Fly Love: Pantalonic Terminologic Question of the Day

Why is the crotchal opening of a pair of pants or boxer shorts called the "fly?" The comparison of an open seam to an obnoxious insect is absurd. I have never once seen a house fly with genitalia coming out of it. And a fly with a zipper is definitely more akin to a Venus fly trap anyway due to the obvious dangers posed by the teeth of the zipper. But if a fly has teeth, wouldn't it be more appropriate to call it a "mouth?" Then again, if it was called the mouth, it would be much more confusing when you walk out of the McDonald's bathroom and Grimace turns to you and says, "Hey buddy, your mouth is open."

But let's not forget that fly is also a verb, just like sting is at once a rock icon and the action most commonly associated with my biting one-liners (e.g. "Your face smells like something very unpleasant!"). Perhaps fly is a reference to opening the cage door of your pants and letting your woodpecker soar free (and hopefully sore-free). I know why the caged bird sings, but who wants that singing coming from their pants. "Is that a caged bird in your pants or is that just your ringtone?" Hence, the term "fly" is really about letting one's self fly free.

When hiphoppers started using "fly" as an adjective on par with cool, were they making the comparison to the crotchal opening in pants? If so, then the declaration "yo you rockin' some fly kicks!" roughly translates to "Excuse me friend, the fashionable sneakers you are wearing have the same high level of appeal as the crevasse found at the top of a pair pants that hovers near the reproductive and waste organs. Kudos to you."

Isn't it odd that a button fly, when buttoned up, merely subdivides itself into a series of smaller flies? That's like shutting your door to keep people out of your room, but then opening up 5 tiny doors instead for tiny people to enter...Did that one fly over your head? Wordplay!

Germaphobic Waste Management Question of the Day

The Germaphobe Dilemma (not to be confused with a Germanphobe --one who fears all things bratwurst): When a male germaphobe goes to the restroom to relieve his bladder after having interacted with the filthy city, does he wash his hands first before handling his waste hose? If he does, he runs into the risk of having wet hands while undoing his fly, inevitably covering his crotchal region with water stains. Though he may get the satisfaction of relieving his bladder, he will exit the bathroom giving others the impression that his bladder relieved itself all over him.

To avoid being called Mr. Piss Pants, he may decide to wash his hands first and then go through the process of drying them. In public restrooms that attempt to save the environment by providing blow dryers mounted to the wall instead of sand paper that pass as towels, this could easily become a long, drawn out process. By the time his hands are drip-free, his anxious member won't be.

If the germaphobe has an extreme phobia, would he also be afraid of re-dirtying his hands by touching his zipper, his buttons, his draws, his nethers? He may have to purell after every step of the way. This could be a very troublesome process given that the man-snake is known for lashing out if frustrated by an excessively long amount of waiting. It may spit hot venom all over his pants.

Portable catheters and daily-use disposable rubber gloves seem like the only viable solution for the male germaphobe. The former can deposit into a bag neatly strapped away to his calf. It can double as a heat pack. The latter will help deter any possible human interaction so as to avoid germ encounters since the rubber gloves raise his creepiness level to an all-time high (or should I say low?). Plus in the event he finds himself disrespected for any reason, he can finally challenge his disrespector to a duel since he will be equipped with a glove with which to slap this person in the face. Germaphobes everywhere, you're welcome. I just solved your life.

Mammarial Idiomic Question of the Day

Here's a baffling turn of phrase: tit-for-tat. As used in yesterday's NY Times, "...two Iranian diplomats in a tit-for-tat response..." Is this akin to something like toys-for-tots? If so, who are these alleged tats and why are they getting all the tits? Are tats really the tit-deprived population of our society, warranting the need for the donation of tits?

Or is tit-for-tat closer in meaning to something like a money-for-guns program? If so, then where can I go to exchange my tats so I can get more tits? I would like to make good on this truly beneficial program.

