The Night the Karate Kid Dissed Me and Then Did Right in the End

Daniel Larusso and I were supposed to have a dudes’ night out, just him and me.  And we got maybe an hour in before he bailed.

The plan was to meet at the Golf n’ Stuff family entertainment center at 8:30.  Just a couple of bros hitting the air hockey table, maybe the front nine of the miniature golf course.  Who knows, things get crazy, me and Danny-boy might even hit the waterslides a little later; I told him to bring his suit.

8:55 Daniel shows up (no swimming trunks). He said he was helping a friend out and lost track of the time.  I knew he was talking about that little old Chinese guy, but I don’t press the issue.

9:12 We’re finishing up a couple a slices, a couple a root beers, no big deal.  Daniel starts bragging on his air hockey skills.  “Is that a challenge?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, standing from my seat with my arms out at full wingspan.  “You want some of this, Larusso?”  Daniel looks around nervously and tells me to keep my voice down.

9:16 Butcher: 5, Laurusso: 1.  I’m like Ovechkin on the air hockey table.  Suddenly, I hear Daniel’s gay, Peter Cetera ring tone go off and he calls time out.  I’m like, “Time out?  This is air hockey.”  But he takes the call.  He’s doing a lot more listening than talking.  When he finally gets off, I ask, “Who was that?”

“Just a friend,” he says.

9:19 Game, set, match, bitch.  Butcher 11, Larusso 3.

9:20 We pass a photo booth.  “Hey, man, what do you say?  My treat?”  I say, gesturing towards the photo-op behind the curtain.  He gives me a look like, “are you for real?”  Oh, I’m for real, Karate Kid.  I’m so for real.

9:24 I bet Daniel that, in four turns, he can’t pull a plush M&M doll from the claw-crane machine.  He’s all, “you know I caught a fly with some chopsticks, right?”  and takes the bet.  “They’re having a beach party later tonight.  You wanna check it out,” I ask him.  He suddenly starts getting all squirrelly on me.  “I might have something else to do.”

9:26 Daniel hands me a yellow M&M doll and says, “You lose.”  But I just got a yellow plush M&M doll for fifty cents.  I’d say that’s a WIN if ever there was one.

9:28 So, I’m feeling like it’s time to get our putt-putt on.  But when I bring it up, Daniel-son says,  “I got this thing…”  What?  “Dude, this was supposed to be Bros’ Night Out.”  He corrects me, saying it’s called “Dudes’ night out.”  Fine.  “Bro, this was supposed to be Dude’s Night Out, now you’re dissing me?  It’s that Mr. Miyajji, isn’t it?”   “Miya-gi,” he says, “and maybe.  What’s it to you?”

Killin' the Skee Ball

9:34 Daniel and I hit the skee ball machine.  After about six games, neither of us talking to each other, Daniel says, “I might take off in a bit.”  “ I roll my eyes.  “Do you want my tickets,” he asks.  Of course I do.  Daniel walks away.

9:37 Lonely and tired, I do a lap around the arcade.  Then I realize, “what law says I can’t go on the water slide… by myself.”

9:39 I’m heading for the exit when I hear, “On second thought, how about those pictures.”

He left right after we took the photos.  It was the shortest Dudes’ Night Out on record.  But, as time passes, and that strip of photos becomes clearer than my memory, I think back fondly on that special night at Golf n’ Stuff.

Earl, with an L

George Clooney Drank the Last of My Orange Juice

After putting a clean folded towel and washcloth at the foot of the freshly made bed, I came downstairs and walked into the kitchen.

“You’re all set,” I told George Clooney.  Then I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice.  The lightness of the carton startled me.  “I’m almost out of orange juice,” I said to George Clooney.  “I think I’ll save the last glass for breakfast tomorrow.  I like to have orange juice with my breakfast.”

Three or four medium oranges will yield 8 ounces of juice.

“I’m not a big orange juice guy,” George Clooney said, never looking up from his blackberry.

“Oh, I am,” I said.  “I’m a huge orange juice guy.  I like it with my breakfast,” I said.  To George Clooney.

He looked up from his ‘crackberry,’ puzzled.  “Yeah, you just said that.”

