Archive for the ‘Inappropriate!!’ Category

Just Another Day at Work

July 11, 2008

The following things happened yesterday while at work.  No kidding.

1.  At a Turkish family’s home, about a dozen relatives were milling about while I was there to fix the phones.  It was a simple matter of getting them back into “the switch”.  One of the family members slipped into the bathroom next to where I was and proceeded to play the ass trumpet.  For five solid minutes.  The whole time I’m on the phone with the secret special department that handles these phone issues, I’m hearing this sound in the background.  I hope it was the grandfather.

2. A Redneck gentleman had requested a DVR be installed out in his storage shed, where he spent most of his time.  He had the shed set up as the ultimate bachelor pad, if Karl Childers happens to be the ultimate bachelor.   During the interminable wait to get the equipment on his account and get it updated,  he launched into a stream of consciousness rant about several topics, mostly concerning how this country is “going down the goddamn shitter”.   One of the more memorable rants was about working at the Nissan plant when it first opened.

“So I’m working on the scissor lifts and there was this fine ass little girl about five foot tall who was a welder out there.  She was a pretty looking thing.  Well, she’s working up on the lift and sets the torch down an the stinger is facing up.  She squats down to pick up a tool and that fucking stinger burns her right in the twat.  She starts fucking screaming bloody murder.  I get her down from there and it went right through her jeans and burns her twat.  We got to be pretty close after that and she tells me later that burn was the best thing to happen to her sex life.  It did something down there and she says her twat became more sensitive.  I broke me off a piece a couple of times.  We were real close.”

His cell phone rings.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I know!  I’m the only around here who knows what the fuck is going on you fucking nitwit!”

“Who was that?”  I asked already knowing the answer.

“That was my fucking wife.  That’s why I spend all my time out here.  I go in there to sleep, eat and take a shit.  Hey, want to hear a song I wrote?”

3. The news came on at another customer’s house and the story was about nursing home patients being molested by their caregivers.  The customer proceeded to tell me about her mother who is in a nursing home and how the male caregivers have to watch out for Mom.  Seems without any virile males in Momma’s age range, she is a little frustrated.  We go now to the transcript of the story.

Customer:  So, Momma is in this here nursing home and she be getting horny as hell.  We thought she had a urinary tract infection, too much information I know, but it wasn’t.  Turns out, it was a banana.

Me:  (jaw agape)  Do what now?

Customer:  I know!  A banana up in her!  Couldn’t believe it.  Didn’t know whether or not to tell my brothers.  Sheeeit!

Me:  Did you tell them?

Customer:  Yeah, I told them.  I made one of them go with me to buy Momma a dildo.

Me:  Do what now?

Customer:  Yeah, do you know what it’s like going dildo shopping for your mother?

Me:  Can’t say that I do.

Customer:  Well, we were walking around and my brother says, “What size do we buy her?”  I said, “Banana sized, I guess”.


The Disturbing Facts of Life

May 17, 2008

In the wake of having The Talk with the boys about all things biologic, the hits just keep on coming.

The other day, Mrs. Sarcastro gave out the warning that she was starting her monthly reign of terror as determined by the lunar cycle.  As always, I am appreciative of such information as it gives us time to stockpile supplies in an interior room of the house such as a bathroom or closet where we can wait out the storm until the danger passes.  They boys were fairly non-plussed.  They only had one question:

“So are you wearing a pad or a tampon?”

How Much For The Little Girl?

April 29, 2008

This hasn’t been a good month to be a young girl. I’m not speaking from personal experience, this is more of a general observation. The creepy Lolita subtext that pervades our culture has crawled from the slime to the surface. In fact it is casting a shadow on the door of a cottage on the shore of a dark Scottish lake many miles away, many miles away….uh, where was I?

The other night, we wound up having The Talk with the boys about Girls. Thirteen came home with all the middle school gossip. Included were tales calculated to drive parents mad and provide fodder for Evangelical Spook Houses. At one of the suburban middle schools, a seventh grader is pregnant at the hands of an eighth grader. Another eighth grader had a miscarriage, thereby avoiding an awkward moment breast feeding her child during Health class. Not sure when the State of Tennessee allows kids to start learning about procreation, but making it part of the Head Start curriculum may not be a bad idea.