And when we talk about tat, are we actually just abbreviating the skin mural better known as a tattoo? If that's the case, then I more readily understand a tat-for-tit, as in one made for a tit like perhaps a bullseye tattoo or maybe a one-eyed smiley, but tit-for-tat is a little more baffling. Is it that there are certain kinds of tits that are better suited for tattoos? Do the colorful employees of Miami ink look at a pair of chesticles and just declare, "Now that's a tit-for-tat!" and immediately endow the set with an ink masterpiece?

...In other news, it's been recently discovered that daytime drinking heavily degrades the quality of blog-writing...

Transformative New York Question of the Day

Has Times Square transformed from a pedestrian nightmare into a loiterer's dream??? Strolling by on a late Thursday evening, rather than be overtaken by dread and disgust by the sight of meandering tourist throngs (not thongs, which would be equally dreadful) which is what usually happens, I was struck with immense curiosity and by extension, much cat-killing. Up and down Broadway was an iridescent array of shiny, plastic lawn chairs strewn about, hundreds of lawn chairs. 'Did I stumble upon a Florida retirement home convention?' I wondered. Judging by the lack of floral-print short-sleeve button downs, the answer was decidedly no. Instead I witnessed teenage urbanites sitting and light-gazing in their emo way, old-timer New Yorkers comfortably seated while chewing the fat (don't worry it was saturated not trans), yuppy transplants crackberrying in the glow of neon lights, and a group of 20-something year old boys seated in a circle and hovering over an imaginary bong. 'If only we were in Amsterdam,' their longing eyes said. It was a sight to behold.

No longer was there the hustle and bustle of NY's fabled image, but instead, hundreds of idling people--much to the chagrin of our Puritan forefathers and foremothers (eat that, prudes!)--who were so chillaxed I thought they might bust out the hustle. All they needed were some red plastic cups and Uncle Roger's county famous bbq sauce. New York, she's a changing. From foot traffic to butt traffic, sitting is the new black, and lawn chair is the new 20. We're bringing lazy back.

And with this transformation of Times Square: The Traffic Melee to Times Square: The Sloth Center, I can only look forward (since my eyes are on the front of my face, not the back) to what other opposite-day changes the city has in store. Will they transform Central Park into a demolition derby and monster truck rally arena? Will Park Ave apartments get gentrified and be replaced with methadone clinics and Korean groceries? Will white people drive their own cabs? Will I ask a homeless guy for money and then refuse when he offers me bread? Who knows what the future holds?

A Penny For Your Thoughts

I just came back from the bathroom, and apparently someone dropped a penny at the bottom of the urinal. How does that even happen? Pennies are small but pee holes are smaller. I could see releasing liquid copper, but a whole, unscathed penny? Really?

Then again, perhaps the penny pisser was a European Union citizen and thought he had to pay to soil the urinal (which can cost 50 cents at certain train stations). Either that or he's mocking the value of American coin currency given its status relative to that of the Euro...

Or maybe all the accumulated urine at the base of the urinal is actually transforming into flat Abe Lincolns!! Is that how the US Mint produces these monetary nuisances? Is that why everyone finds them annoying, cuz they're made of pee??? Someone blow the whistle and stop the presses! We got piss pennies in our pockets!!

Oxymoronic Peanutty Question of the Day

Lucy: You're only eight years old and you're balder than a chemo patient.
Charlie Brown: Good grief!
Lucy: Plus that wack t-shirt of yours makes it look like your stomach has a giant mouth with razor sharp teeth.
Charlie Brown: Augghh! Good grief!!
Lucy: By the way, do you happen to have an older, wittier brother named Boogie?

I've spent an absurd amount of my young life pondering over this catch phrase of Charlie Brown's. What exactly is good grief? This oxymoron makes less sense than Pauley Shore in a David Lynch movie. (Too obscure? Let's try that one again.) This oxymoron makes less sense than finding a poop in your refrigerator. "How did that get there?" It ranks right up there with "clean coal" and "nice Uggs."

