Archive for July, 2007

Where no DJ has gone before…

Saturday, July 28th, 2007

The summer is flying by and sadly I have yet to record anything that has happened this season, like when I was almost killed doing a prom, or the following weekend when I was almost killed doing a prom. I have had good intentions to revisit these events in writing. However, Ryan’s story last Saturday has effectively rendered all others insignificant. I am not even sure I have the words…

I was working a small uneventful job, when I received a text from Ryan describing the smoking hotness of his bride. This was not unusual as he gets brides of smoking hotness all the time. The term “my hottest bride ever” had been used more than once, so I took it with a grain of salt. However, the words of his next text had most definitely never been used before: “I just helped her out and in to her dress.”

I called him immediately after my show to get the sordid details. He was on cloud 9 and would have exploded without someone to tell the story. I am paraphrasing at best but here it is:

Ryan recognized the bride at once. This was her second marriage and she had 10 year old daughter, but she had compensated with lots of plastic surgery – fake boobs, ass lift, tummy tuck, the works. Fortunately her surgeon had the hands of Michelangelo and the end result left Ryan speechless. The perfectly sculpted tan body, along with her brown eyes and long dark hair easily put her in the category of Dream Woman.

She was also one of his biggest fans, having booked him almost two years ago. She had even gone so far as to write the bridal show coordinator a letter of recommendation, promoting him for center stage. This was before he even did her reception. Needless to say she was extremely excited to have him.

However a wardrobe malfunction threatened to ruin her perfect night. Her dress came unbustled making it impossible to dance and have a good time. Normally this is where the bridesmaids swoop in and make everything all better. Unfortunately, her bridesmaids were very drunk and in no shape to bustle. Her high strung mother was equally drunk and worthless.

So it fell upon Ryan to save the day. For some reason he never did explain, he had an earring in his music case. He grabbed it, pushed his way through the crowd of drunk bridesmaids in the ladies room and went to work. The photographer took several pictures of him under the brides dress. Why the photographer was in the bathroom was also never explained.

I am not sure where the hell Ryan learned to “bustle”, but he got the job done. With the dress repaired, the bride and her inebriated entourage returned to the dance floor. Sadly the party had barely a chance to get started before disaster stuck again. The bride was ready to finally shake what her mama gave her, when someone stepped on her dress. There was a sickening rip to the $3000 fabric, rendering it useless.

The bride fled back to the ladies room in tears. She had yet to have a single drink or have a chance to unwind and now her perfect night appeared ruined. Her very drunk and unwound bridesmaids were not helping the situation. As Ryan tried to analyze the damage, their “help” did nothing but aggravate the stressful situation. Ryan looked at the bride and asked “Would it be easier if were just the two of us?” The bride said “absolutely” and with that Ryan proceeded to kick everyone out of the ladies room.

Now completely alone with his hottest bride ever, Ryan tried to stay focused on the dress. He struggled for some time but was unable to make any progress. Then the bride asked the unthinkable: “If I took the dress off, would you be able to fix it then?”

Completely stunned, he somehow was able to answer “yes”. Ryan watched with unbelieving eyes as the bride took..off..her..dress. He now found himself alone with his hottest bride ever wearing nothing but white stockings and a thong. There was no bra to be found.

In the most professional voice he could muster he said “I don’t mean to sound perverted, but I have to tell you this. You are perfect.” Completely unfazed the bride thanked him for the compliment. Every fiber of his testosterone charged body screamed at him to ravage this beauty. Yet somehow, with a herculean effort deserving of poetry and monuments, he turned his attention to the dress.

Using an assortment of items he found lying around, he was abe to McGyver the dress back in to one piece. All he had to do now was get it back on the bride. This required him to get behind her, with only an inch or two between her naked skin and Mr. Happy. As he squeezed the fabric over her incredibly firm ass, he was alarmed to realize he was becoming aroused.

He finished as quickly as he could and ran out of the bathroom before making a mistake that would almost definitely end his DJ career not to mention two marriages. The groom was surprisingly accommodating, poking fun at Ryan. “Hey man, I thought it was my job to take her dress off!” Indeed it was, so at the end of the night, Ryan actually had to teach him how remove the fabric from his lovely new bride. It was of course a theoretical explanation, not a demonstration.

At that point Ryan, shook the groom’s had and said “Sir, I just want to congratulate you in more ways than you will ever know.”

The level of professionalism, courage and fortitude Ryan displayed on that night will never be truly appreciated. On behalf of DJ’s everywhere I salute him.

Lucky bastard.

Jack wishes everyone a happy and safe Friday The 13th!

Friday, July 13th, 2007

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(This took 1,365 photo attempts because he was in lover mode and would not
sit still.)

Just call me Mr. Manly Guy Man

Thursday, July 12th, 2007

I was mildly annoyed to come home and find a tree in my yard. Normally this isn’t a problem. I come home to trees in the yard all the time. If I’m feeling particularly chipper, I might even greet them with a “Hi tree!” as I walk by. However this was different, as my yard guest had gone from being a vertical tree to a horizontal tree.

