comedy – Page 3 – aMediocreMan

big day off (mediocre man style)

Wednesday, the day after Xmas I was off from work. (I like to use “Xmas” instead of Christmas, it feels more daring to me.) I really didn’t have anything planned and thought a couple times about doing something productive.

I woke up and had a Mountain Dew, because I’m addicted to sugar and caffeine. Then I ate a cashew Lara bar. It tasted pretty good. I like cashews. Apparently Lara bars are Paleo friendly. I’m not on the Paleo diet, but I like cashews and think maybe it’s somewhat good for me. And I think cashews pair well with Mountain Dew.

I turned on a documentary on Netflix and chilled, by myself. I was wondering how I should handle that situation. If I “Netflix and Chill” by myself, do I have to jerk off? Or can I just watch the documentary and leave my dick alone?

Bradentucky seafood festival

seafood-fest-desoto-bradenton-2593 A man wearing only one flip flop, sits slumped over on a bench resting the side of his head on a oak tree about 20 feet from the main stage.

He’s wearing a black shirt with a red confederate flag on the front that says, “You’ve got your X, we’ve got ours.”

There are other men in only slightly better condition standing behind him drinking Budweiser from cans and smoking pot from a one-hitter that slides into a belt buckle. Behind them, a normal looking mom and dad with three young sons eat fried foods on extra-large toothpicks.

The weather is beautiful. It’s about 80 degrees, sunny with no clouds and very little humidity. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists around until the snow melts in their northern hometowns. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists clogging my streets while I try not to succumb to massive road rage.

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me,” is the Lynyrd Skynrd song being played by the band. About 25 to 30 people attempt to dance to the country anthem, but really just sway back and forth spilling beer on their feet without a care. Continue reading “Bradentucky seafood festival”

did Tony fuck Angela

whos-the-boss1 I keep asking myself the question………… Did Tony ever fuck Angela? I want to know, I want to know badly. If he did, I think it would have gone something like this:

Tony approached her right after he finished vacuuming the drapes. She had probably just returned home from a hard day of work at her advertising agency. She was standing by the door teasing her Grayish-streaked hair, almost inviting him to taste her middle-aged grapes.

“Hey Angela, you’re looking pretty hot standing there by the door. Why don’t you come a little closer so I can fuck you up the ass,” Tony would quip.

“Oh Tony, you’re so boorish, so Italian, so ruggedly…………….. what time is dinner,” Angela would blush and retreat to the kitchen.

Then Mona would enter the room, arm entwined with a an old drunk who resembled Bukowski. Tony and Angela could both smell the sex on her breath as she paraded around the room with the misguided confidence only shared by Blanche from the Golden Girls. Continue reading “did Tony fuck Angela”

scenes from a waiting room (a car dealership)

Act I. (the elderly)
Old, musty ass wrinkled seniors wearing bad track suits; their lifeless, aged skin scarred with purple gum colored splotches hanging from their bones like loose sleeves.

A cell phone rings deep inside a purse, underneath the dentures and coupons, by the time the old woman realized it was ringing…… silence.

Act II. (the soccer mom)
Frost dyed hair, way too tight Hollister shirt, tight faded jeans with sequin pocket designs, elastic fake tits shaped into perfect round globes, husband at work banging his secretary who has even faker tits, but younger body. Continue reading “scenes from a waiting room (a car dealership)”

my addiction

soda I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed and I’m weak because I have an addiction. I’m not proud of what it does to me. I’m not proud of what I do to get it. But I do it anyway.

When I first roll out of bed, it nags at me like a hangnail.

“Come get me, you know you need me. You know you can’t make it an hour without me,” it whispers knowingly in the back of my mind.

I look around my house in odd corners hoping to find a couple of quarters or dimes. If I can’t find enough there, I lift up my car seats and scour underneath to find the right amount to pay for it.

Once I find enough change, I get into the car. I don’t brush my teeth, I don’t bathe, I simply put the car in drive and get there as quickly as possible. Continue reading “my addiction”

adventures at Wal Mart

Adventures at Wal Mart (discovering opposable thumbs, this story is 100% true, it happened several years ago)

Today, I had to exchange a television at Wal Mart because the one I bought there a few days ago did not have a remote. This should have been a truly easy task to accomplish; but idiocy, poor breeding and patriotism stood directly in my path.

Act I. The Beginning of the Transaction: I walked in with the television and my receipt and made my way to the customer service counter. The employee was a young girl probably 19 or so with bad hair, but she was nice.