So if Charlie Brown thinks grief is good, does that make him some kind of perverted masochist? Does he say "good grief" in a raspy porn voice? Is that why he continues to try to punt the football knowing full well that Lucy will always pull the ball away right before his foot connects causing him to flip over and land ungraciously on his back? And when he utters "good grief" afterwards, he really means the pain is goooooood.

When positive things happen to Charlie Brown, does he say "bad delight"? "I won the lottery? $1,000 everday for the rest of my life?? Aw, bad delight!!!" "Me and the little red-headed girl are getting married. Bad delight!!!"

Is there any sort of grief Charlie Brown would consider bad grief? Like the polar ice caps melting? Or the last episode of Friends?

And why do we always refer to him using his full name when everyone else is just Linus, or Lucy, or Franklin (token black guy)? Is it so we don't get him confused with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? It kind of reminds me of Asian people with monosyllabic first and last names--you just gotta say the whole thing.

Defurries!

Colleges, grad schools, law schools, etc. often subscribe to an odd practice in which eager-beaver prospective students gain acceptance to such prestigious institutions only to chicken out by deferring their admission for a year. Upon describing such a situation, envious friends of the deferrers inevitably remark that had they known of this option, they too would've preferred to defer. Instead they cry themselves to sleep every night, with a bottle of Jack and Jergens, knowing that their lives are basically over. FAIL.

But what if other things in life could be deferred but we were just unaware of the option? Why not try it out just in case the possibility actually exists? That way we can prevent future wallowing by putting off stressful things and instead take the time to find ourselves either by hoing it up in foreign countries, or hitchhiking/getting kidnapped across the US, or patiently waiting for that Tanzanian prince to pay you back 1000 fold for that small lump sum you wired to him.

Here are a few examples of situations you may want to try out the deferral policy:

"Thanks Doc, I think I'll defer that liver cancer for a year."

"What?? Your pregnant??? I think I'm gonna defer you for a year...or 18."

"Yay, dairy-laden dessert! I'll defer you until I'm closer to a toilet."

"Hand over my wallet? Uhh, I'm deferring this mugging for a while, at least until after I train with Master Roshi and perfect the Kamehameha."

"Yes, the throne of Gandor is quite the honor. But I'm gonna have to defer so I can bang my elf bride for a few years. You wouldn't believe what those pointy ears can do."

"Nice to meet you Grim Reaper. Let's defer this encounter indefinitely...No go?...Hey! Look! A burning blimp is crashing into that building!" ::runs the other way::

"Hello day-of-first-date zit. I'm deferring you from my nose to my ass. Don't worry, it's cozy down there."

"You wanna get back together? I defer! All the single ladies, all the single ladies! Put your hands up, oh ohh ohhh oh oh ohh! Cuz if you liked it, then you shoulda put a ring on it!! If you liked it then you shoula put a ring on it..."

Herbally Steeped Questions of the Day

Do you ever drink tea and forget that the teabag is still in the mug so when you reach the final drop you mistakenly get a soggy sack of leaves in your mouf? Yeah, that never happens to me either.

Have you ever asked a portly man with more back hair than your Aunt Bob for a teabag and gotten a miffed response complete with flared nostrils instead? Yup, didn't think so.

Do you ever go to a pool party and jump into the hot tub wearing shorts that are actually a mess of tea leaves strapped to your body and ask people "who wants some chai?" Of course not, I would never do that either.

Have you ever brought a boiling pot of Jasmine and a set of cute porcelain cups with smiley faces on them to a basketball practice declaring that "There's no I in TEAM but there sure is TEA"? That's preposterous, and I highly doubt any of us would take the time out to carry out such a ridiculous visual pun.

Elongated Vegetable Etymological Question of the Day

Why is 'squash' the only vegetable that functions as a verb? Then again, I suppose you could always 'cucumber' somebody but that's probably inappropriate and/or kinkalicious, not to mention painful...well, at least for this non ex-con.