Fortunately it was a small tree and had died long before I moved in. I was even reflecting not two weeks ago “Hmm, I should doing something about that tree.” Before I could though, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands and knocked it down with a strong gust of wind.

Usually I would just note the event, decide “Well, it’s biodegradable” and move on to my X-box game of choice for the night. Sadly this was not an option though because such inaction would cause my tenant to have a stroke. This would make collecting rent much more difficult.

Although I own the duplex I live in, my tenant does all the groundskeeping. She is fanatical, mowing the yard multiple times a day. I actually feel guilty walking on my own grass. The thought of the wrath I would incur leaving a dead tree lying in the yard was not appealing.

So I did what any manly homeowning guy man would do. I called someone else to do it. Unfortunately my handyman Matt was unavailable for days. Tenant conniption would erupt long before then.

I was faced with a terrifying prospect. For the first time since I moved in over a year and a half ago, I would have to do…yard work! With power tools even! I didn’t actually own any power tools per se, so it was off to our new neighborhood Menards, where you can save big money provided you are not a lawncare challenged retard with no clue what you are doing.

I purchased the smallest wussiest electric chainsaw they had. I figured when I got home I would just pop it out of the box, saw away for a couple of minutes and be done in plenty of time for X-Box. Imagine how stunned I was when I opened the box and found my new toy in several pieces. Nevermind that the box wasn’t long enough to hold an assembled chain saw.

I opened the owner’s manual, printed in several languages, one of which may have been English. It started with the precautions, like “wear tight clothing”. That definitely wouldn’t be a problem since my back injury had knocked me out of the gym for two months. Everything I wear now has a very “fitted” look to it.

I read on. “AVOID KICKBACK!!! Sometimes the nose of the blade will catch causing the saw to swing back at the operator in a LIGHTENING FAST motion, resulting in injury or death.” Well, that sounds unpleasant. How do I avoid it? I flipped to the next page. Nothing on avoidance. I reread the warning. No mention of how to actually prevent becoming an ex-person. So instead of playing X-Box that night, I signed up for Russian Roulette.

To do this though, I would still have to assemble the death machine. I studied the diagrams, much in the same way a monkey would study an algebra book. After twenty minutes of sticking screws in the wrong holes and having everything fall apart repeatedly, I finally broke down and did what I always do when mechanics confound my little primate brain. I called Ryan.

“Hey man, can you come over and assemble my chainsaw?” For Ryan or any of my friends who know how mechanical I am, this is what you call a “red flag” question. He asked what I needed a chainsaw for, so I told him about Mr. Horizontal. He replied “Dude, why don’t you just borrow my chainsaw?” GULP. I know Ryan has a REAL chainsaw. Not the wussy electric kind, but the kind that quickly settles any neighbor disputes. “Um…sure, ok.” I answered meekly.

I went over to his house and he broke out the beast.

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I quickly addressed my concerns with him about KICKBACK. “Oh yeah, this one does that. It will kill you.” He replied. I contemplated losing my diner, but he told me not to worry. Just hold it off to one side and don’t be a pussy. Let the weight of the saw do the work. We practiced on couple branches before he graduated me from Ryan’s Chainsaw Academy.

So I mulled the whole drive home about how I would have to be careful (but not so careful that I got myself killed), and reflected on how much harder life would be three inches shorter. I can barely reach the top shelves of my kitchen cabinets as it is.

But when I got home, I just put my game face on, fired up the chainsaw and quickly ripped Mr. Horizontal into lots of little pieces.

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Amazingly when I was finished I still had all my fingers and toes. I could have sawed everything into smaller chunks but decided not to tempt fate. Instead I packed up the beast, and then spent the next two hours breaking down and bagging everything by hand.

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However I was not able to escape the night without one accident. As I bent over to pick up the last scraps, I heard a tremendous RIP. I was suddenly aware a cool breeze from the southwest.

Unfortunately the manual never mentioned the hazards of wearing tight clothing…

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Ryan and Baxter

Thursday, July 12th, 2007

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Baxter is the fluffy one.

Ethel’s “Mudslide” in Chicago

Wednesday, July 4th, 2007

Ethel’s is one of our mandatory stops upon arriving in the Windy City. I was intrigued by the Mudslide Mocha. The girl behind the counter warned me that it was a “true” mudslide using only only melted chocolate and two shots of espresso. She asked if I wanted to cut it with milk, but her tone indicating doing so would reveal a complete lack of testicles on my part. I told her to bring it on!

She handed my a tiny styrofoam cup which felt empty. I was going to complain they forgot the drink but tipped it back into my mouth to be sure. A slow barely liquid glop of chocolate poured down my mouth. It was simultaneously the most tasty and disgusting thing I have ever had.

I chewed down the rest of my coffee and then washed it down with the remainder of my girlfriend’s iced mocha. At this point the 2.5 shots of espresso caused my heart to explode. I didn’t really notice though, as my entire circulatory system had been replaced by brown sludge, slowly moving through me like molasses in a tree.

I now bleed chocolate.

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