What a dick!

I was talking to my sister not long ago, and she mentioned that she reads my blog.  My vanity perked right up at this, and told me to ask her what she liked most about it.

“I really like the stuff your friend, KD, writes.  Yeah … that’s probably my favorite,” was her reply.

My vanity then told me to call her several vulgar — and startlingly graphic — names, but I didn’t want her to go tattling to Mom, so I just said, “Oh.”

That showed her.

Anyway, I got the following text from KD today:

KD:  Can I send you my penis post?

Me:  Penis post? FUCK YEAH!

So, without further ado, here’s the latest installment of “Shit I’d Post if I Had My Own Blog” … otherwise known as:

KD’s Korner

You know what I really hate?   I really hate having to think about Al Gore’s penis.  OK, sure, I don’t HAVE to think about Al Gore’s penis, but Al Gore’s penis is like a song that gets stuck in your head and plays over and over until you think you’re going insane.  See, now that I’ve typed ‘Al Gore’s penis’ a bunch of times, I’m thinking about it even more.

Apparently, V.P. Gore was having a massage in a hotel four years ago and got handsy — and perhaps even penisy — with the poor woman who had to touch his naked flesh.  He denies it, she says she was afraid to lose her job, and around and around it goes when folks get behind closed doors and one of them acts like a complete douche rocket.  I’m not going to take sides here since, so far, it’s either he’s a total creep who uses his fame, wealth and social position to abuse unsuspecting women and she’s the victim of assault, or she’s a money grubbing dirt bag and he’s an innocent rich dude in a towel with sore muscles.

No, my point here is that I never would have given a moment’s thought to Al Gore’s penis until this story showed up in the press. I’m not anti-penis … really, I’m a big fan of my husband’s, and some of my best friends have them as well.  [Ed: I can vouch for that, as I am in fact the owner and operator of a penis]  Not that I think about their penises or anything.  [Ed: Sure you don't!]  DAMN YOU AL GORE!  NOW I’M THINKING ABOUT MY FRIENDS’ PENISES!  [Ed:  See?  I knew it!]

Anyway, back to Al Gore.  I can imagine what he looks like naked but I just can’t seem to imagine him having sex.  He seems less articulated than a G.I. Joe. (FYI, I’ve seen them naked and they don’t even have penises.)  Maybe he and Tipper always did it standing up.  Or maybe he just laid there and she hopped on top.  Eeeww.  This is even worse than that sloppy kiss he inflicted on her at the election thing that one time. (Oh sure, I could Google it but then I’d have to see it again.)  I just don’t want to have these images in my brain!  Maybe if I spent more time thinking about penises in general, I wouldn’t be having a hard time (oh damn it!) thinking about his penis specifically.

Resolved:  I will spend more time looking at and thinking about penises!  Porn is too skeevy for me so I’ll have to look elsewhere.  Say, isn’t the Tour de France starting?  Does anyone know which team has white shorts this year?

She’s baaaaaaack!

Once again, my first actual fan and uber-commenter, KD, has returned with another update on her triumphant entry into the world of cycling.  So c’mon into “KD’s Korner” for another installment of “Shit I’d Post if I Had My Own Blog.”

I finally caved in to intense peer pressure and got a bike. It’s a lovely Specialized Sirrus that Mr. Squat Lobster and Mr. Gassypants helped me pick out. [Ed note: That's Captain Gassypants!  He didn't spend four years at the Gassy Military Academy to be called "Mister", thank you very much!] The beautiful red color matches O.P.I.’s “I’m not a Waitress” nail polish. Now I just have to learn to ride it.

I took it out for an inaugural spin on Saturday when it was bright and sunny and only 25 degrees. It was a very short ride, mostly because of the cold. I really do know how to ride a bike; I just don’t know how to shift. Also, I’m afraid to break it or fall off it or crash it when I hit one of the 200 kagillion pot holes out there on the roads or get hit by a car or fuck me, get hit by a falling satellite. Let’s just say I’m a complete and utter wimp.

And now a brief digression:

I don’t drive. The last time I drove a car was in 1982. That’s right, Michael Jackson was still black, IBM personal computers cost an arm and a leg and were as big as a refrigerator and couldn’t do shit and Cheers was that new show the whole family could enjoy.

I did drive for three years in New Jersey. I drove a 1973 Ford Pinto; the exact make and model that would immolate the passengers if it got rear-ended. I drove that p.o.s. on the NJ Turnpike and routes 18 and 27 and U.S. 1 and all kinds of crazy highways. Then we moved to New Hampshire and I sucked driving on “country” roads (not that I didn’t suck on highways) and we started working at the same place and we got a car with a manual transmission that I didn’t know how to drive and I just . . . quit.

I’m pretty much the only person you’ll ever meet who will admit to being a sucky driver. Seriously, I’m a danger to myself and others and you are all safer with me off the roads.

Back to the bike:

Holy shit, I have to get back out on the road in the proverbial driver’s seat for the first time in years. I’m going to stick to the housing development where we live at first because there’s not much traffic and there are some hills to practice shifting on. I’ve been riding the trainer all winter so I should be able to ride without getting embarrassingly winded after two minutes. I’m actually pretty psyched that the weather is going to be nice this weekend and I can RIDE MY BIKE!

I CAN RIDE MY BIKE! How cool is that?

Guest Post Numero Two-O.