So which came first, the vegetable or the verb 'squash'? Probably the verb right? Because if you named an action after the vegetable squash, wouldn't that action involve turning into a yellowish, firm, phallic plant? "I squashed you" would have a completely different meaning. The subsequent sentence would have to be: "You are now a colorful, edible, penis-substitute."

But since we know the action is that of crushing something and making it go splat, I would assume the vegetable came second since a squash can be squashed and go splat. However, many vegetables and fruits have this quality (e.g. tomatoes, strawberries, schnozzberries). And so do many insects. And small defenseless woodland creatures. And infants...well, with enough force. All these things could be 'squashes.' But yet only the boner plant gets the designation of 'squash.'

And how come there are no phallic vegetables used in the sport 'squash'? I mean, you got the balls, might as well throw in the..........And 'squash' seems like an inappropriate name for the game anyway. It's more like 'tennis confined in a cube' or 'too upperclass for handball? let's use rackets and air conditioning'. The real sport of 'squash' should be about squashing squashes until they're completely squashed. Either that or launching squashes off the roof at bald people. Yeah, that's right, Baldism.

Fun with Online Communication Questions of the Day

Does Will Smith run a secret wordpress where he writes entries as "I Am The Legend of Blogger Vance"?

Does Parker Brothers run a live journal about board games under the name "Bloggle"?

Does Oscar-winning director of Crouching Tiger and Brokeback Mountain post online about how he's a fuckup in life as "xAnga Lee"?

Does the wife a former Democratic Vice President tweet constant status updates about the environment as "Twipper Gore"?

Can I instant message the rehab reject, black-soul imitating singer "AIMeeWinehouse" and tell her to lay off the smack?

Is America's Best Dance Crew as articulate with their words as they are with their bodies when they live journal as the "Jabbabloggeez"?

Can I find the twitter page of London white-boy rapper under the name "The STweets"?

Does the baddest badass in history Chuck Norris send SMS messages as "Walker Textas Ranger"? The only text you will ever get from Chuck Norris is 'Look behind you.' This is also the last text you will ever get.

Can I friend the dejected Giants wide receiver "Plaxo-co Burress" over an online social networking site and remind him to keep the safety on?

Does the pope only follow one person on Twitter because he believes in "monotweetism"? However, that's a concept I still don't understand because the 'one' person is really three people updating. He says that I just need to have faith in the "Holy Tweetnity."

Toxic Withdrawal Non-Question of the Day

She dumped you for another man---nay, another woman, and not just any woman, but Martha Stewart. You got laid off--nay, you were fired for secretly buying Saved By the Bell memorabilia with the company credit card. Boy were they pissed when it turned out that those Buddy Bands were knockoffs. You came home to find that your dog shat on your only pair of Jordans--nay, your only pair of contacts. Now you only see shit. You opened your mail to learn that you're being evicted--nay, an archeological team has discovered your home is built over sacred Navajo burial ground and that ghosts have been scratching themselves with your toothbrush while you sleep. This just isn't your day--nay, it just hasn't been your decade.

Who are the only friends you turn to? The 3 J's of drowned sorrows: Johhny Walker, Jack Daniels, and Justin Timberlake of course (you like to bring sexy back while you drink). The ensuing amount of debauchery is enough to sink a small island in the Pacific; you're drinking a flood and crying a river.

You awake the next morning to the jackhammering chirps of small birds while the sun is bitch-smacking you worse than Slickback...ahem, excuse me, A Pimp Named Slickback. You are lying on the curb outside of your building with your blog and twitters hanging out while the joggers hop over you like you're mere dog shit.

And then it hits you. That incessant pulsation in your abdomen, the uncontrollable sweat dripping down your neck, the ubelievable pounding in your head as if your brain is trying to escape that sinking ship...here it comes...it's in your throat...you can't suppress it...you just gotta...PROJECTILE VOMIT ALL OVER THE STREET!!! And you're still wretching on the curb. You don't even feel relieved. You're actually quite dizzy right now and all you can smell is the hard-boiled egg you had for breakfast two days ago.