George Clooney was staying at my house.  He had meetings in Tysons Corner that day, and was catching an early flight out of Reagan National the following morning.  Rather than book a hotel, he was crashing in my spare bedroom.

“It’s an O.J. thing; you wouldn’t understand,” I told George Clooney.  “Well, I’m turning in.  If I don’t see you in the morning,” I said to George Clooney, “have a great trip.”

We shook hands and I went up for bed.

At around 4am, I heard George Clooney’s alarm sound.  I was half asleep as I heard him get ready and brush his teeth.  I must have been drifting in and out of sleep, because I had a dream that the person brushing their teeth in my bathroom was my neighbor, Kevin.  But it was George Clooney.

My alarm went off around six.  I got up, bleary and with a bad taste in my mouth, but nothing that a little orange juice wouldn’t cure.  In the kitchen, there was a note.

Earl,

Good seeing you again.  Thanks for letting me crash in your spare bedroom.

Best,

George (Clooney).

Hmm, I thought, and went to the fridge.  The orange juice carton was gone.  In a panic, I looked over at the trashcan.  The empty carton was on the very top.  A glass that obviously had orange juice in it earlier was in the sink.

Not a big orange juice guy, huh, George Clooney?

If the Thug in My Math Class Was Thinking of Buying These Boots

This is the Boot I was Referring to in the Post

So, I’m thinking about buying these boots.  Actually, I’ve pretty much made my mind up.  Just need to sleep on it one more day.

In the meantime, here’s what it would sound like if the hood black guy drug dealer from my math class, junior year of high school, was contemplating the same purchase:

“Oh shit!  Oh shit!  I din’ even tell you, son.  Oh shit.  I’m ‘bout to buy the freshest shit, young’n.  Oh my God, kid… they’re muh-fuckin’, muh-fuckin’, um, boots, but, nah, they’re like the brown joints…oh shit, you don’t even know wussup wit the brown shits.  I was about to buy ‘em yesterday on the web, and I was like, nah, I don’t wanna be acting all pressed and shit.  But you gonna be like, ‘oh shit!’ when you see me.  The leather shit is so fuckin’ soft, son, you don’t even know.  I’mma rock the shit out of ‘em wit like a pair a brown cords… but nah, but nah, check it though, you can rock ‘em with blue jeans too!  Oh shit, you feel me on that shit?  They’re like all versatile and shit.  Dress dem bitches up, or you can dress ‘em down.

“I’m buyin them shits soon as I get home.  Bam. “

F*/Marry/Kill Starring: The Conners

The only rule is that you have to pick one of the immediate Conners women living in the house.   Saying “I’d F* Jackie” is out.  Every guy wants to tag Laurie Metcalf; that’s like saying I wanna bang Megan Fox.  Uh duh.  (F* Jackie… Baba booey).

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F*:

This might surprise you, but I’m going with Darlene.

Thanks for Keeping My Seat Warm, Old Man

So we’re hanging out, watching a Bulls game.  She’s draped in the crochet-throw from the back of the couch.  I get wood.  She then mentions that Derrick Rose can push the ball, but he’s got no jumper from the right of the key.  I lose wood.

“Do you want some,” she says, holding up the throw.  “Oh, I want some.  But I ain’t talking about a blanket…if you know what I mean,”  I say, then growl like a wild cat.  She rolls her eyes and stands up.  “Easy, Casanova. I was gonna give you some anyway.”

We tiptoe upstairs when another door opens.  Becky!  “Darlene, you have a boy here?  Oh my God, I’m telling mom.”  “Go ahead and tell mom,” Darlene barks back. Becky rolls her eyes.  “You shoulda stuck with David,” she says under her breath.

Minus a lecture on how my brand of Jimmyz aren’t bio-degradable, the sex is actually amazing.  She won’t do it with the lights on, but she’s real into trying whatever.  After we finish, she sparks up a j and asks if I want to “take a toke off of this refer.”

Turns out that wasn’t just bad writing; they actually talk like that in Lanford.

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Marry:

After taking the pot with Darlene, Roseanne makes me the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had.  I’m smitten.

Looks and Personality... Double Threat

The reception is down at the Elk’s Lodge.  The party only set me back 600 bucks since Roseanne got the Lanford Luncheonette to cater the whole thing.

