"Sponge"Bob gets the third degree

“Sponge”Bob gets the third degree

I went to my buddy’s house the other night for dinner. I throw a couple of home-brews in the Jeep to give to my hosts and head over. As usual when I arrive, I pop my shoes off, and make myself at home. 10 minutes later, his dog is puking on my foot. Ever felt warm dog puke on your socked foot?
We get through dinner, and my buddy remembers he has some touch-up work to do on his shower floor. Here is the conversation he and his wife had as closely as I can remember it.

Him: Hey honey, do you have an old sponge I can use? I need to do some touch up work on the shower floor.

Her: I have this new sponge. Why do you need a sponge?

Him: I need an old sponge to finish the shower with

Her: Why do you need a sponge?

Him: To spread the coating with.

Her: I thought you’d use a paintbrush.

Him: No. The directions said “a sponge or rag”.

Her: Did you read the directions?
Him Yes.

Her: With your glasses on?

Him: Do you have an old sponge I can use?

Her: I have this new sponge. Are you sure you don’t need to use a brush?

At this point, I’m trying my best to keep my mouth shut. Correct me if I’m wrong here, please. All he was asking for was an old sponge. Not a swatch of silk. Not her fine china. And old sponge.
I’m also thinking “Thank God I’m not married!!!”

Her: Well, there is an old sponge below your sink.

Now, why couldn’t we have started there? He didn’t demand a sponge. He nicely asked if there was on old one.

My tongue now bleeding from biting it, I couldn’t help myself. I jumped into the fray with both feet. I might have gotten “the look” from his wife, but her mother happened to be there too. Seems she was as confused as I was about the whole “Do you have a sponge” dance we’d just witnessed. Not often the in-laws are on the husbands side.

Epilogue
My buddy forwards the rough draft of this to one of our secretaries who jokes around with us all the time. Her take? “(The wife) was definitely right. I don’t see the problem here.”

And people ask why I’m not married. It’s simple: When there’s a rulebook so that I can to know when I’m right (I’ll pause for laughter) and when I’m wrong, I’ll consider putting on the cleats and getting in the game. =-)

Guess they were "sick" during sex ed, huh?

Disclaimer: Ok, so this may smack of "Urban Legend" however, I saw the interview papers. Also, there's a point of science in here that I've done some research on and it is possible.
On with the show.

A good college buddy of mine ended up going to work for Social Services. At first she was dealing with welfare and the like, but has since moved to CPS (Child Protective Services). This is a story from her time with the welfare folks. A younger couple comes in with the following story as to why they are pregnant even though they promised not to because they can't take care of the many they have.

On your typical Friday/Saturday night Couple A and Couple B are on a double-date. Parked in a deserted parking lot. (I know, all you ladies want the digits of these Don Juans) Couple A is in the front seat having sex. Couple B is in the backseat just fooling around.

Couple A finished having sex. Dude A takes of his condom, flips it inside out, and gives it to Dude B to use for protection.

Guess who's baby Girl B is pregnant with?

Mhm. Again, I'm a creative dude. But I seriously am not warped enough to think of this! (ok, so maybe I am, but this time I didn't)

So, some questions:
1. How many of you have a buddy good enough that you'd want to use his broken-in, spunk covered condom? I have some awesome friends. Guys I'd trust with my life. I ain't touching NOTHING that is dripping.

2. Do you think this was the plan all along? And how did Guy B talk Girl B into going along with this?? I've met some damn good salesmen in my life, but this guy could sell Ray Charles artwork to Helen Keller!

3. Do you tell the kid? "Yeah, Jim Bob, (oh, come on, you KNOW that's an option for this kid's name based on the story) me and your momma got something to tell you..."

4. How did they get the message "Use a condom" but not the message "Use a NEW condom" Hell, I'm not even allowed to use the same plate at a buffet let alone a goo covered rubber.

5. We've all at least attempted to have sex in a car. But with an audience waiting for you to finish so they can use your condom? Talk about performance pressure!

Sure, plenty of room!

Just received this email from our French teacher:

"Help! I've lost my life sized poster of the Eifel Tower! if anyone sees it lying around, please return it! It was taken off of my door.
Merci!"

My reply:
"Ummm, how would a life-sized poster of the Eifel Tower fit on your door?"

Her reply:
"Huh?"

Yes folks, this is one of the people educating the youth of America.

The case of the missing hotdogs

As I mentioned in an earlier post (A rose by any other name) I used to work at a summer camp. Below is a stroy from my time as the Outdoor Education Director at Jameson Camp (read the above post for some details about the camp).

Each summer, one of our ten-day sessions was always "F.U.N. Camp" Fitness, Understanding, and Nurtition. That's right: Fat Camp.

My first summer we used a Deal-A-Meal type system until we found out kids were getting beat up for their food tickets. (Folks, I really can't make this kind of stuff up.) So we switched to a different system where the counselors would just monitor what everyone ate and help them choose appropriate portions. Fine. Great.

One day, I'm sitting at a group's table because their counselor has the day off. They're busy eating and another counselor comes up behind me and tells me a 20 second story. 20 seconds. Not enven half a minute. I look back at my table and two hotdogs (bunless) are now missing. They were in the bowl before, 20 seconds later...gone. Vanished.

Me: Where are the two hotdogs?

Them: *shurg*

Me: Last chance before you're confined to your beds during rest hour.

Them: *shrug*

(Note: NEVER threaten fat kids with inactivity if they don't comply with your request. It ain't gonna work.)

So we troop off to the boys dorm for rest hour. The group I'm watching heads to their beds. Being the middle of summer, the dorm was kinda warm, so most of the boys would take their shirts off when they laid down. D'adrian starts to take his shirt off.