You, sir, are hung-over. That of course is very different from being over-hung. Only animals in the horse family are over-hung. And hang-over is also not like a fly-over modified. It's not like you're holding onto a rope strapped to a plane flying across the Garden State. Nor is it like a layover (which rarely involves getting laid) or a sleepover (which sometimes is the result of getting laid). No, instead, you're "hanging" your body over a toilet, a bathtub, a balcony, expunging last night's liquid courage out your face-hole until your eyes are bloodshot and you pass out.

You also have a rain cloud of misery "hanging over" your head for the rest of day because you, sir, feel worse than Charlie Brown. That cloud is following you like a jealous ex and pouring acid drops of hurtin' all over your dome. It ain't leaving until you get rid of the toxins still "hanging" out in your body and "over"-staying their welcome. You raid the fridge for gatorade and leftover pepperoni pizza. You sandwich three slices together and dip them into the neon blue sea of electrolytes. You throw it down your mouth and swallow like a Hunt's Point hooker. Before the Itis kicks in, you stumble to your bed--nay, you crawl on your stomach while having flashbacks of 'Nam (i.e. last night's car bombs with your Viet friend Phoek). Now, as you lay there nestled in Egyptian cotton, with half your body "hanging over" the edge, your heavy eyelids "hanging over" your vision balls, you remember that once upon time, week in and week out, you used to do this...for fun.

Botanical Ova Question of the Day

Am I the only one surprised that an eggplant isn't a shrub with hard-boiled chicken eggs growing from its branches? And I was so hoping to pair it with the breakfastsausageplant, a little cheeseplant, and sandwich it with some Englishmuffinplant. How very disappointing.

Instead of chowing down, I guess I'll keep myself preoccupied by wondering which came first: the chickenplant or the eggplant.

Rectal Root Word Pronunciation Question of the Day

Why isn't "canal" pronounced "cay-nuhl," you know, like "anal" with a "c"?

Why isn't "analysis" pronounced "Anal E. Sis"?

And of course there's "analog." "You wanna do what?? Anal?! Ohhh geee!" (<---insert Minnesotan/Fargo accent here)

Female Prefix Question of the Day

Why don't we pronounce "Mrs." as "misters" since it's written as the plural form of "Mr."? If I were to read "Mrs." without pronouncing it out loud, I would assume that the English language is trying to tell us that a married woman is really equal to two or more men. Is it 'cuz she's got at least twice the balls to be married to that guy?

(That guy of course being this guy.)

(Is he nipping?...Are Japanese folks offended by that participle?)

But then when we say "Mrs." aloud, it's pronounced "Misses." WTF? So Mrs. Kittencaboodle is really the plural of Miss Kittencaboodle, as in Misses Kittencaboodle? She's twice or more the Kittencaboodle??

So "Mrs." is both plural of "Mr." and "Miss?" Then is it simply true that upon marriage, Miss Kittencaboodle suddenly transformed into 2+ men and 2+ women and is ultimately the ultimate multiplying hermaphrodite?? Twice the vaj and twice the schlongo??? Fuck Super Saiyan mode, it's all about Mrs. status!

And finally, what about the more contemporary, pro-feminist, non-marriage specific "Ms." which is pronounced "Mizz." What exactly is a Mizz? Sounds like something Snoop would come up with. "I smizzed this blizz and now I'm out of wizz. Gotta bizz to the dizzealer and cop mizz chrizz." Whizz yizz thizz abizz thizz shizz?

P.S. If you were to flirt with Mr. T, would you go up to him and ask, "So is there a Mrs. T? I pity the fool!"

Handsy Question of the Day

Why are people who are 'handsome' attractive while people who are a 'handful' considered problematic? I guess a little hand is good (and by little, I mean some, not like a dwarf hand), but a maximum of hands is bad. I wonder what the max number of hands is to be considered 'ful.' Personally, I think anyone with more than two hands would freak me out, even if it's just an extra thumb. I guess for me, +2 hands = handful.

