Everybody Is Not Crazy About a Sharp Dressed Man; My Day In a Tux

I hate tuxes. (I was once told in a writing class I never took, that your first sentence should set up your piece. And I think that sentence is a pretty strong example of that.)

So I have to get a tux for a wedding I am going to. Did you get that? Not in, but going to. What horse shit is that? I could see if I was in the wedding party, fine. But to go to a wedding? I will have to eat three dinners and just move my chair to the bar to begin to recoup my losses here.

I don’t know whoever came up with the idea of the tuxedo. But if there is a hell, I hope they are there, suffering the worst eternal fate possible. Like, I don't know; WEARING A TUXEDO! While being forced to listen to Celine Dion. In French. Suffer, you sick bastard.

I don’t like tuxedos. I have only worn a tux a handful of times as I have been in a wedding or two. I actually didn't wear a tux to any of my proms. BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO! And I don’t care what those whiny ass bridesmaids say, tuxes are far more uncomfortable than whatever garish nonsense they are wearing.

"Testicles are not part of the deal."

First, the whole process is quite demeaning. You have to go to some hawty tawty store where some handsy little jerkoff has to measure you. They give you a generic white shirt to get your chest measurements. I am sure they wash it after every fitting. They also make you wear a pair of generic pants to get those measurements. Note to the fellas; don’t go to Men’s Wearhouse freeballing. They will NOT like the way you look. Then some dude will run a measuring tape over various parts of your body. I am sure the broad who is Wonder Woman didn't get man handled like I did. I told my guy to not make the chest too tight, as I still had some chest days to do before the wedding. He looked at me and said “Do you even lift, bro?” Asshole.

So let me get this straight. I will most likely wear an undershirt. Then a button down shirt. Then a vest. Then a suit jacket. Then turn the heat on in the oven by restricting any airflow with a tie. How is this comfortable? How is this sexy? I’m pretty sure if you put one of those ghost huntery type heat cams on me, my pits and FUPA would be red. No wonder overheating drunk guys often take off their ties and put it around their head Rambo style. They’re sweating their ass off. I feel like an onion, trapped under layers. As the night goes on, I am sure I will begin to smell like an actual onion.

At least hide a bunny in there or give me those never ending hankies in the pocket so I can do some tricks or something.  I will need a thirty minute head start just to open the door to fit though when I am finished. How does one feel comfortable with 18 layers of clothes on? I feel like the Rock says; “10 pounds of monkey crap in a 5 pound bag.” And who in the blue hell wants a five pound bag of monk…..

"Damn it, Rock! I walked right into that one."

And, o yea, by the way, some other rank dude just wore this same exact thing, so do you really think it’s clean? That thought will keep me up in my hotel room as I sleep in between sheets with my head on the pillow, drinking a glass of water that is also holding the remote control.

This is way too dressed up for me. I am out of my element. I feel most comfortable in flips, board shorts and a well-worn concert T. If I can ever find a job where that is the dress code, I think I will have found my calling. Until then, the only thing I can tell you is that is not the outfit to wear to any job interview. If only Career Builder told me that sooner.

And tuxes aside, why do we need the tie? What purpose does it serve? Is it supposed to cover up the buttons or something? It serves little purpose other than getting trapped in paper shredders and pulling the wearer into a gruesome, yet compact death. Have they done that yet in a Final Destination?

(I've never seen the movies, but I am pretty sure this is all the good parts.)

"What's that? Aunt Cloris died? I'm ready."

I have exactly 6 ties

Fish tie-every guy has to own one 

A tie that is an actual piano that I won at Dave and Busters. Only cost me $67

A tie that lights up-for New Years Eve. And funerals, I guess

A Simpsons tie

A Loony Tunes Tie

A Jerry Garcia tie. What else the formal man needs, I do not know.

(Note; I don't know why the rest is formatted like this. But I am too lazy to change it, so just deal, huh?)

Look, I won’t bore you all the details. I went to the wedding. There were many other tools there, stuffed into ill-fitting tuxedos. We’d pass each other and silently nod, as if we were saying, “I feel you brother. You are not suffering alone here. And did you see the bozingas on the blonde bridesmaid? Woot woot!” 