The other gossip involved a middle school girl blowing a boy in the bathroom and getting caught. All of this information was revealed in the presence of Ten, who only knows that he likes hot girls and hasn’t really thought it out past that point.

So, we had to have the talk. It was clearly more embarrassing for the boys than it was for us. It all seems rather soon for all of this and the boys are far from being ready for grown up activity. But, there is a lot of misinformation out on the street. The whole “guys talk, you hear things” bit has degenerated into the worst game of Telephone ever. No example was more obvious than when asked the definition of a “douchebag”, Thirteen replied that according to his peer group it meant “used tampon”.

At one point, I did lose my cool while discussing, I believe, condoms. He doesn’t quite have the nomenclature down or is just, I don’t know. No points for sensitivity were won by me that night.

“Yeah, I know. I know. You put the condom over your balls.”

“Not your balls, your penis.”

“It’s all the same.”

“No it isn’t. They are two different things entirely.”

“Well, that’s what I call everything down there. Balls.”

“Then people will think you are an idiot.”

Which segues nicely into the media coverage of Miley Cyrus. Clearly, the American public is far more idiotic than science is yet able to measure. Last night, the lowest rated local newscast showed their commitment to hard hitting investigative journalism by leading the broadcast with local teen reactions to photos (click the video link on the page) that only the dirtiest minds would find titillating. In fact, they even try to get mileage out of the picture of her with her father by using a tsk-tsk tone to get blue noses out of joint.

Let us assume for argument’s sake that her pandlers (that’s a portmanteau of parent and handler. All Rights Reserved) approved the pictures before this manufactured shit storm hit the public and are now back-pedaling like crazy to distance themselves and their golden goose from the “bad” publicity.

First problem I have with this is, she isn’t topless. Not that I really want to see Hannah’s little Montanas, but if there is faux-outrage over supposedly topless photos, shouldn’t she be a little more, you know, topless? Her back is exposed. Her front is covered with a sheet. No boob, no foul.

What is the responsibility of the media in all of this? It is similar to a self-aggrandizing interview Paul McCartney did back in the 60’s where he admitted quite openly to doing all sorts of drugs, much to the chagrin of the rest of the band who were far ahead in the drug taking. The interviewer asked about his responsibility to the Beatles’ young fans. McCartney rightly countered that it was up to the press to publicize it or not. If they were so worried about “the kids” maybe they shouldn’t air the interview.

I don’t see any difference here. If the high moral pillars of decency that make up the news departments across the country were interested in the impact that pictures (from a magazine that 90 out of 100 Disney Channel viewers have never heard of) would have on young, impressionable girls, then why did they show them to the point of parody on every news program in the last 48 hours?

Because sex sells. Especially underage sex. That’s the dirty little secret that no one wants to talk about in our culture. We all want to slow down and gawk at the wreck. We gawk a little longer when the wreck involves a school bus full of private school cheerleaders on their way to the beach. Media knows this and can sell more advertising when they know we will tune in for gripping stories involving high school age girls. Just ask Chris Hansen.

As for young Ms. Cyrus, her career is going according to plan. She’s bigger now than ever. What could go wrong?

She’s finally old enough to be dating Roger Clemens.

Or, be a baby machine for some crazy ass Mormons in Texas.

Or, be a baby machine for your crazy ass Dad in a dungeon in Austria.

Or, be Tabitha Tuders, five years later.

Makes me glad I have sons. I hope they continue to sound like idiots for the next several years.

I Had A Dream…

November 21, 2007

We marched.

A vast rainbow coalition of all faiths, creeds, colors and national origins marched in support of our rights.

We marched for the right to be able to hang nooses from trees whenever we wanted and wherever we wanted without fear of persecution and prosecution.

In my dream we were united as one.  United in our belief and love of Free Speech.