A quick description of "Big D": This is a massively large, 5'2" 10-year old kid. Easily 200+. Rolls upon rolls upon rolls. The only way he'd get out of bed in the morning was if a radio was on so he could dance as he dressed. I'll give you a minute to picture that.

D'adrian starts to take his shirt off. It gets caught on one of his rolls, and out fall the hotdogs. Yes, dear Reader, he had hidden the hotdogs not just up his shirt (because that would be silly), but under one of his fat rolls.

Me: D, were you seriously gonna eat those dogs that you stuffed under your sweaty roll?

D (HUGE smile): Uh-huh!! They's good that way!

A Rose by Any Other Name

Nicknames are an interesting thing. I'm not talking about Robert who goes by Bob or Kristin who goes by Krissy. I'm talking about those names that others bestow upon you with or without (and usually the latter) your consent.
I've had two such nicknames in my life: Opie and Greasefire.

The Story of Opie

In high school I was a scrawny kid. My 8th grade wrestling picture of me in one of those oh-so-flattering singlets looks like I just walked out of a concentration camp. My best friend at the time, Melissa, was dating a HUGE football player. Stud linebacker. Now I have fairly reddish/brownish hair. This dude takes one look at me and his first words to me are, "Duuuuude, you look like Opie!" What was I to do? Let's see, I can A) say, "Thanks, but no thanks" to Mongo and piss off said gorilla or live with it. I'm still here and breathing, so you can guess the route I took.

Greasefire is Born

I worked at a summer camp for 3 summer. (Oh, the stories I have to tell about that place!) Quick intro to Jameson Camp: We served at-risk kids. Our translation of this boiled down to: If they've been kicked out of school and no other camp would take them...welcome home! We had some great kids. However, they tended to get lost in the crowd of sociopaths.

One of my jobs was to take each counselor's group camping at some point during their 10-day stay. So, I'm out in "the wilderness" as these mostly inner-city children called it and have a pretty good fire going.

I love fire. Big fan. I don't just have a nice, little cooking fire going, I could have signaled the International Space Station with the fire I had going. As I'm standing there admiring my creation, the natives are getting hungry. Bacon cheeseburgers are on the menu tonight. EASY to cook over a fire. I get everything ready to go then turn to start cooking of there fire, and then reality sets in. There's NO WAY I can cook on this massive blaze.

Here's the situation: I have two choices. A) Attempt to cook on the inferno endangering myself and the quality of the food. B) Pissing off 15 juvenile delinquents.

Cooking it is!

I put the pan of bacon on the fire and within microseconds: massive greasefire. It's burning so hot (along with the rest of what I used to think was a good idea) I can't get the pan off of the fire. The bacon is LONG gone at this point. I finally get the pan off and it's completely toasted. Oh, the other counselors had a field day with "the expert" having such a fun night.

Epilogue: The burgers turned out fine, just no bacon. As the kids were goofing around after dinner, I collected a nice pile of rocks and placed them next to my sleeping bag. We didn't use tents, just slept in bags on tarps. Remember the types of neighborhoods this kids came from? Needless to say, Davy Crocket they weren't. As I got them all settled down and in their sleeping bags, they'd start to laugh, giggle, etc. Every time they did, unbeknownst to them, I'd chuck one of my rocks into the woods.

Them: What was that noise?! (remember, to these kids a squirrel and a few birds is the only nature they've been exposed to)

Me: Oh, probably just an ol' coyote looking for some food.

Nothing shuts up kids like the thought of being prey. That'd last for about 20-30 minutes when I'd repeat the whole process until they finally went to sleep. I know, I know. Evil counselor. All I have to say is you take 15 kids, most of whom could probably make a nice shank out of their toothbrush, into the woods overnight, and you see what tricks you come up with!

Clack-on. Clack-off. The Clacker!

Remember those toy clackers? Well, let me tell you a story.

I usually don't tell stories about our students here, but this one is far too good not to share.

A young man, we'll call him Bobby, is in our "Special Needs/Life Skills Room" (that's the room where the kids learn to cook, wash clothes, not eat paste or anything that came from an orifice - be it your own or someone else's). Because of the difficulties some of these students have, this room has its own bathroom.

Well, turns out that every time Bobby farts, he sharts. (kinda like a vurp but...) Every time. So one day they're in the middle of finding a new pair of underwear for Bobby, he's standing in the bathroom, naked from the waist down. He comes out of the bathroom.

Bobby: Mrs. Smith, I need a band-aid.

Mrs. Smith: Why do you need a band-aid Bobby?

Bobby: My penis hurts.

Mrs. Smith: You're penis hurts?

Turns out that while Bobby was half-naked in the bathroom waiting for his skid-free undies to arrive, he was playing with a toy clacker and...WHACK!! Caught the ol' General in between the flapping plastic balls.

Mrs. Smith (straining not to laugh): I don't think a band-aid is going to help unless you're bleeding, Bobby

Bobby then proceeds to examine his package right there in front of everyone for traces of blood.

Mrs. Smith: You know, Mr. Thompson (a male substitute-teacher in the room) has a penis maybe he can help!

I'm going to pause here for a minute. The above statement may be the absolute best passing of the buck I have EVER seen!! Politicians should take lessons from this women.

Mr. Thompson (ever quick on his feet): Well, I hit my penis with a clacker one and the pain went away after five minutes.

Bobby: Ok!

And Bobby resumes doing whatever it is one does while waiting for new tighty-whities to be brought.

And people wonder why teachers drink.