I was hit on by almost every available girl at the reception, as well as a few of the “taken” girls. All because I had a tux on. OK, that is a lie. I didn’t get hit on at all, and three people thought I was a waiter. That’s OK, because I spit in their food anyway.

My shirt ended up falling out twice. I didn’t even use the cuff links, because who has time for that nonsense?  I took my jacket off, and walked around in the vest like I was some sort of hot shot Vegas card dealer. (I did make a cool 50 bucks playing the shell game.) My feet hurt in my shoes, so I ran around most of the night in socks. I found out the hard way the external pockets on the jacket were sewn shut when I tried to stuff some shrimp in there for the ride back to the hotel. And just because you are wearing a tux doesn’t mean you can pull off James Bond the bar when ordering your Malibu and diet “shaken, not stirred.”

The next day, I returned the tux. Now, you would think they would inspect such a fine garment from such a shady looking character, but they didn’t even bother. Guess they couldn’t smell the left over h'orderves in the pants pocket.

If you have ADD, you can follow me on the Twitter machine @ifyouseekev

DVD Bonus Material

Rejected Titles for This Post

No Tux Were Given This Day

How To Wear a Tux

How Not To Wear a Tux

Tuxedos Are For Cats and Penguins, Of Which I Am Neither

My Baby Fits Me Like a Flesh Tuxedo (massive internet points for anyone who gets that reference)

I Feel Like Taxidermy In My Tuxedo

The Not-So Great Hallmark Xmas Movie Challenge

I had been noticing a strange phenomenon on my cable recently, since before Halloween, actually. I mean aside from the fact Springsteen was right and there’s 257 channels and nothing on. How is that even possible? How can I have this many channels, and still not find anything good to watch? If it wasn’t for football, hockey, and a true handful of shows I like to watch, I would cut the damn cord. Anyway, apparently I have some channels that show nothing but Xmas movies. 24 hours a day, seven sad, sad days a week. What the effing eff? Is this why my cable bill is so high?

Why does Xmas get this much attention? Why not my beloved Halloween? There are a ton of cool, vintage horror movies out there, and more than enough since the slasher genre happened in the late 70s. Why can’t I have a couple channels of just horror movies for the month of October? They can take any of the 103 channels I never freaking watch. Is it too much to spend a few hours every fall with Vincent Price and Jigsaw?

"NO! Not the Heat Miser already!"

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything for myself. So what better way to bust out of a slump than to torture myself? That’s always funny, right. Right!?! Geez, the things I do for you guys. So, maybe it’s time I see for myself what one of these Hallmark/Lifetime Xmas movies is all about.

I will watch a Hallmark Xmas movie.

The good news is this is one less person to buy presents for.

You guys pick yourselves up from the floor yet? Yea, OK. Good

Now, I have done some cursory research-my favorite kind of half ass research, don’t cha know--and I think all these Lifetime/Hallmark movies have the same general plot. Cute, single chick meets handsome (I guess) dude with a secret why he doesn’t like Xmas. One of them might own a business. If it’s the girl, it’s a struggling business (like, duh, of course, she’s a girl!), and handsome dude’s company is threatening to put her out of business. Another hackneyed angle is the dude runs a business (usually a family business, often inherited) that is directly tied into Xmas; sells Xmas trees, a toy company, etc. His business is located in a small town where, of course, it’s the main source of employment for the town. And dude wants to shut it down because he has a penis and it’s evil. So he has to come to Christmasville or whatever, to shut it down. Said hot chick appears. She either lives in the town or works for his company. And, goddamn it, she’s just the one to save the town and admit her love for the dude 10 minutes before credits roll. Book it, done.

Often, the dude is so stone stupid, he can’t even see cute chick is falling for him. He might even-gasp!-start dating another trollop. I think there’s gotta be some shitty writing factory where they just hand out Mad Lib type outlines, and poor schmucks who can’t make any money writing their own blog have to fill out the blanks. Get a chick who used to be on One Tree Hill attached, and it’s green lit.

Naughty and nice.

OK, but I at least get to pick what dreck I am going to subject myself to. And if there’s anything that can make anything tolerable, it’s hot girls, so I get to pick. I have noticed that many of these movies star a certain tier of actor. Like not super-famous, but maybe was on a hit show a few years ago. In fact, more cursory research-my favorite kind of half ass research here-reveals there’s like a whole collection of actresses who apparently just do shitty Xmas movies now. Lacey Chabert

"Hey! Eyes up her...ah, never mind."

