame

YES, I AM FULLY AWARE OF MY FAILURE TO BLOG.

It's been a whole damned week since my last post. I've been a very bad boy and I shall certainly try to do better. With that said, let me share some news that's sure to titillate you, your comrades and the entire hootin', hollerin', square dancin' bunch of freakazoids living underneath your roof. Ready? Here it is: My pussys have made it on tv.

I'm not talking about my harem of female blog groupies. Lord knows I have many. (snicker snicker-hee ho) This is what I did: I sent a picture of my cats, Victor and Mufasa, to Channel 5 Morning News. They have been showing pics of viewer's pets during the weather forecast part of the show. I was sure they wouldn't show mine, but I thought, what the hell. I emailed the picture and Eric Green, the weather dude, showed it to THE PEOPLE, adding where they were from and their names. The anchor woman and guy on the show said they were adorable and oooowed and ahhhhhed. Unfortunately, I was on the crapper at the time but my wife saw it and told me about it. Actually, she was shouting at me to get off the pot while their picture was being shown on tv. I tried, with all the determination of a woman trying to push out a set of triplets, but failed to "cut it short" in time.

The weather guy wrote back, "I love your kitties." I should have replied, "Then send me a forty pound bag of cat chow to feed the little porkers." (See picture of them both in my earlier post to get my meaning)

Anyway, I told the cats they were tv stars now and they just looked at me as if I were a raving loon. Funny- they always give me that look. Ah, well.