The highlight of the night is me dancing with the bride’s sister (you haven’t lived until you’ve whispered into Laurie Metcalf’s ear, “God, you smell amazing”).

The first few months are filled with trips to Wal Mart and TJ Maxx; Always about making two ends meet.  Even with my high-paying blog writing job, there never seems to be enough.  But every day is still a Loggins-and-Messina-Danny’s-Song moment. Our love makes me the richest man in the world.

Then, the mistake of a lifetime.

I’m three hours in to an epic Conners poker game.  It’s me, Leon, Arnie and Mark.  I’m down big, six bucks, but I’m holding a straight. Arnie calls.  “I’ll see your 2.75, and I’ll raise you a buck.”  He knows I don’t have that kind of money.  “Then put up a night with Rosie…” A night with my wife?  The most indecent proposal… but I’m holding a straight.  Done.  I throw down.  So does he.  Full house, deuces over kings.

Roseanne doesn’t take the news well.  I get the boot.  Once in a while I bump into her at the Firehouse on Bingo Night, or at the dollar store on Rt. 7.  She has a look of scorn like you could never imagine.  On Valentines Day I sent her a mix CD.  16 tracks, all the same song… Danny’s Song.

I miss you, Big’ums.

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Kill:

Becky thought I forgot the little “you shoulda stuck with David” comment.  Now she’s gonna die.

I know that she picks her loser husband up at work every night at seven.  So I hang out in the shadows of the garage, waiting for her pull up.   At five till, low and behold…

I lie in wait.  I can hear “Another Day in Paradise” blaring from her car before she shuts it off.  This bitch is going down.

Suddenly, I hear the garage door rolling down for the night. It’s Mark.  I jump from the shadows and tackle Becky.  “Shoulda stuck with David, huh?”

Then I feel a kick in the back that must’ve come from Thor himself. I look up; it’s Dan Conner. Damn, I forgot he worked here too. “This is for banging my daughter,” he says, then punches me so hard in my chest that my shoulders touch.

When I come to, I’m on a gurney, flooded in the lights of an ambulance.  I look around at what looks like the entire town of Lanford sans George Clooney.  Bonnie, Crystal and Nancy are consoling Becky.  Dan is giving his account of the story to Officer Harris (God, Jackie looks so hot in that uniform).

Look For Laurie in Next Month's Issue of Maxim

As they lift me into the ambulance I suddenly see Roseanne.  We lock eyes for a moment and I yell out, “Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you honey…”

The ambulance doors shut between us and the siren wails in the night.

It’s “Dan” Now

President Franklin Roosevelt declared December 7, 1941 “a date that will live in infamy.”

In my own life, I’ve made similar declarations.

4/27/90: The day my brother and I were expelled from Jhoon-Rhee “nobody bothers me” Karate (Sensei, you still owe us May’s tution, BTW).

12/24/02: The day I found out WWF wrestling was fake.

And now, 7/16/09: The night I learned Danny Pintauro is gay.

I was searching FM stations, just 2 or 3 seconds each to hear what’s on.  As I flipped to one of them, I heard: “August 10, meet gay actor Danny Pintauro at Barnes and Noble in Centerville…”

Danny Pintauro, gay? I took a deep breath and said, “Impossible.  Look, you’re almost home.  Then we’ll jump on the world wide web and get to the bottom of this. “

And so I did, starting with:

www.google.com I type in “Danny Pintauro Straight.” Did you mean Danny Pintauro is so Gay?” So I click on the first web result.

Danny-pintauro-com.  Hells yes.  Take me to the e-promise land.  Except when I click on it, I get an IP address, and a message saying the site is under “system maintenance.”  Probably because he’s nailing some chick.

Next stop:

Wikipedia.org. I’m getting wiki with it.  Let’s see, “came to prominence on Who’s the Boss…” you go, boy.  Wait, what’s this? Under personal life: “The National Enquirer… intended to out him.”  Out him?  Well, that’s vague.

If you want the truth, you need to hit up the gospel of entertainment facts…

Danny’s IMDB page.  I start looking at the credits.  Hmmm, speaking on gaping holes, what was he doing between the end of WTB in ’92 and the Still Life in ’07.   Let’s see, credits include WTB, Cujo, and Highway to Heaven.  Ain’t nothing gay with that (well, except the episode title of H2H was “Man’s Best Friend.”).