"My jacket conveniently hides my boner!"

does about three a year it looks like. Teri Polo, Danica McKeller, 

"I hear you like math. You + me= 15 seconds."

Candace Cameron Bure, Alicia Witt. I guess it’s smart money. Suffer through one movie, and it runs a billion times every year, and they probably get a nice royalty check.

These movies are my horror movies. After watching this, you broads better not ever bitch EVER when your guy wants to watch a horror movie. Actually, the two types of movies aren’t all that different. More often than not, a cute girl and her boobs is the main protagonist (look it up) in both horror and holiday movies. At times she will display poor judgment; i.e. run to the basement or fall for her boss. Holiday movies, though, are far more predictable. The factory will stay open, the town will be saved, Xmas will happen, the couple will fall in love. Every time. Why can’t someone make a dark Xmas movie? Maybe the factory closes, maybe the girl decides she doesn’t like the dude. Maybe that strange angel character was just a drug fueled illusion this whole time. That’s not how holiday movies work, apparently. But they should every once in a while.

And now I will subject myself to the sheer torture that has to be a Hallmark Xmas movie. There needs to be a word for dread; just a hundred times stronger. ‘Cause that’s what I’m feeling right about now. Wish me luck, and I hope to not be the shell of a person I expect to be afterwards. The movie review itself will be up on Black Friday; my gift to you.

You sadistic bastards.

The Real War in America's Public Bathrooms; The Air Dryers

I am growing tired of our freedoms being taken away. Everywhere we go, we get less choice. It’s GD Unamerican, I tell you. Well, I for one, am making a stand and demand we get our choices back. My first step in this war is the men’s room. (I assume the ladies feel the same way, but my visit time in the ladies’ room has been severely limited as of late. So you broads need to stick up for yourselves here.)

Can we please just get rid of the hand dryers? In more and more places, the good old paper towel is being replaced by these inefficient blowdryers.

The Art Department at K Theory is just phoning it in these days

Yea, yea, the argument has been “hand dryers create less waste.” All over, we see stickers proclaiming that hand dryers are saving the rainforest, keeping the earth green and hated Batman Vs Superman. It’s time to really examine all these fantastic claims.

Now I like being kind to Mother Earth. I recycle all my empties. I try to be moderate with my utility use. I actively skip shower day and wash my hair less frequently. I’ll wear the same things around the house for weeks. I only flush number twos. I don’t have offspring that will only create generations more drain on the planet’s limited resources.

Just a lil' eye opener before work...

Is the “rain forest” even a great rallying point anymore? Remember when the urgency was that the ”rain forests will disappear in five years” like twenty years ago? Well, we barely hear about the rain forests anymore, and to the best of my simple understanding, they’re still around and breeding venomous spiders. So, all this “saving” has gotten us what? I’m seriously starting to doubt this whole recycling idea. With all the recycling this country does, shouldn’t things like paper and aluminum be getting cheaper? All I know is the price of my high octane, rot-gut cans of beer keeps going up. Why am I doing this again?

In fact, I am sure valid research will soon prove hand dryers are actually much worse for the environment; much like oil in the ocean and Pitbull on the radio. So let this be the genesis of the argument.

Point one; they just don’t work. This fact is evidenced by the thousands of public restrooms I’ve urinated in and the hundreds of times I’ve washed my hands. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a machine with a powerful enough ‘blow’ (for lack of a better term) to sufficiently dry my hands. It’s been my experience that most machines are the equivalent of having a child blow; which is something Jared Fogle can identify with.

"Anyone want to get in my pants? Anyone? Plenty of room."

I will further bolster point one by pointing out the resulting behavior that only serves to confirm the fact even more. Fellas, we see/do this all the time. (And I’m pretty sure you girls do it too, you’re always sneaky.) We wash our hands, then rub them under the dryer. After a few seconds, it’s painfully clear that if we want our hands to actually be dry, we’d be better off waving them up and down like we’re landing a plane. Eventually, we give up, and wipe our hands on our pants. Yup, ladies, we do that all the time. Hell, you probably do, too, you’re just more sneaky about it.

