Photo With Caption, Men's Room Edition

Seen over a toilet in a New York City men's room. Click on pic to view readable version.

I laughed so hard I pissed all over the seat.

It's just... icky.

Help me out. Can someone please tell me why breast cancer gets pink ribbons, brooches, walkathons, corporate co-branding, TV specials and supermarket check-out coupons, while prostate cancer gets... nothing?

I suspect it's because everyone loves a nice pair of tits, but nobody's interested in the gland hidden up a guy's ass.

Photo Without Caption

Puttin' on the Mitzvah

This past weekend Mrs. Pink & I had a great time at a bat mitzvah. A bat mitzvah is the jewish equivalent of confirmation, except entering adulthood is a lot more work for a jewish kid than it is for a goy like me.

For example, to be confirmed there are only two words you have to say: your confirmation name, and "amen", and I'm not even sure about the "amen" part. Nobody but the bishop can hear you so if you somehow manage to screw up, no big deal. Conversely, to be mitzvah'd (if that's even a word) you must read passages from the torah, which is written in hebrew, using correct pronounciation and pitch, in front of the entire congregation. A torah is a huge scroll which looks like it weighs 25 pounds. It takes two other people to roll it under the reader's eyes. Even if the torah were in english on a teleprompter, I don't think I could do it.

Which is probably why the bat mitzvah party consisted of two catered receptions in two days, with open bar, free valet parking, a DJ, an MC, four dancers, two photographers, a videographer, a roving magician, a production number featuring the guest of honor and her family, with four flat-panel monitors showing highlights of the party as they happened; while my confirmation party involved a six foot hero and Charles Chips.

Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays

The first thing I saw this morning was two empty bottles on the nightstand. Astroglide and Macallan. It's going to be a good week.

Pink's Grotto

Pink's putting in a pool!

Today's agenda...

shrewness wins anilingus! Not because she was right, but because she lives close enough for a booty call.

I haven't switched to new blogger and I don't intend to until forced. Two reasons: 1) like bluto, I don't give a rats ass and 2) I don't like that the "search all blogs" link is gone from new blogger. Why would they do that? People want to search more, not less.

My 16-yo stepdaughter has done it again. We let her have another party Sat. night mit hot tub and believe it or not, left no rubbers or jizz slicks in the water. However, she like most other 16-yos is a trendy little snapper and as such loves to be seen drinking Starbucks. Up until now I eschewed the whole Seattle "we're so proud of our coffee and panini" mythos in favor of Folger's in the morning, occasionally treating myself to a supersize Dunkin' Donuts with half-and-half. (As an aside, Dunkin has gone way downhill in recent years, stay tuned for that rant).

So that she can be seen as like, totally awesome, my 16-yo brings home a bag of Starbucks French Roast and brews some up for her guests. I of course exercise eminent domain over party assets and grab a cup. Not bad, I thought, but kinda extreme.

That was four days ago. Today I can't get enough of this liquid crack. I tried going back to my old Folger's and nearly spit it out, how could I have wasted so many mornings drinking that supermarket merde? I'm done, I'm spoiled, I'm relegated to a life of paying triple the amount I once did for coffee. I'm having some right now. It's worth every penny. And I'm getting like three times as much work done every day.

Thanks 16-yo, I owe ya one. Now if I can only learn to enjoy Panic at the Disco.