Let’s check out the bio link.  Oh, he’s an Eagle Scout.   I’d rather tie a square knot than a balloon knot.   What else is – oh, what’s this?  A man charged with writing harassing letters to Danny committed suicide in 1990 (for the record, I didn’t commit suicide).  So, the guy’s a bit of a dick magnet.  Doesn’t mean he’s…

Enjoys watching old reruns of Who’s the Boss.  For him, he says, it’s like looking through a yearbook. Okay, that’s kinda gay.

Came out as gay in July 1997.  Oof.

Dejected, I hit the back button on my browser, clicked another link, found a very NOT-WORK-FRIENDLY picture of little Jonathan Bowers (I don’t have the “balls” to link to it in this post, but a simple google image search will put you on the path not taken), and ended up in the shower, feeling like bugs were crawling on me as the theme song to the Crying Game played in my head…

July 17, 2009.  A date that will live infamy.

Oregon in the Time of Cholera

My grandfather used to love telling me that kids today have it too easy.  That they couldn’t cut it back in his day.  Oh really, Old Timer?  To prove his old ass wrong, I’ve decided to go back in time and do this Oregon Trail style.

When This Wagon Hits 88 mph…

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Duh.

April 1, ’48: That’s eighteen forty-eight.  Old school.  Time to hitch this wagon.  And what is the first name of the wagon leader?  Right, like I’m gonna let my wife drive. Please.

Butcher, first name, Earl.  Booya!!

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Rollin’ Deep Like Ants at a Picnic

April 1, ’48: All right, getting the crew together.  Here’s who’s coming with:

1)   Earl Butch: Alpha Dawg, bitches!!!!

2)   Ms. Butcher: That’s the wife.  I can’t leave her behind, or else who’s going to, to use the parlance of that time, mind the young’ns? What young’ns?  These:

3)   Lil Butcher: That’s my oldest daughter. She’s four and weighs 30 pounds.  That means she doesn’t eat much and doesn’t take up any room, so she can come.

4)   Baby Butcher: That’s the youngest.  She’s one and weighs 30 pounds.  She could be a problem if we end up forging a river.

5)   Carmen Electra: Aww shit!!! You didn’t think I was rolling all the way Oregon without some super fine ass sitting shotgun?  Booya!!

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Time to stock up.  We’re heading to Matt’s General Store.  It’s kinda like a 7-11 if 7-11 sold livestock and ammo.  Booya!! Lil Butch tries to come in with me.  “No!  Wait in the wagon.”

“But I wanted to get a slurpee!!!”  This is going to be a long-ass trip.

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Make it Rain in the General Store

So, I’m picking up stuff when dude tries to tell me something about oxen.  I’m like, “Bitch, please.  You’re talking to the Butcher!  I’ve been butchin’ since I was three.” And he’s like, “that’ll be $200.00.”  I’m like, “I piss on $200.00.  There, you got change for a million?”

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April 7, ’48: Heading out.  The only nav system I have is me licking my finger and holding it up in the wind.  If Ms. Butcher falls asleep early enough, I might be doing the Electra Slide up in this cut, if you know what I mean.  I’m gonna bang Carmen Electra, if you don’t.

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April 7, ’48, Later in the day: NOOOOOOOO!!!! Why??!!! Why does God always take the good ones?

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This is Why I'm Hot

April 9, ’48: Damn it’s hot out here.  But my health is good.  Wait, now what?  I hear my old lady screaming.   “How in the hell did you break your leg?”  If only Carmen were here…

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April 9, ’48: Lil Butch asks: “Daddy, why are we stopping.”

You Shot 1200 Pounds of Meat...

But Could Only Carry 1199 Pounds Back to the Wagon. BOOYA!!!

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April 12, ’48: Shit, another river.  Let’s have a moment of silence for Carmen and the poonanny I never knew.

All right, time to forge this bitch.

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Baby Come Back

April 12, ’48 Later: NOOOOOOOO!!!!! Why do they mention the clothes, axle, food and oxen before telling me my daughter died?

I’ve been on the road five days and I’ve drowned two of my passengers in two separate accidents.  My grandfather is giving me the “I told you so” look.  Hey, grandpa, you can kiss my ass… in Oregon.  Booya!!!