Point two; they are not more “sanitary” than paper towels. This makes no sense to me. How is it more sanitary when the dryers just blow the germs all over the place? Yea, what did you think, the germs just magically disappear like greenhouse gasses? When you use the dryer, you’re essentially using a machine to sneeze all your disgusting germs all over the place. How is that more sanitary? I am pretty sure there is no more bacteria encrusted spot than the area immediately beneath the dryer in any public restroom.

Chloe was never much good at blow jobs...
(Alternate caption: I am sure this is Rule 34 for some of you sickos.)

All those germs build colonies in the dark recesses of the restroom. Beneath the sink. In between the grout. On the top ledge of the mirror. It’s a miracle we’re not all sicker, really. Common sense tells you you would want to capture the bacteria in one place and be done with it. Not splatter it throughout the Burger King restroom, you hag.

You don't wanna know what I'm doing with my other hand.

Don’t believe Dr. Theory? Fine, here is proof that jet hand dryers are actually worse than using paper towels.

With paper towels, you can physically wipe the icky stuff off onto the paper, and throw the whole germ circus out. The germs die a pleasant death in the trash. End of story. The Plague is thwarted. We all get to watch the next season of Daredevil.

Point three; those dryers use energy. Nowadays, some decent places have a magical paper towel dispenser where all you have to do is Jedi your hand in front and you receive the paper towels you are looking for. Because electric hand dryers are so inefficient, it takes far more energy to get your fingers just ‘mildly damp.’ Hell, those things would go on all day if you just kept your hands under the nozzle. Sure, some of the more uppity restrooms will provide you with a sign and a few statistics about how much energy the dryers save, but that is just about as effective as the “all employees must wash hands” sign. Go do the math you see, it simply doesn’t add up.

Even if you actually have to touch a bar or lever to manually progress the paper towels out, it wastes no energy and you can still wipe off any remaining germs or bacteria. So, if you use the blower, you hate the Earth no matter how many goddmaned Priuses you drive.

My gas is gluten free and my playlist is full of bands that never even got together.

Anyway, aren’t Kindles and Google books drastically reducing the need for sheets of paper? Why can’t we trade of that loss with paper towels so everyone doesn’t get sick?

Now that I have finished this common sense piece for the betterment of America, I'm gonna go drain the dragon and wash my hands with soap for 20 full seconds and use a GD towel like a GD American.

As always, thanks for reading.

Especially you, Stuart.

DVD Bonus Content-Extra Commentary

Truth be told, this post had been sitting in my computer since last August. It was originally meant for a writing gig I had at the time, but I never finished it. Now with all this controversy over transgender bathroom use, I thought it would be a good time to dust it off, update some of the pop culture references (there was actually an Ashley Madison reference, since this was written right around the time of their data breach.) and finally share it with the world. And now I think the world is a better place for it.

Control Issues

It was time for a change. We had gone on too long this way. It’s kind of a shame. We had been together for so long; we had grown so comfortable together after all this time. Together, we had witnessed some of the best and worst things in life. However, change was in the air. Parting is never easy, especially during the holidays. Over the years, I had known just what buttons to push, and now it was no longer working. I hate to put myself in the callous joke of “trading in for a younger model”, but that is in fact what I did. It still pains me to think of it though….

I got a new remote control for the TV. What were you thinking I was talking about?

The time had come. After countless hours in front of the boob tube searching for the thinnest excuses for entertainment, the ol’ remote was breaking down. Much like my romantic life, my ability to turn the TV on was less and less consistent. The channel up key had stopped working all together. So no more scrolling up to scan channels, I could only scan down. And that’s just the TV remote. I have another one that works the sound system/DVD player. That one doesn’t turn the damn thing off anymore. Somewhere along the line, the battery cover has gotten lost. The one spring that holds the battery in is all beat to hell and only serves to randomly shoot the battery out of the back. I am surprised it still works, and hasn’t caught fire yet. It’s a hassle to work the TV with one remote, and the audio/DVD with another. Sure, the TV remote claimed to have the capability to control the sound system, but that is a lie. A dirty lie.

After a fair amount of research, I finally came across the fabled remote that should control everything. For Hallowmas, I splurged and bought this magical instrument that would only add to my laziness. Aw, the lazy days of controlling my TV, DVD and audio with the flick of a button on one remote. Surely, these will be the days I tell to somebody else’s grandkids.