And, of course, auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Pieces of the Historical Puzzle

November 17, 2007

mmmmm, treacle!I wonder what happened to all the Mouse relatives that Fievel left behind in Eastern Europe?

Oh, right.

We should move to Miami

The Old Man and the (Enchantment Under the) Sea

November 14, 2007

I find my entertainment where I can.  Usually at the expense of others.  Today’s episode comes from a training class full of people much younger than your humble correspondent.  Most of whom graduated high school during the current presidential administration.

Somehow the discussion during a break turned to Senior Prom.

Teenage Goober:  Man, we got a DVD of pictures of our prom.

Early Twenties Goober:  That’s cool.  Hey, Sarcastro!  When was your Senior Prom?

Me:  mumble, mumble eight track tapes mumble, mumble.

Early Twenties Goober:  When was that?

Me: 1984.

Early Twenties Goober:  Damn!  I wasn’t even born until ’85?

Me:  What was your mom’s name?

Apologies To Kevin Smith

October 11, 2007

I still don’t get the big deal about Porch Monkeys.

As ably dramatized in the above clip, the phrase has an unfortunate racial overtone associated with it.  In the Free To Be You And Me carousel of my racially color-blind childhood,  it was always applied to kids in general.  It was considered to be from the same subset as “rug-rats” or “ankle-biters”.  In retrospect, however, I have to wonder if “yard apes” have fallen into the same taboo category.

When I tell my kids to “quit monkeying around”, is it racist?  Or, is “horsing around” more culturally sensitive?  Does that offend people with horse faces, like former NFL player Shannon Sharpe?

I can’t say “quit dickin’ around” because they might get some horseshit, bullshit complex about their bodies and their gender identification.  No doubt they would wind up in therapy and be forced to sit through Free To Be You and Me.

Plus, their mother is on my ass about swearing at the children.

My real question is, if no offense is intended, then how can offense be inferred?  If you call someone who, say, cuts you off in traffic a “cocksucker”, are you suddenly some sort of irredeemable homophobe?

Now there are two similes that I enjoy immensely which I learned from my friends who are from the darker end of the crayon box.

“Spends money like a nigger with a hit record”


“Beat him like a runaway slave”

I love those two phrases so much I want to run off to Utah, don some silly boxer/briefs and get married in the Temple to them.   Maybe President Romney will let me.  Alas, even he won’t be able to keep Rev. Sharpton from calling for me to be fired, despite the usage amongst and stamp of approval from my black pals.

It isn’t a double standard problem, but rather one of no offense intended, none inferred.

Unfortunately, we live in a society where you can’t have a private conversation with a friend and say something innocuous like, “Don’t be so niggardly with the hot sauce” without someone overhearing it and getting their dashiki in a twist.   More’s the pity.

Like the man said, “Ain’t like he called us ‘porch monkeys’.

Octopussy Galore

July 21, 2007

**In my Lottery Fantasy, I always wind up buying a boat and naming it The Seaward. After putting Mrs. Sarcastro’s name into the Girl Parts Name Generator, I may instead christen it The Vice of Love. Or, more accurately, The Vise of Love.

**That one Vagisil commercial is a little off-putting. This dame is putting on lipstick and yapping about how her lady parts smell like a sub-Saharan fish market. She then mentions how she’s got an itch she can’t scratch.

When I get an itch I can’t scratch, it usually leads to divorce. I wasn’t aware there was a product that took care of that for you. Other than porn, of course. I went looking online for the ad, and found out about the whole “down there” controversy. They even have an, uh, interactive map of “down there”. Just in case you were wondering how to find the Jew gold, or more likely the blood diamonds your special lady friend has been smuggling.

**There may be no word in the English language which makes me laugh like the word “twat”. It is ALWAYS good for a laugh. I momentarily toyed with the idea of renaming this blog Tiny Cat Twats. That’s how much it cracks me up.

