Buckets For the Cure

As summer turns the corner into the final stretch, we say good-bye to one of the most ironic and paradoxical fund raising campaigns known to man. As you all undoubtedly know, I have a healthy adoration for breasts and will go to great lengths to defend them in their plight against breast cancer (or any other adversary for that matter). However, upon discovering that Susan G. Komen was joining forces with Kentucky Fried Chicken in order to raise money and awareness for breast cancer, I had to do a double take. I mean, it’s one thing to support breasts by eating a delicious Peppridge Farm Cookie, but it’s entirely another to consume a fried lard bucket of arteriosclerosis.

Breast cancer awareness is a theme that is inherently supported by a concept of health and wellness. It isn’t enough just to tell people that there is a silent killer among women and that if you’re 40 you need to get a mammogram. Breast cancer awareness is a component of overall health, one that includes exercise, an antioxidant rich and balanced diet, and a cognizance of one’s own health and possible genetic proclivities. All of these ideas are vehemently incongruent with what Kentucky Fried Chicken represents. Besides, I always thought the Colonel was more of ass man anyway.

Now, I’m not like some of these radical opposers of this partnership because I think that fried chicken causes cancer. I mean, it is possible that there is a link between obesity and cancer, but I’m not ready to say that a bucket or two will get you there. Ultimately, people make their own choices and if artery clogging, cholesterol saturated, fatty deliciousness is something you enjoy, then by all means, just do so in moderation (I must admit they are tasty). In the future though, I’d like to see Komen be a tad more judicious with her partnerships. 

In the end, however, I suppose a tango with a heart attack is totally worth saving a breast or two. After all, it does add a completely new meaning to getting a bucket-o-breast….Eh, if breasts are your thing anyway. Personally, I side with the Colonel on this one.

Pleasantville

I watch way too much TV. As a matter of fact, I watch so much TV that my Tivo asks me for recommendations. I think I may have to see a therapist, and by therapist, I mean the ones that hand out antidepressants for Halloween.

My TV turns itself on and off at specified times, records programs 24/7, and I'm working on getting it to make me a sandwich. Not only do I watch too many TV shows, but I can't seem to pry myself away from movies that I've seen a million times either. As many of you know I'm an avid movie watcher, and my collection, that continues to grow like an ass rash, could probably compete with your local Blockbuster. However, when you watch as much TV as I do, so many of the aforementioned movies can still be found in their original packaging collecting dust. I probably loan them out more than I actually watch them, because one of my ultimate pet peeves is talking to people who haven't seen classics. How can you possibly have an appreciation for today's movies if you haven't seen what those actors and directors have done in other works? Get with it, geesh.

But I digress, I was talking about my TV addiction. As with other addictions there usually comes a point at which the afflicted come to realize the path they are on. Drunks call this "a moment of clarity". (There's your movie reference) Well, my epiphany came to me yesterday afternoon while deciding what recorded show I should watch.

There are a plethora of programs I get sucked into, some I'll admit to and others I'll be taking to my grave (Gossip Girl, XoXo). There are some I already know will be shite, but I watch them out of sheer curiosity anyway. One such show that comes to mind is the Dallas Cheerleader tryouts. Yeah, I said it. The reason I tune into this show from time to time, is because of how serious the organization treats the auditions. You would think these bitches were trying out for the FBI. It's priceless. Along the same lines as this media masterpiece, is the Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search. There's just something about a girl in a pair of boots pouring a stiff drink that tugs at my heart strings.

Okay, and now, for the moment you've all been waiting for, the unveiling of Brown's TV lineup. Here they are in order of best entertainment value:

1. Grey's Anatomy - Awesome show, very well written. There's a perfect blend of medical mayhem, drama, and comedy. Some of the characters can be a little whiny, (I wish they would have just drowned Meredith Grey for good) but all in all, it's a well rounded nail biter. You know, there is a reason it has won both an Emmy and a Golden Globe award. I just wish they'd bring back the fiery, red headed Dr. Addison Montgomery. [sigh] Her new show, Private Practice, isn't nearly as good.