While I could regale you with the more than 2 freaking hours it took me to program the damn thing, that is not the point of this Klog. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t quite as easy as I thought, though not impossible. Deep down, every guy wants to think he is a whiz when it comes to remote controls; like it’s in our chromosomes. That’s why we always must hold the remote, because we have the penis. We know how to use it better and more efficiently than womenfolk. (I am referring to both the remote and the penis.)

I won’t tell you how the damn thing still won’t turn on my sound/DVD player. After going through all three recommended practices, and the bugger still won’t turn on. The new remote is so advanced, that you can aim the old remote into it, press the function, and the new remote will pick up the signal and make it happen with the new one now. Surely, this is why universities exist. Now get to work on X-ray specs and jetpacks.

The new remote has a pretty cool feature; the ability to program four channels as favorites. So instead of wasting precious milliseconds on pressing 2 buttons, I hit one of these four keys and –BAM-my favorite channel comes up. Wow, science is cool. Now this left me with a dilemma; just what are my favorite 4 channels? How can I narrow channels down to just 4? I did not expect such a dilemma to arise over the holidays.

I have a lot of channels that I would consider ‘good’, it’s just that I don’t watch them all the time. Now this is getting like Facebook; do I like/watch Spike enough to make it one of my favorites? Will ESPN get all pissy? I at least catch a break, since I have like 4 religious channels and 3 that are in Spanish. Ningunos canales religiosos del bullshit para mí

The first thing I do is make USA the ‘A’ favorite. So you’re thinking I must watch a lot of USA, which would be wrong. In fact, I don’t think I watch it much at all. However, USA is also known as NCIS Central. Every time I do turn on USA, it’s freaking NCIS. 2 in the afternoon, 4 in the morning. They should just change their name to UNCISA. NCIS happens to be my wife’s favorite TV show, and when ever I turn on any damn TV in the house, it’s always on USA. Hey man, I know which side my bread is buttered on.

That leaves me with 3 open slots. I pick Discovery because I to tend to watch that a lot. I also pick TLC. I think that in the unlikely event a snooty friend decides to root through my remote, I would at least appear semi-intelligent. (This is the exact reason I don’t have any Britney Spears in my iPod.) Now I’m down to one. I secretly wonder if all the other channels knew of this, and would send me presents to sway my favor.

Do I watch Comedy Central enough? What about MTV and VH1? ESPN 2? Tru TV? Man o man, talk about Sophie’s Choice. No really talk about it, because I never saw the movie.

For the sake of closure-and I know you all must be deathly curious-I decide on Animal Planet. It seems the logical choice. And I’m sure the dog appreciates me keeping his tastes in mind.

That will be the hardest thing to do with programming the new remote. Sure, the sound still doesn’t turn on and off. Don’t even ask me about the damn DVR player. And for some reason, the garage door opens every time I hit the mute button, but I am sure that is just a temporary thing. I feel like I have conquered my kingdom a little more. I am in a bit more control than I was yesterday.

Wedding Survival

So we went to a wedding last week. I say ‘went’, but I don’t know of any guy who willing goes; if you ask a guy what he did over the weekend, he will most likely say, “I was dragged to this wedding…” Not that I don’t like weddings. Sure I am not a traditional dress up kind of guy, but I really don’t mind for weddings. In fact, I even have a ‘wedding tie’; a supacool Looney Tunes characters all in hearts. Sure, it’s most likely a Valentine’s Day tie, but it still works for weddings. It must bring good luck, every wedding I’ve worn it to, the couple is still together. Hmm, but I didn’t wear it to mine, hmm…. Since this wedding was taking place on the beach, I was able to get away with no coat or Looney Tune tie. I mean, who wears a coat and tie to a beach wedding, right? Answer; just about every other guy but me.

I think most people-ahem, guys-don’t like going to weddings. They’re always on a weekend, when sports are taking place. There might be some travel time involved, plus getting all gussied up. A lot of times, it’s for someone from your girl’s side taking the plunge. And those people tend to be annoying. (Certainly, not in this case.)

