Archives for September 2021

Mormon or More Men

I had a chance to spend some time in Utah this year, beautiful state, different world. It was easier to find alcohol than it was to find a cup of coffee.
Apparently, the lack of caffeine for anxiety has made them more lax on the enforcement of keeping libations away. The religion tries to keep anything stimulating away from you. Because…God hates you to be stimulated. I guess they’re too tired from the lack of caffeine to really enforce the booze thing.
This is what brings us to teenage hornieism…teenage got’a get me some…as the Lord would say, teenage lust.
“Though as a teen, with all the desire I have giveth you, though shall abstain.”
Yeah, thanks God. I’m seventeen, my testicles are the size of coconuts and Mary Jane Kepectnie just went up a bra size and is turned on by guys in long sleeve white shirts and thin black ties.
“What’s a boy to do?”
Apparently, the Mormons have solved the problem.
In order to stay virgins…so, they can get married…I was raised catholic, I don’t get the whole concept. By the time we were seventeen, if you weren’t laid or violated by a Priest…something was really wrong with you.
Anyway, the Mormons have gotten around the whole dilemma. They came up with a way to beat the system. It’s called “Soaking.”
See, what you do is…get naked and the male puts his…how can I say this without being offensive to the Mormons.
Ok, so the man takes his…let’s call it a wandaleer. Then he puts it against her…again, trying not to be offensive…I can’t decide on “the part above the taint” or “the hole that’s not the ass.”
Yeah, let me work on it. I’ll get back to it.
So, the guy lays his thing against her thing. They get soaking and stay virgins in the eyes of the Lord. Because there’s no motion.
“If it ain’t movin, there ain’t no grooving.”
If that’s me, and I’m seventeen…and we’re naked…and mine is touching yours…sorry, about your sheets.
Now, at this time, you would think I could get a cup of coffee. I mean, they would probably have to castrate me because I failed in front of God. I should at least be able to get a Caffee Lattee!
I don’t know how this whole organized religion thing works. It was set up for minds that are different than my own.
Oh, I forgot the last part of the Mormon non-sex ritual. “Jump Humping.”
What this is, is while your soaking…no, not in the hot tub…that whole touching genitals thig. See, while you’re doing that, a friend jumps up and down on the bed. Because, as long as you’re not the one making it move, you stay a virgin.
I don’t know, wouldn’t it just be easier to be an atheist, get laid and enjoy life? Oh, what do I know?
Again, if I’m the guy bouncing on the bed, there’s a naked woman…sorry about your sheets…and my PANTS!
I’d be such a horrible Mormon. Soaking, Jump Humping…drinking Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino’s and spilling them all over my tie…I’m such a Heathen…

Not a Great Visit

 

In honor of Roberto Clemente Day, Here’s a repeat from a few years back 

 

After twenty years of losing and heartache, it’s fun to be paying attention to baseball in Pittsburgh as Labor Day approaches. During many of the lean years I lost interest before Memorial Day. Baseball was always my favorite sport growing up and it’s good to see the Pirates in the pennant race once again.

This past Tuesday would have been the great Roberto Clemente’s eighty-first birthday. He was my favorite player as a child. Yeah, I know, the fact I saw him play makes me really old. But with age comes wisdom…along with a lot of aches and pains and hair growing in places where it shouldn’t. I try to hang out with people that haven’t aged as gracefully as me. It makes me feel better about myself.

If you’re too young to have seen him play, the stories you hear are not exaggerations. He was that good. Other worldly would be the best way to describe him. He’s the best I’ve ever seen. There were no performance enhancing drugs back then. Sure, a lot of the players were wired on speed and Dock Ellis pitched a no-hitter on acid, but no steroids.

I was nine years old in fourth grade in the West Park area of McKees Rocks. There was a rumor going around the school that Roberto Clemente had been spotted on Broadway Avenue which was right around the corner. The Rox, as it is affectionately known, gets a lot of bad press, but it was a great place to be a kid. Still, there was no conceivable reason for the great Roberto Clemente to be there.

Mr. Fort was our fourth grade teacher. A lot of the teachers back then were ancient women that came over on the Mayflower. They believed education should be a disciplinary and joyless endeavor. Mr. Fort was the kind of teacher you wanted to have. He was young, fresh out of college. He used to tell jokes and play ball with us at recess. He made learning fun and the old bitches hated him.

There was research going on to find out if the rumor was true. All you had to do was go around the corner and find somebody on the street. They all had to know. One thing about people from McKees Rocks, we are not known for our shyness. If Roberto was in the area at least one person would have inquired,

“Hey Clemente, what the hell you doin’ round here?”

What we found out was that Roberto’s chiropractor had opened an office on Broadway. Mr. Fort made us a proposition.

“If you can stay quiet for a few minutes, I will go over and see if I can get him to come to

the school.”

We had just come back from lunch. We were full of chocolate milk and Twinkies. The height of a sugar buzz and we’re supposed to behave? Still, the payoff was huge. We folded our hands on our desks and sat like little angels.

Before he left, Mr. Fort asked Miss Cole to keep an eye on us. She was the hot young sixth grade teacher that all the boys had a crush on. I always thought she would have looked good as Catwoman. Hey, I was nine, what other fantasies was I going to have?

It seemed like an eternity sitting there behaving when Mr. Fort burst in beaming with the news. Roberto Clemente was going to stop at the corner store and pick up enough popsicles for every student in the school. He would then greet each of us personally and hand us the treat!

We were cheering loudly when Mrs. Hubbard poked her head in. (This is the only name that’s been changed in this story in the event some sick bastard actually bred with this miserable old woman and there are descendants still out there.) Mrs. Hubbard was the principal of the school. I think she got the position by being older and more wretched than anybody else. We all believed she lived in an old secluded cabin in the woods with a heated kettle waiting to boil children. I remember she answered the door one time when I was selling candy and I ran like hell to get away.

The look on her face could turn you to stone as she uttered,

“This is no way for a class to behave. Mr. Fort may I see you in the hall.”

When he came back in we could tell by the look on his face it was bad news. Mrs. Hubbard was not going to allow the Great One into the school because it would disrupt our studies. All the air was sucked from the room. There would be no Roberto and no popsicle, which for a fat kid like me was an added bonus.

Now I don’t remember what I learned that day but I do know what I missed out on. It was a different time and these nasty old ladies did not believe fun and learning went together. I never did get to meet my hero, he wasn’t with us much longer after that day. But I still say he’s the best I’ve ever seen.