**On VH1 or E! (is there a difference?) the other day, they had a show about celebrity sex tapes. By the time it was over, I realized I had already seen them all. The customer whose home I was in was less than impressed with my Ebertian critiques of the Tonya Harding honeymoon video or the entire Pam Anderson oeuvre. This knowledge does have a practical side. If your boner pills are giving you that six hour erection and you are contemplating a trip to the emergency room, dial up the Gina Lee Nolin home video. It may be the least erotic sex tape ever. I think churches and schools use it to get the abstinence only message across.

**Best Headline Ever. Thank you Christian Science Monitor.

**Octopus vs. Shark. Just so there isn’t any complaining about false advertising.

The Soft Bigotry of Low Expectations

July 20, 2007

With no way to defend the indefensible, the Vick Fan is chumming the waters of the internet and sports talk radio with charges of racism and allegations that The Man is out to get another Black Hero.

Really?  As The Man’s local representative, frankly, we’re shocked.  How did you figure out our secret plan to offer to pay this guy $130 million dollars, only to go after him for some harmless fun?

Is it racist to expect better from this man?  C’mon, we’re not talking about Marcus Vick. Have we infantilized the Negro Male to the point where animal cruelty is something to be tolerated, and more often than not, expected?  If it is racism to expect better does that mean that dog fighting is a part of black culture and we are not being sensitive to the traditions of others.  Golly, I hope the diversity broad at work doesn’t find out.

The aptly named (for Boondocks fans) Mike Freeman of CBS Sportsline gives his take.  He damns Vick with faint damning before equating those who don’t see a racial element with Klan members.

As a brief aside, the drooling idiot Senator from West Virginny tossed in his two cents the other day.   What courage Senator Byrd must possess to stand on the Senate floor and condemn the scourge of animal cruelty.  Let me see if I have something straight.  This worthless old windbag was a Grand Wizard Great Poo-Bah Eminent Dodecahedron Exalted Cyclops in the Ku Klux Klan.  The Klan is a domestic terrorism organization according to law enforcement.   This asshole was a segregationist and filibustered against civil rights whenever possible.  Unbelievably, he is celebrated by the Democrats for his long and distinguished record, despite clearly loving dogs more than the Blackamoor.  When Byrd dies, his seat will go to a former member of either Al-Qaeda or the Baader-Meinhof Gang.  They can’t be much worse than the feeble and pointless Byrd or the nitwittery of Jay Rockefeller.

But I digress.

Getting back to the Freeman piece, he rambles on to a point where he coughs up his true life encounter with honest to gosh racism.  This one time, he recounted, a middle age white woman admitted that she didn’t know black folks owned dogs.


I bet that room got so quiet you could hear a church explode.

Spare us all the talk about race as a driving force in this unfortunate tale.  Spare us the conspiracy theories.  Spare us the comparisons to high profile white quarterbacks.

If you want someone to measure Vick’s transgressions against, how about Pete Rose?  All Pete did was bet on a few baseball games.  Pete went to prison.  Pete isn’t allowed near professional baseball.  Pete is living out his sad life as a disgrace and a joke.  Pete has to sit outside a Vegas memorabilia store for the rest of his days signing baseballs and photos for anyone dumb enough to want one.

By the way, I have two Michael Vick jerseys (youth small and youth medium) I need to sell.  Any takers?

I didn’t think so.

Bringing The Funny

May 4, 2007

Lately, I haven’t had the time to sit and word vomit all over the computer screen.  Having a job sucks that way.  If only I had a job that didn’t expect me to perform tasks all day.  The perfect job would be where you could just sit in front of your computer and write about whatever you wanted and could take off to go to various “blog media” thingys in the middle of the damn work day.  You know, a job like Aunt B’s for example.

Speaking of The Aunt, here’s a semi-funny story.  Mrs. Sarcastro went out of town to visit my parents this week.  I called her and mentioned that Aunt B made the front page of the Tennessean.  Her reaction was, “Is there a picture of her with that new haircut?” 

It always does my heart good to know my wife is concerned with the pressing issues of the day.

In other news, this may be the funniest headline ever,

Skywalkers in Korea Cross Han Solo