Founding member of the Squat Lobster Fan Club and uber-commenter, KD, has once again decided that the frequency of my posts is not sufficient to enable her to goof off at work to the level to which she’s become accustomed, so she’s back for another installment of, “Shit I’d Write If I Had My Own Blog!“, aka:

“KD’s Korner”

As you are no doubt well aware, this blog was created by our friend Squat Lobster (let’s call him “Bob” for the sake of this discussion) in order to attract women.  Everyone knows that cycling bloggers are all devilishly handsome and possess incredible amounts of wit and charm.  (Hi, Ted!)  It was only a matter of time before this digital chick magnet worked its magic and the babes were falling all over each other to get with some of that.  Sadly, for month after month, this timely and hilarious blog attracted only, well, me.

Not to worry.  “Bob” swallowed his disappointment and bravely soldiered on.  He continued to blog his blog, to post fart joke after inappropriate fart joke, while smiling through his lonesome tears.  [ED: I was not crying, dammit!  There was something in my eye!] But then, mirable dictu, it worked!  The crazy son of a bitch got an adorable, funny, age appropriate girlfriend BECAUSE OF THIS STUPID BLOG!  I know!  But now you ask where does this leave me, his former number one fan?  Shit out of luck, is where.  So now you’ve got a girlfriend you don’t need to post new blog entries you shmuck?  What the hell am I supposed to do?  The answer: guest blog number 2.

Anyhoo, here is my list of vitally important life lessons that I’ve learned the hard way over the past 50 years.  (I’m not obsessed with turning 50, really, I’m not.)  There’s no advice tailored specifically for the cycling community because frankly, I got nuttin’.  Read them, study them, break off into small discussion groups if you have to, but mostly, enjoy them.

1. Never drink gin. Gin is Satan’s ball sweat.  Sure, a nice G & T is refreshing on a hot summer’s day but believe me, sooner or later it will fuck you up.  And it will laugh and laugh and laugh.
2. Never be afraid to get in touch with an old friend.   Even if many years have passed and you feel guilty about not staying in touch.  Even if you’re pissed that the other party hasn’t held up his or her side of the relationship.  If you had a connection at one time and you miss them, it will be worth the effort to pick up the phone or drop a card or send a friend request.
3. Sometimes jobs are just jobs.  They pay the bills and let you do the other stuff you really want to do.  You may spend mass quantities of time and money to achieve career goals you laid out when you were young and later get sick of it anyway.  I’ve met only a vanishing few who were truly happy in their “work.” Life is more important.
4. Don’t get married because you think you’re supposed to.  If you do decide to, make sure you’ve talked about what you can look forward to.  Discuss your expectations about who’ll clean the toilet and if the toilet doesn’t get cleaned, who will care.  Decide if you can really, really not fuck anyone else for the rest of your life if that’s what you both agree to do.  Some couples spend two years discussing the seating arrangements and hors d’oeurves for their wedding and never get around to finding out if they want to, oh, I don’t know, have children.
5. Don’t have children because you think you’re supposed to.  My friends have some of the greatest kids (now adults) that you could ever ask for.  I adore them all but I know that I would not have had the patience.  I was just not cut out for that level of responsibility.
6. Stop wasting time stressing about your looks.  Take a long look in the mirror and make peace with the mush the universe gave you.  The sooner you do this the happier you will be.
7. Get an iPhone.  NOW.  You know you want one.  You will thank me later.
8. Enjoy your parents while you have the chance.
9. If your parents or siblings are total shits, don’t feel guilty about cutting them loose.  Seriously, if they should have been prosecuted for child abuse or are just nasty people, being related to them doesn’t mean you have to continue to have relationships with them.  If they’re just annoying – smile, make nice and limit your exposure.
10. Never give unsolicited advice.

KD, I love M’Lady with all my heart … but you are a very close second!

50 Years of Sloth

As I’ve apparently forgotten how to write, my #1 fan and uber-commenter, KD, has taken it upon herself to provide me with a post chronicling her entry into the world of cycling.

So please enjoy the very first (and probably not the last) guest post here on Squat Lobsters.

Of all the Seven Deadly Sins, the only one I’ve ever really been down with is Sloth.  (No really, I’ve enjoyed Lust but only in moderation.)  Bless me father for I have sinned, I am truly, deeply lazy.  At least when compared to my darling husband (a.k.a Cap’n Gassypants) who is in a fact an action dynamo.  If he’s not at work or riding his bike, or training on his bike or going to the gym or working in his shop or “getting things done” he’s kind of miserable.  I am not like this.

I recently decided, now that the AARP has finally tagged and bagged me, to get off my lazy ass and get some exercise.   I had him set up one of his old mountain bikes on the travel trainer he uses at races next to his regular trainer so we can train together, side by side.  I needed a distraction so we’re watching season one of Deadwood.  That’s right cocksuckers, Deadwood.  My goal is to be able to pedal though an entire episode before we finish season one. It’s a modest goal but remember: 50 YEARS of SLOTH.

Here are my observations:

1. Cycling shorts feel weird. The chamois feels like a sanitary pad circa 1972, which is when I last wore one.
2. My ass is killing me.  I don’t know if it’s my lady parts, my ass muscles or my ischial tuberososities, but sweet suffering Wild West whores after a long night in Swearengen’s saloon, it hurts!
3. I could use some upper body strength.
4. I’m really afraid to ride on the street once spring rolls around since I don’t drive and I’m afraid of cars and I haven’t ridden a bike in at least 15 years.

Anyhow, so far, so good.  This past Sunday I managed to do 20 minutes on the trainer.  Then, because the cocksucking show wasn’t over, I did some fucking sit ups and some cunting reps with weights.  And to think I was a big old potty mouth before I watched this show!

Mr. Squat Lobster’s new goal in life is to see me race a time trial.  His previous goal was to get the Cap’n to race ‘cross. Check!  Considering how small the women’s fields are, if I ever did actually complete one — it would probably be after everyone else had gone home — I could get a higher finish then he would in his wildest dreams.

Guess who else has a new goal in life?