And so if 'handsome' is good and 'handful' is a problem, then what about 'handless'? This kind of person probably likes to play soccer and only soccer. It's also ironic that someone who's 'handless' can't use 'handles.'

Wouldn't it be weird if someone had a third hand but no third arm?

And why was Thing from the Addams Family called 'Thing' when clearly clearly that thing was a hand? Oddly enough, Thing was very handy around the house.



And yes, this entry is exactly the same as the one I wrote about the differences between awesome and awful.

Caked Out Question of the Day

What does it mean to have my cake and eat it too? Honestly, is it even my cake if I'm not eating it with my mouth? What do I do with a cake that I'm not eating, stare at it? Try to absorb it's spirit with my mind? Dig into it looking for a nail file to help me break through these prison bars?

Does this phrase also imply that since eating my own cake is uncommon, I eat cakes that aren't mine? Why would I eat other people's cakes? Why does this phrase accuse me of being some sort of cake-thief? That's just absurd. Is "cake-thief" just a euphemism for calling me a lecherous fatass with hot-dog-like fingers? As if I went around the table and started eating everyone else's cake, without of course eating my own, 'cuz I only sniff mine so I can remember the scent and find it's counterparts to eat.

Idiomic/Idiotic Question of the Day

Jack turns to Jill and asks, "So what's the plan for getting up the hill?"

She coolly responds, "You know, I really don't have a plan. We can just play it by ear."

"Ok, but if anything goes wrong, it's your fault."

What a strange saying, I say. "Just play it by ear." Could you really imagine someone playing an instrument with their ear? I've seen guitar plucking with toes, but never with an ear. Playing piano would be even more difficult. How could you even hit the keys specifically with just the ear and not the whole head?

Either way, it's a pretty outrageous claim, and anyone that says it is more or less indicating that whatever they plan on doing, it's gonna be impossible. They might as well say "just play it by elbow" or "play it with back fat." Either one of those is just as likely. I think I'm more inclined to trust a person that says "just play it by fingers." That tells me that this person is practical and dexterous. Playing something by ear, on the other hand, is poppycock. That's right, the cock of a poppy. And I would choose dexterous over cock any day.

Terxicon Ticalstandardization Question of the Day

If the word 'blog' is derived from the compound word 'web-log,' then why don't we call electronic mail 'icmail' or google mail 'glemail'? Why not rename instant messenger 'ant messenger' or the web-log atmosphere the 'gatmosphere'? What I'm saying is that the English language's treatment of internet and computer-related (terrelated) contractions is harshly inconsistent causing mass confusion (assconfusion). Why does no grammatical standardization (ticalstandardization) exist yet? It's the 21st Century, linguistic authorities (ticties), it's time for Obama-like change (ma like change)--you know, the rehtoric-heavy (cheavy) and lyrically precise (llycise) kind--for the rules of the computer lexicon (terxicon). Come on (meon) Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary (amster neonary), lay down (yown) the law already (weady). That way web log authors (g hors) like myself (myself) will refrain from (rainrom) writing innane entries (neentries) like these on ridiculous topics (uspics) like the ticalstandardization of terxicon merely to take up (keup) virtual space (ualace) on their (neir) pointless blogs (ssogs).

Sexual Predator Nomenclature Question of the Day

J: we did end up going to the place in the Wynn but lots of older folks/cougars up in their club

me: cougarlicious!

J: not sure if thats your cup of tea, but YOTG go for it (if they are asian, they are bengal tigers)

me: it's cougar hunting season...my sex panther cologne will definitely lure them to the young-man-flesh

me: so is there a parallel term for older men that prey on younger women or are they just considered normal?

J: not that i know of...although theres a spot in dc that older guys hang out at to pick up younger women...called viagra triangle

me: it's said that ships are lost there forever

me: maybe the old guy that chases young women is a Viagrasaurus Rex...he may be a dinosaur but he's ravenous and foaming at the mouth

J: beware the unforgiving grip of his dentures!

J: Diaper Daddy!

Disturbing But Amusing Facebook Ad Question of the Day

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