She took my receipt, stared at the “return/exchange” policy board behind her and told me that I had to exchange it for something that cost the exact same amount or something that costs more. She explained that she couldn’t give me a refund in any way, shape or form. “Whatever,” I thought to myself, I just wanted the exact same television, but this time with the remote it’s supposed to come with. Continue reading “adventures at Wal Mart”

another hotel bar

Another hotel bar; I’m on the corner bar stool, minding my own shit, hoping no one tries to talk to me, only thing I want to say is “Yes, one more please.”

Another business man, probably mid 40’s and a little fatter than most, sat down next to me, his eyes scanned the rest of the bar, looking for some strange pussy, hoping some desperate clit will let him in. His Brooks Brothers button up is wrinkled from sitting behind a computer for the past 8 hours and there are visible pit stains. He should work out more, he’s too puffy for a hookup, especially given the 10 to 1 male to female ratio. That’s the typical ratio, damn the women are “lucky.”

He ordered a Glenlivet neat. Shit, the puffy man has bigger balls than most. He’s really trying to impress, really trying to show the rest of the bar that his expense account is for real.

The bartender took notice, but only because the scotch means her tip should be bigger. Her bangs and wrinkled forehead tell me that she’s either 25 or 50 and she’s probably seriously questioning her life choices. He will talk to her about his two divorces, child support and how he’s hoping to retire to South Florida one day and buy a boat. “Do you like boats,” he asked her. She says she that she does, but only because she has to say that so she can make a payment on her Boost mobile cell phone the next morning before it gets shut off again. Continue reading “another hotel bar”

habitual masturbator….a confession

daisy Would anyone like to share today? Hello, my name is Tommy. (Hello Tommy, said the 20 people gathered in chairs in the small room at the back of the church.) And I’ve been an addict for 25 years now. (loud congratulatory clapping, of hands)

I never thought I would have the courage to come to a meeting, but the other day I knew it was time.
I woke up on Saturday morning and it was just like any other Saturday. But this time, I wanted the weekend to be different. Instead of sliding my hand down over my new, Hanes boxer briefs and gently caressing the head of my penis, I jumped out of bed and got into the shower.

It was difficult because I knew how lonely Mr. Spickles (the name of my dick) is when I first wake up. He always enjoys a good morning tug.

I turned the water on and left it as cold as possible. I didn’t want the hot water to help elongate Mr. Spickles, I was trying so hard (no pun intended) to not jerk-off. I grabbed my Pantene shampoo and immediately thought about those old commercials with Daisy Fuentes.

Oh shit, suddenly the shampoo turned into Daisy and she was blowing me kisses and rubbing her hand across her breasts. Holy fuck, this is going to be difficult. Continue reading “habitual masturbator….a confession”

Ramada Inn tiki bar

tiki bar I ordered a Heineken and immediately I’m an alien.
“No Bud Light? No Miller Light?” They know I’m an outsider.

There are four men at the bar and me the fifth. Everyone smoking except for me. One guy is a New Yorker who recently moved here. Another guy is ex Navy, or so he says. Military guys always make sure everyone around them knows they were in the service.

Then two guys who could be gay, not sure, but they have that red-faced look that only seasoned alcoholics have and they are smiling weirdly at each other after each sip.

The bartender is tall, crack skinny with purple black, long hair and looks like she just came off of a meth binge. Her face is stained with pitted, shaded spots and she has a scar on her neck that probably came from a “dream” of bugs trying to scurry into her brain via her trachea. Continue reading “Ramada Inn tiki bar”

extra mayo

steak When I asked for extra mayo on the side, she stared at me with those banjo eyes. You know the eyes I mean.

The eyes that seem to be much farther apart than they should be. Eyes that have watched cousins touch each other in the dark, warm areas only non-relatives should be allowed to touch.

Her quizzical expression reminded me of how a squirrel’s mind must feel when it crosses the road in front of a car safely, then darts back from where he came from. But her expression was far less urgent than the squirrel narrowly escaping death.

“Extra mayo? You sure about that,” she said with a southern baptist twang.

“Absolutely dear. Haven’t you ever had mayo on a philly cheese steak?” I answered a bit angrily.

And why did she give a shit about my mayo ordering habits? After all, this was an Applebees in the deep south and not exactly a bastion for health nuts. I naturally assumed that mayo was quite popular here. Continue reading “extra mayo”