I think weddings kind of get a bad rap because of the stuff that never happens. Namely, I want to go to one wedding-just one-where a huge brawl breaks out. I want to go a wedding where the animosity between both families is palpable. And it simmers just below the surface until the spark known as “open bar” comes, and then it’s chairs thrown across the room, windows shattered, knives and guns drawn. Everyone should have one wedding story like that.

From the guy perspective-do you really expect to get the female perspective from me?-weddings are usually on the list of fun things to do right after cleaning the gutters, picking up dog poo and hanging drywall. If you’re married, it’s a nice little chance to rekindle the flame. Aw, cuteness. Somewhere, in a dark recess of your mind, you are thinking, “Yea, this wedding wasn’t as good as ours.” I know, I know, it’s sad and selfish, but I guarandamntee you every married couple is thinking the same thing. It doesn’t matter, you could be at a royal wedding, sitting on bejeweled chairs and eating off of silverware made of ivory, and it still doesn’t compare to your own. If you’re married, you know what I mean.

There is a hardwired, unwritten code when married guys to a wedding. We always have to rag on the groom. I believe there are thousands of iterations of the same basic 4 jokes. (My favorite one is to take the couple aside and say, “Look, this is the best piece of advice I can give you. You can work through anything-anything-as long as you keep in mind those three little words. (Insert husband’s name), you’re right.’” Kills every time.) This is followed by a manly, hearty laugh. Then it’s usually rigmarole like “welcome to the club.” It’s all good natured ribbing. But, I have a confession. We’re not kidding. We’re really asking why have the cow when the milk is free. We hate to see a fellow brother take the plunge. So what better way to initiate him than by busting his nuts? Actually, we’re just looking for someone to commiserate with.

If you’re single, you’re just there to take a shot at the other single girls. They say there is no better place to hook up with chicks than a wedding. Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know. But I am inclined to at least say, “Man, if I was single, I’d be banging ALL these chicks.”

The seating arrangement is always a huge hassle. When it’s your wedding, it’s a struggle to align all the personalities at a table so everyone can have fun and get along. For example, you don’t want to sit Uncle Jerry, who is a die hard deer hunter and most likely wearing a camo hat, next to your friend Rainbow, who is a pasty skinned vegan. Sure, for entertainment purposes, it’s gold, but you need people to get along. You want to keep the ages within a certain rage, sit work friends with fellow work friends, cousins with cousins (South excluded here), etc. There is also another key element you must take into consideration; the position of the bar. You definitely want your younger partiers closer to the bar. The later the shindig goes, the more likely the elderly will be trampled in a mad dash for flaming shots. Aunt Enid ain’t too quick on the walker these days. Also, be aware of where the extinguishers and fire exits are.

There were 4 couples at our table. 3 couples got along, the other ones didn’t. Dude was on his Crackberry always checking the Yankee score or some such. He was checking his phone like he was a 12 year old girl texting her BFF. It was kind of embarrassing; I even saw him using <3 for hearts. His chick was a vegan, and giving the waiter a hard time about menu options. Look, you can choose to eat whatever you want, but don’t cop a ‘tude when the vegan offering isn’t to your liking. Whatever, we all can’t get along, but we had a good time with the other couples. Plus, we were pretty close to the bar. Another tried and true line at a wedding with an open bar is to get up, address the table and say, “Anyone want anything to drink? My treat.” The drunker you are, the funnier this will be.

As in life, booze is key at weddings, it can go a long way to breaking the ice. I am a naturally shy guy. But get enough rocket fuel in me, and my tie is around my head like Rambo. I will give you a tip here as well. ALWAYS tip the bartender. On your first round, throw at least a fiver at them. Of course, make sure they see it. You will look irreparably cheap if they catch you swiping a 5 out of the glass only to put it back in. The cheap among you might say, “But if it’s open bar, why should I tip?” The answer is simple, dullard. Look at it like this. You are generally going to be drinking above your normal level of booze. If you usually choke down Coors Light in the privacy of your home, you will certainly step up to Corona, Heineken, etc. Most weddings don’t serve their wine out of boxes. So look at it this way, I am going to drink an excess of pricey liquor, so karma says you pay it forward. If you drink the equivalent of $50 of rum, if you tip $20, you’re still $30 up. Plus, most bartenders don’t make great tips at weddings. So you’re gonna send a message; take care of me, and I will take care of you. On your next round, visibly slip at least another 5, maybe live large and tip a fin. I promise you, soon enough, just the sight of you stumbling to the bar will get you quick service.

