First let me start off by saying that I love my girlfriend. I'd also like to say that I will never make fun of the four hairs that are on her big toe ever again.
My lady comes over last night and we play some catch up on the couch. She kicks off her shoes and she fills me in with the goings-on of her day. She sprawls out on the couch and uses me, her man, as if I was her otto-man. We talk, we laugh, and I rub her feet as she tells me all about her trip to Canada and all the wacky adventures she went on. As she's blabbering on about the phallic shaped rocks she found on the beach, my eyes catch a glimpse of the redwood forest of black hairs protruding from her big toe.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa...hold up." I stop her. "What the hell is this all about, Frodo?"
"Um, what?" She hates it when I refer to her as characters from film trilogies.
"You got hairy ass toes!"
"What are you talking about? Shut up." She finds her place in the story she was spitting. "So I found this shiny black rock and I put it in my..."
"No. Um, what gives? I see you shaved your legs, right?"
"Right."
"After you spent that time shaving your legs, didja just look at your toes and say...Fuck these toes?"
"Shut up I'm trying to tell you a story."
"Whatever Gorilla-foot."
I've found my bit for the evening. I have an uncanny ability to turn whatever someone is saying into the bit I latch onto for the night.
7 Minutes later.
"It took forever for us to take off; the flight attendant had the longest list of rules to follow..."
"You are definitely one to toe the line...hairy toe the line." My abilities of funniness are unparalleled.
15 minutes later.
"So then my friend Ryan got me these Elvis Presley Matryoshka Stacking Dolls..."
"You and Elvis have a lot in common. Know what Elvis had under his Blue Suede shows...hairy toes." I'm a genius.
23 minutes later.
"Rectum, damn near killed him!"
"You have hairy fucking toes." I'm a master of wordplay.
It was about this time that she announced that its time to go to bed. I walk to my room, girlfriend in hand and with a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat say..."Damn, that’s a big fucking smile."
"Bigfoot coming through." I yell as she enters my room.
"Oh, you're funny." She laughs to herself. "You are sooo gonna get it."
We disrobe and hit the sack...I ain't getting no booty tonight. She is all the way on the other side of the bed careful not to make any contact with me.
"Babe?" I ask. "Can you stop moving, your toe hairs are tickling my legs."
"Stop, it’s not funny anymore."
"No, your hairy digits aren't funny anymore." I jump out of bed and grab my electric razor. "Give me those tootsies."
She scream-laughs and pleads but it of no use and I grab her foot and shave off all 4 blonde and black hairs from her big toe. She's kicking and screaming and crying from laughter as I grab the other foot and start the shedding.
"There. Shorn toes. So lady like. I ain't sleeping in bed with no woman who walks around with hairy talons. Now, get to sleepin'. You shaved bitch! Shaven bastard!" I Cheshire smile.
"OK, honey. Yes, sir. You just go sleep..." She's never looked so devilish.
I fall asleep within 10 minutes; my last hurrah is playing "Cut Your Hair" by Pavement as my sleep soundtrack.
Now, when I sleep, my arms are usually tucked under my head in some way. If I'm on my belly then my arms are tucked under my pillow. If I'm on my back, or side, my arm is tucked under my head. Good, because it’s comfortable, bad because I leave my underarms exposed. Give a hairy-toed woman a hole and she will exploit it.
It's 2AM and I'm on my back when I wake up with my arms pinned behind my head, with her knees on top of my elbows in a 69-esque position. Groggily the sleep leaves my eyes and they come in fine focus on my girl with a Cheshire smile and my Norelco Razor in her hands.
She attacks my left armpit with the speed and precision of old Irish sheep shearer. What was once a plush land of curlies, sweat and dried deodorant is now a smooth, and possibly bleeding barren patch of sensitive skin. I laugh on the outside like a little girl, but I'm crying on the inside like an altar boy who just got his butthole massaged by the deacon. With lightning quick speed she attacks the right armpit.
"Not ol' rightie!" I squeal with the opposite of delight.
When rightie is as pre-pubescent as leftie, she places the razor on the night stand, lifts off my elbows...kisses me goodnight and immediately falls asleep.
I'm now left wide awake and shaven...I haven't felt like this since that crazy night in Vegas in '03.
Boyfriends can only be this lucky.
I wipe the hairs from my bed, and with each movement of my arm, my pits burn with burning-burny pain. M'lady fake-snores.
I kiss her on the cheek.
"I love you hairy toes."
"I love you bitch-pits." she mumbles.
Oh WE BLOG, lesson learned: relationships are about compromises.
Will
ps: Right now...my armpits are in pain. Burning pain. Deodarant is the devil.
Welcome to The Royal We Knows, where, like the current Administration, we answer questions with an authoritative and confident tone, no matter what we know about the topic. None of this Rumsfeldian wavering about "known unknowns"; we're talking Dick Cheney-tells-you-to-go-f-yourself authority.
A recent question that inadvertantly reached our ears (see here for details) was this anonymous question: "is it okay to get tattooed when pregnant"? This is a terrific question, and the actual answer is: YES! It's not only okay, it's a lot of fun!
Something that's really fun to do if you're pregant and getting a tattoo, is to get that ink smack dab on your belly before you start to show. Then as your belly bulges, your tattoo - let's say it's a tiger - get's all stretched out and changes into something totally awesome and rad and like, beyond the ken of the human imagination when not enhanced by psychotropic pharmaceuticals - like a stretched out tiger!
A popular thing for pregnant women who get tattoos while they're on vacation is to get the phrase "I got pregnant and all I got was this stupid tattoo... and a baby" inked across their chest, and then go topless for the rest of the trip, so everyone at Wildwood can read how witty they are.