2. Fringe - Hot new show by none other than J.J. Abrams, creator of Lost. I'm really into the Sci Fi thing, but I like my science fiction to hinge on the possible. This show does exactly that. I can never wait to see the next episode.

3. Samantha Who - Holy shit! Now this Emmy winning show is hysterically funny. I know, I know, I was a little skeptical at first when my sister made me watch an episode, but let me tell you, that's all it took. Christina Applegate is knee slapper funny in this show about a total bitch who is hit by a car, gets amnesia, and becomes super nice, but still has to deal with the issues created by her former mischievous self. You don't see half of these jokes coming, which in my opinion, make this show refreshingly comical. The chemistry and banter between all the supporting characters is seamless, witty, and hilarious.

4. House - This medical drama is a little edgier, but once you get past the impossibility of how Dr. House treats his staff, (like sending them to raid a patient's apartment) it ranks right up there with the best of them. It's actually ranked the third most watched program on television. If you haven't seen at least one episode, you must be trying not to.

5. Life on Mars - Another awesome new show, with an original look, about a cop who ends up in 1973 after an accident in which he slipped into a coma. He has to deal with being a detective in a time where most of the rules haven't been made yet, catching criminals, and simultaneously searching for clues to help solve his girlfriend's murder in 2008. This show is actually a remake of one that aired two years ago in Britain.

6. Heroes - Another Science fiction show that is sort of a spin off of X-men. Basically a bunch of mutants with special powers due to genetic anomalies, discovering the extent of their abilities while trying to evade people that want them dead. I really loved the first season much more than the second, but I'm staying tuned to see what happens. I sense that they are convoluting the plot by adding too much too soon. I mean, I don't want to get dragged along to the point where I lose interest, as with Lost, but I still want to be intrigued. I hope they don't screw it up. Because really, who wouldn't want to be able to read thoughts, or hurl fire balls. Sign me up Dr. Saresh.

7. CSI, Las Vegas - Crowned the most watched program in 2002, that CBS was encouraged to create two spin offs which aren't nearly as good as the original. I think after 8 seasons, this show has reached "classic" status. Unfortunately, William Peterson (Gil Grissom) has left the show, and although I really like Lawrence Fishbourne, the Sherlock-like Grissom was what kept you watching. I haven't seen any new episodes to decide whether or not I'll stay with this one.

8. Gossip Girl - I know I'm going to take a lot of flak for this one, so I'll just prepare for the impact of mortar rounds now, but this show is intriguingly good. I'm not filthy rich, which is a prerequisite for the lives of this show's characters, but following the lives of a bunch of vengeful and insidious rich kids is kind of fun. I actually hate my sister for even getting me into this crap.

9. Boston Legal - Great show. James Spader, William Shattner, and Candice Bergen (Murphy Brown). Implausible court cases taken on by a diversely quirky Boston law firm. Funny Shit. Enough Said.

10. Survivor/Big Brother - I try to stay away from these damn quasi-reality shows, because once you watch one episode, you have to watch them all. These things will suck the life right out of you. That's right, you'll want to know who's in alliance with who, who's getting voted off, or who will win Head of House Hold. It's all very maddening. I highly recommend avoiding either of these at all costs.

Now that I've given you the main lineup, I have my two favorite shows left, plus a few honorable mentions, that I just don't have time to watch. (Give me a break people, I still need time for Football and Basketball.) My 2nd favorite show, also an Emmy award winner that can only be found on HBO, is Entourage. And only those blessed with Showtime can watch Californication. These two are meant for adult audiences only and contain nudity, sexual content, and foul language. TV heaven! I continuously hear high praises about Rome and Weeds, both of which, along with the first two I mentioned, can be rented from Block Buster. Medium, Pushing Daisies, and Eli Stone, and of course Law & Order, are all honorable mentions.

Well, I think that covers the entire gamut of television programming. What shows do you like to watch?

