LA Comedy Writer

Over the weekend it was a balmy 75 degrees in beautiful Huntington Beach, so, figuring I’m in the best shape I’ll ever be, I went to the pool for a couple of hours. While lying on your stomach, you ever get the feeling an insect has crawled into your crack? It happened to me, about 15 minutes into my tan. I felt this sudden uneasiness. My mind was playing some crazy fucking tricks on me. I couldn’t figure out if it was some poisonous centipede, or just the mesh from my swimsuit lining, but it started at my crack, and seemed to be inching its way toward the “exit”. As a side note, this never happens anywhere else but the pool or beach. With people around, I couldn’t just reach back there for a good old hound dog scratch, so I tried a few butt-cheek scrunches to see if it would ebb. No such luck. I think this is where a gay man has a distinct advantage. They’ve got butt muscles (for obvious reasons) that could snap a redwood in two. A poor gnat wouldn’t stand a chance. I also tried to casually spread my cheeks as if partaking in a proctologist exam, figuring if the bug had lots of room to maneuver, why stay in one place? After all, if you find yourself alone in a baseball stadium, don’t you have an urge to run the bases? If you’ve never had the bug experience, I can only describe it as similar to having an itch beneath a cast, multiplied by a 100 megaton bomb. I finally had to give in. I sidled over to a beach umbrella, and backed into it, like a bear scratching his ass on a tree. Ah, relief!

Officially, I’m now terrified of my iPod. I really enjoy popping the earphones in and listening to a little Adam Carolla podcast, while sipping my Starbucks in the morning. Invariably, at some point some boob wants to talk to me. Now, I have the deluxe earphones which you jam a 1/4 inch from your brain, and it filters out the outside world. I do this so I can hear the deep, rich baritone of Carolla’s voice. Anything else is unacceptable, but I digress. Regardless of how clean I keep my ears (and I do one of those acid-like rinses at least once a week), when I pull the earphones out to hear the barrista ask me for the two-hundredth straight time, if I want whipped cream, there’s always a little glob of wax, dangling from the phones, like pretty tinsel on a Christmas tree. Embarrassing? You betcha. Not quite to the level of the time a young lass went to pick a little hair off my collar, and it was still attached to my ear, but I think you get the picture. There was nowhere to hide, and all I could do was hope everyone around me was too wrapped up in their mundane lives to notice the candle hanging off my earphones. By the way, this is the same reason why, back in my ribald youth, I refused to share my cocaine straw. Yeah, I was a pariah for a while, but the risk of a snot bubble being on the end of a straw I was about to pass to a lovely stripper, eventually got me clean. And just look at me now!

Final thought(s) for the day: “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow. Learn as if you’ll live forever”. Mahatma Ghandi

“Fuck like your parents will be home any minute.”  Bags