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April 19, ’48: Man, I can’t fix shit.  I hate – where the hell am I – Missouri?  I hate Missouri.

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May 11, ’48: You know what would suck… if my older daught – I mean my only daughter… I’ll never stop missing you, Baby Butcher… anyway, it would suck if my daughter got bit by a -

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May 11, ’48: Grrrrr!!!! Damn it, I can’t drive this thing and rear the young’ns too.  But Ms. Butcher is back there nursing this whole broken leg thing to the last drop. I guess I have to do everything around here.

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June 13, ’48: It’s been a while my since my last entry.  I haven’t been feeling my best.  We stopped and traded with some ingines.  I think I may have caught cholera.

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June 21, ’48: Definitely got the cholera.  If I had the internet, I would go onto webmd.com and check it out. But no internet, b/c it’s ’48.  That’s eighteenforty-eight, mind you.  Booya!!!

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No Idea the Date:  Slipping in and out of consciousness.

Wait a tic…

Oregon.  It’s even prettier than I imagined.  Wait, is this… something tells me this is my Russel Crowe-Gladiator- Fingerips on the Wheat- Moment.  I’m still in Missouri, aren’t I?

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boo…ya….ugh.

True.

Before there was TMZ, there was Earl the Butcher, sifting through all of the celebrity gossip and urban wives thingies.  Here are ten of the top celebrity rumors I heard back in the day:

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Mike D Died

I was in fifth grade when this one broke.  For those of you too young to remember the Beastie Boys back then, let me make this comparison: Hip Hop losing Mike D would be like if the ’99 Lakers lost Travis Knight.  It hit the community hard.  Of course, they revived him just before Paul’s Botique, thus, “I’m Mike D and I’m back from the dead.”

Rumor: TRUE

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Mike D and Screech are Brothers

I was a little older when this one broke.  Mike D had died a few years back.  Then somebody finally made the connection:

Michael Diamond and Dustin Diamond are related. And it checks out.  Turns out they were the offspring of a couple named Neil and Blood.

Rumor: TRUE

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Madonna Peed on her Athletes’ Foot

I didn’t want to believe this one when it surfaced; unfortunately it’s absolutely true.

In related news, I told my wife I had Athletes’ Chest.  Turns out she still doesn’t believe the rumor.

Rumor: TRUE

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Eddie Murphy Picked Up a Man, Baby

Eddie Murphy, who dropped the word “faggot” a combined 54 times in Delirious and Raw, and did a whole set on how much pussy he gets, picked up a tranny prostitute?  No way.  Oh, yes way.  It happened.  Eddie pulled up the skirt and a different kind of “big brown shark came.”

Rumor: TRUE

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Richard Gere Stuck a Gerbil Up His Bunghole

Oh, totally true.  A friend of mine’s aunt is a nurse at the emergency room in Missouri where Cindy Crawford rushed him after it happened.  The gerbil was shaved bare, declawed, and nicknamed “an Officer.”

Rumor: TRUE

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Walt Disney was Cryogenicaly Frozen

This one seems almost too mundane to even be a rumor.  He is indeed frozen in a chamber buried underneath Magic Kingdom.  The part that is in question is whether execs really woke him up for a screening of the rough cut of Tron.  I doubt it.

Rumor: TRUE

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Mikey Likes It Blew His Stomach Out

Pop Rocks + Pepsi + an Almost-Was-But-Never-Will-Be talent = Exploded stomach ≠ False.

Rumor: TRUE

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Every Michael Jackson Story You’ve Ever Heard

He sleeps in an hyperbaric chamber, speaks in a normal voice when no one is around, bought the Elephant Man’s skull, suffers from vitiligo and called it Splitsville once and for all with Macaulay Culkin  All true.  Every last one of them.

Rumor: TRUE

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Jamie Lee Curtis is a Hermaphrodite

JLC ’s got more junk in the front than she does in the trunk.  Freak.

Rumor: TRUE

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You Can't Reach What Isn't There

Marilyn Manson Removed a Rib So He Could Suck His Joint

Fo Shizzle: Marilyn did it.  The man underwent a 30k surgery so he could service his own iPud.  Who knew it was just a simple rib standing between me, third base and me?  Brutal.

Rumor: TRUE