Hydrangea and Phalaenopsis Orchids…sign of the Xs

I’ve been having conversations with some friends of mine lately. Women. The single, underlining theme of these dialogues is that women seem to think that they don’t get looked at every day. I’m always quick to say, in a polite way, “Bulls#!%!!” Women, you are always getting looked at. Men always look at you. That’s what we do. That’s what we’ve been biologically engineered and chromosomally wired to do. We would be letting God down if we didn’t look at you. Hell, I’ve got four eyes and a pair at home on the table, and I still don’t have enough eyes to look enough. I’ve known many a man (me) to even change his route to work just so for the chance to get to SEE “her.” Women, you have this power, but sometimes you get upset at the fact that you even possess it. Again, you’re always getting looked at, but you may not always like or be satisfied with the guy or type of guy whose eyes you attract. Well, you can’t have everything, but at least you have options. Most fellas don’t have options. Most fellas couldn’t even spell the word “options.” Or is it “opshuns?” See what I mean? That’s how unfamiliar we are with the term and concept. I can travel from LA to Quebec stark, buck, and butt naked on a fuchsia parade float led by green giraffes with a neon, flashing Vegas arrow sign pointing straight at my head and still not garner any attention. Speaking of naked, I saw this woman that was almost naked the other day. On Lankershim Blvd, near Universal City at 3 pm. Broad daylight. Spider-man 3 had just opened so the street was packed with moviegoers. Granted, she may have been a little “touched in the head,” she was only wearing a bustier and a thong. The bustier was covering the wrong part of her body. It should have been covering her face because she looked like Shrek with plastic surgery gone wrong. The point is that all the fellas, even though we shouldn’t have, looked at this gargoyle anyway. Why? Because we can’t help it. So, ladies, no matter how frugly you think you are, no matter how many curlers you have in your hair, no matter how many fungus colonies you have growing between your toes, no matter how stank you think you look at this very moment, there is some guy looking at you, checking you out. Don’t believe me? Look behind you, behind the bookcase. No? Not there? Umm…check behind the door. Better yet, check behind th—Oh, you see him now?! Yeah, there he is. Told ya. He was hiding behind the corner, huh? Yeah, we like to hide back there. Remember: the average woman gets ogled, the average man ogles. Now, feel better about yourself.
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For those that are unfamiliar with the restaurant Koo Koo Roo, it’s comparable to a Boston Market, Pollo Loco, Pollo Tropical, or K&W Cafeteria. If you haven’t heard of any of those, then please cross state lines and try ’em. Anyway, the logo for Koo Koo Roo is a winking chicken. Why is this chicken winking? Doesn’t it know that it’s about to be fried, baked, or grilled? Or did it cut a deal with the USDA and sell out the other chickens? Just a thought.

Why are people treating their pets better than they’re treating their own human offspring? That’s a lot coming from a guy that ain’t too fond of pets or kids. Today, I saw a woman holding and kissing her little dog while smacking her little son in the head because he was “bothering” her. I wish that I was closer to her so that I could vomit in her face. Shooing your kid away because he just might be jealous of all the time you spend kissing the pooch and letting it lick you on the mouth does not make you a good parent. It makes you an asshole. Put the kid up for adoption and move in with the canine in its doghouse. That seems more like your style anyway. Maybe if you two mate then you’ll have a kid that’ll sniff people’s asses and watch Spongebob. Best of best both worlds for you, right? Wrong. You’re the worst.

I’ve been noticing this next trend since 1996. Actually, I guess you can’t call it a trend since it is 11 years old. Why do big people drive little cars and little people drive big cars? If you are 250 pounds and up and 6 feet tall and up, you should not squeeze you big ass in a Miata or a Mini Cooper. I know that you’re trying to save the world, rebel against rising gas prices, rebuild the ozone layer, and curb that pesky thing called global warming, but you are killing your knees and the rest of your joints. Ever wonder why when you ask your friends if they want to ride with you, they always have excuses and some of even say, “Are you fu#kin’ crazy?!” That’s because no one wants to ride with you in that matchbox, knowing that you don’t like to roll down your windows because you’re so damn proud of your AC unit. When it’s time for them to go to the pearly gates, I’m sure that they don’t want their last experience on Earth to be dying from heat exhaustion from being jammed up in your sweatshop on wheels. On the other hand, if you’re a little taller than a fire hydrant, then you shouldn’t be pushing a vehicle that’s bigger than your house. Alright? You know what you look like? You look like a guppy in the dolphin tank at SeaWorld. If I see one more petite, sylphic woman or a Gingerbread Man-sized man, who needs to sit on 8 phonebooks, in an Excursion, please forgive me as I launch a brick through your side window. If you tap your breaks hard, you’ll go flying through the sunroof because the seatbelt’s too big for you. If you need the seatbelt to swing out of your seat and then rappel out the door down to the pavement, that $#!+ is too big! Here’s an idea. Drive to that parking lot on Main and Magnolia. Yeah, that one by the library. Ok. Meet up with that really big dude that drives that really small car. He’s there now? Good. Now, switch cars. Don’t worry about the paperwork. The insurance companies will sort it out. Now drive away. Aaaaaaahhh! Doesn’t that feel better? A car that fits. Like a broken-in pair of (the way we Southerners say it) “drawls.” Now, swing by and pick me up and let’s go to Koo Koo Roo.