I used the above strategy at this wedding. Soon enough, I wasn’t within 5 feet of the bar, and guy was taking care of me. I always ordered 2 coconut rum and cokes, and occasionally I would order one for the wife, too. (Hi-O!) It got to the point, the guy would make 2 drinks and tell me, “This one is yours.” That my friends, is service. So try it at the next wedding you go to. You can thank me later.

So the next time some friends take the plunge, you won’t be dragged down with them. Just use some of the above helpful advice, and you’ll be OK.

Mandy Moore Watches Me Pee

Really. That’s all I got. I just really like that title. Mandy Moore watches me pee, and she loves it.

Yes, I feel like a bad blogger lately. It’s been awhile since I put something new here. No excuse, just life, weekends, holidays, mind numbing amounts of booze, etc. Actually, I’ve been on a bit more of a roll lately as far as this whole writing thing goes. I’ve gotten some pretty decent sounding leads lately. I mean, there really aren’t any scams on Craigslist anymore, right? I’ve found some cool sounding places to send my work to. And besides being the best damn blog on the internet, KevTheory also works as a nice resume. Nice of course meaning “pieces written about dogs and game shows”. So with this flurry of activity, I guess I should put some new shit on here. Shit, of course meaning “pieces written about toilets and magazines”.

I really wish I had more to say now. I haven’t had any life altering experiences lately. I see Michael Jackson is still dead. I know you all come here for a weekly dose of some sad sack unemployed hack whining about how unfair life is and everyone else is stupid. But that only goes so far.

So what was I talking about? O yea, Mandy Moore watching me urinate. I am sure you have many questions. “Kev, what is Mandy Moore doing in your bathroom?” “What is she chained to?” Isn’t Christina jealous?” What else do you do in front of Mandy Moore?” “Does she think your farts stink or does she cup them up to her nose?”

For the last few days, I have done both #1 and #2 in front of Ms. Moore. I’ve showered, shaved, brushed my teeth in front of lil ol’ Mandy. And just how do I pull this off? Well, it seems my wife has taken to leaving her magazines on top of the toilet. Yes, guys leave SI and Maxim on top of the crapper; chicks leave workout magazines. And for the past few days I’ve been whipping it out and doing the helicopter right in front of Mandy fricking Moore. It’s actually kinda liberating.

And MM just stays there like a good little girl. She doesn’t bitch, nor complain. She doesn’t criticize. She just lays there, a sly smile as I foul the bathroom. I never really liked MM. Nothing going on musically, never really found her ‘hot’ or attractive. But she had that whole Christian thing going on, and who wouldn’t want to defecate in front of that?

I ‘fess to sometimes flipping through her magazines. I never knew who Olivia Wilde was until she was on the cover-guess I gotta start watching House now. I don’t keep any of my few magazines in the john. (I think I only get 1 now anyways.) But it’s funny how workout magazines are still generally the same, even if they are marketed differently to men and women. Almost of the girl workout magazines I flip through whilst deuce-cutting all say the same basic thing on the cover. It’s always how to get tight abs, the hot, new food to eat that will shed the pounds (since when did blueberry count as being new?). There’s a hot new routine that will make you all Megan Fox in just 4 mere weeks. During the summer, there is almost always some quick workout that will get you ready for your bikini in just 3 weeks. Yea, I call shenanigans.

Men’s workout magazines are no different. There is usually something about abs on the cover, too. Whereas most women are looking to slim down, most guys are looking to add muscle. Sure enough, there’s almost always some 4 week program sure to have you ripping your shirts at even the thought of flexing your guns. I used to get a bunch of the workout magazines. Some of the writing was downright funny, in a sad way. Like there was some over-supplemented jock trainer calling you “bra” and yelling such power words as torch, max and pump. Really, after reading the hyperbole in some of these rags, it felt like I was reading WEA’s old hype pages for their shitty releases.

Anyway, back to Mandy. Did you know she’s married to Ryan Adams? How the hell did that happen? How did a credentialed rock star meet and marry a Mandy Moore type. Somewhere, Martika is crying because she’s married to a landscaper.

So that’s all I got. I have to go say hi to Mandy for like the 3rd time today; damn buffalo chicken chili pizza.