Now, you may have some people telling you there is a risk of infection with tattoos, but we're here to tell you: those people are French, and everyone knows those French surrender to infection faster than Tom DeLay to a greenback handjob from a casino lobbyist. Besides, the French have universal health insurance, but if you're an American, and you're pregnant, and you want a tattoo, Karl Rove is willing to bet you don't have health insurance, and we've learned not to bet against Karl (too many loved ones on NOC lists.) And if you don't have health insurance, chances are you're not gonna have a whole lot in the bank once you pay for that tattoo, so why worry about it?
Have fun with your tattoo, and remember, there's never a better time than pregnancy to get one - because two mistakes are better than one!
Politics, schmolitics.
In November of this year, New York City will be voting for Mayor. The incumbent, lifelong Democrat turned Republican, Mikey "Moneybags" Bloomberg, will be seeking a second term as Mayor of this fine city. This will be my first time voting for Mayor in NYC, and I'll be damned if ya think I'm voting Republican...I vote party lines, baby...Democrat 4 Life...that is until I make million dollars...then color me red state.
August is a fun month because it's the time of the year that all the democrats are vying for the party nomination. The four frontrunners are Fernando Ferrer, Gifford Miller, C. Virginia Fields, and my main man, Anthony Weiner.
Come Election Day I'm fairly certain that Fernando Ferrer's name will be on the ballot as he is the longtime frontrunner of the frontrunners for the nomination, but from this day forward I will be extolling the virtues of Weiner. God, I love Weiner. [snicker snicker]
"Why Will? Why should I care? Why do you care? You're as political as W. Bush is borderline retarded."
Yea, I know. That was the old me. Say Hello to political active Will Zone. Here is my story of how I went from pothead, to pothead who wants Weiner for Mayor.
Cut to one week ago today. I get home around 1AM and am flipping through the channels since I can't fall asleep till I've had at least one hour decompression time on my couch. I turn on ESPN and am pleased as punch that the Mets won. Then, I start channel flipping at channel 1 and there is no need to change stations as NY1 (local NYC news) is re-airing the Democratic Primary debate thing from earlier in the evening. Each nominee had good things to say and no one was bashing each other, they focused much of their vitriol to Bloomberg, which was nice to see.
After the swimsuit competition ended they began the lightning round. This round consisted of rapid fire questions that the candidates could only answer with a "yes" or a "no." First question was something like "Is Bloomberg a better mayor than Giuliani?" Boring. Next question was something like "Would you send your kids to a NYC Public School?" Snore.
Next question was "Do you like the Yankees more than the Mets?"
I was now politically involved. I leaned forward in my seat anxiously awaiting the responses. The front-runner, Ferrer, was the first to respond.
"Oh Yea!" He says...instantly losing his credibility, and therefore, my vote.
Gifford Miller was next to respond.
"Definitely. Yes. No question." he says as my stomach churns.
I hate Gifford Miller...what kind of a dicknose name is Gifford? I hate him.
Cue my main man Weiner. My fingers were crossed.
"No. No way!"
It's 1:30AM and I screamed. "Wooooo-WHOOO!!! Yes!" Thus began my Political Activeness.
Walter, my roommate, shoulder charges his door open and comes trudging into the living room, still half asleep...
"What?! What happened?" He wipes the sleep from his ass.
"Nothing." I reply deadpan. "Just Weiner...I love Weiner."
"You're a sicko dude. I'm going back to bed."
"Night Schnookums." I yell as his door slams shut.
Now, I don't want to stand on this soapbox for too long, but please, if you live in NYC, and the democratic primaries come along...put a check next to Weiner...if not for your city, then do it for me.
WEINER in '05!!!!!!!
The Royal We consider every living, breathing visitor to our site to be a welcome guest, and we hope that you've come for the comedy, and even if you haven't, we hope you'll stay for the comedy.
But not everyone is coming for the comedy. Like Latter Day Saints ringing our doorbell, these visitors come with an agenda which is, shall we say, "different." We know this because we can see the search terms that led them to our site.
Search terms like "homeless look," "slippers day" and "burp soda." We know where the homeless look thing comes from - our own Jerry Miller is a leading consultant to the fashion industry in that area, but "burp soda?" "Slippers day?" Who is searching for these things? Is this the promised land the information highway has led us to?
There are some standard categories these searches fall into. There's the ubiquitous pop culture search - "who's the boss" (as in the TV show,) "tammy faye baker," "bush's blood pressure," and "cargo plane full of rubber hong kong" - which is on the short list of names for our Kenny Loggins cover band.
Some people are looking for directions: "road to lincoln tunnel" and "ghetto philadelphia" - or maybe those are Woody Guthrie songs.
Others have a baser intention: "dick cream," "milky titties," "a drawn picture of the woman's vagina," and "lesbian danger." Who is "the woman"? Is she married to "The Man"? Does that make her a metaphor for everyone who has ever been screwed by The Man? What the hell constitutes "lesbian danger" - Amazon.com is out of Indigo Girls CDs? (btw, the search term "Indigo Girls" leads to our site, too.) Honestly, is this why the web browser was created?
But there's more, dear friends. Apparently, The Royal We is associated with "big sequin purse" and "hand butter churners" by some search engine logarithm somewhere. Actually, maybe those should be in the adult section, too.
Finally, we love getting questions, and sometimes we get the darnedest questions online. Two recent ones caught our attention, and in later posts, we'll address them in the entirety they deserve. They are:
"child labor is good for the economy" - okay, this isn't a question, more of a debate topic, but we'll take it.
AND
"is it okay to get tattooed when pregnant"...?
Stay tuned, dear readers, stay tuned.