Chocolat

Now that October is coming to an end, the world's efforts on eradicating breast cancer will lose steam, and all the chatter about boobies will eventually turn to soft, inaudible whispers. Women's breasts will again be a thing of the past. Your very own breasts could become mere relics to which no one will gander, ornaments devoid of purpose. Once powerfully mesmerizing cleavage to become nothing more than a mere cleft, an anatomical junction of flesh. A seam.

In these times of uncertainty and economic despair, we cannot allow boobies to become faint memories. Exotic Dancers, school teachers, and stay at home moms will all feel the affects of a world where the magic and wonder of boobies becomes folklore. We must not let this travesty occur. We must fight! We must, we must, we must eat cookies! That's right, and eat them I will. Many of you know that the only thing in the universe that rivals my undying love for breasts saving breasts, is chocolate. So, I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I discovered today that Pepperidge Farm has joined the cause to find a cure! Apparently, their founder's life was touched by breast cancer and it is in her honor that they have forged a partnership with Susan G. Komen for the cure. How elated I was to see one of my favorite cookies beautifully adorned by pink packaging. How could this have gone unnoticed for so long? Why didn't anybody tell me? All the participating cookies are being sold at Target and Wal-mart. So, what are you waiting for? Go forth and . . . . . . . eat cookies!

Varsity Blues

Hazing, Initiation, Busting Balls, or Popping Cherries . . . . Whatever you want to call it, apparently it even occurs in gourmet kitchens. Enjoy. . . .



Cheers!

The Patriot

Although I should be bringing this up next month, since technically October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, I just got so excited thinking about breasts that I couldn't wait to talk about those lovely mammary mounds of joy. Surely at this point I don’t have to expend a single breathe expressing my wholehearted devotion to the preservation of breasts and my indefatigable vow to support the research for a breast cancer cure, even if that means the arduous task of single handedly inspecting each one of them myself. That’s my level of commitment. That's how I roll.

Until my license as High Boob Chancellor has completed its final phase of processing, which will allow me unquestioned and unfettered access to thoroughly inspect any breast anywhere, I will intermittently have to join the common man in the trenches and take a less hands-on approach to do my part. I am taking this opportunity to challenge all of you to take up arms (and legs) and join me in the boldest walk for a cure in mammary history. You can do so by visiting The 3 day website to find out when the 3 day walk for a cure will be in your chest of the woods. Basically, it will be a 3 day 60 mile walk dedicated to finding a cure and raising awareness for breast cancer. You will have refreshments, hot meals, and even entertainment provided for you along the way. It will be held throughout all the major cities in the U.S., and I really can't find a better reason to walk anywhere. So, visit the site, mark your calenders, and prepare to lace 'em up (shoes and bras) and get to steppin'.

Don't forget you can always continue to show support by buying pink-products in stores, where portions of the proceeds go to Cancer Research. Yoplait Yogurts, which are delicioso, donate a dollar per lid when you send them in. Philadelphia cream cheese is on board, and toothbrushes, contact solution, and air fresheners can all be found in pink. My contact case is pink, thanks to one of my sisters, a pink ribbon hangs from my car's rear view mirror, and my favorite cutting board, (thanks Regina!) is also, you guessed it, as pink as a freshly picked areola. From pens and magnets, to shirts that profess your healthy adoration for bosoms of all shapes and sizes, can be found just about anywhere. And although we can't all be respected booby chancellors, at least we can all be ambassadors for breasts. Save the boobies!

Breast Men

So much to blog about. . . . First things first. . . . I'm not going to delve into the painfully obvious, like the lack of a new banner, the fact that it's been a year since my last post, and that when God invented chicken he should have made it taste like chocolate so that whenever we eat something devoid of its own distinct flavor, we could just say it tastes like chocolate. Because that my friends would not only be funny, but would also explain the chocolate eggs during Easter and their creamy filling. Because we all know how disturbing it was as kids to flirt with the idea that Jesus laid those eggs. Oh c'mon, I know I wasn't the only one.

As in true Brown Man fashion, a few current events if I may. My disdain for talentless pop starlets has been well documented. However, I cannot in good conscious rejoice in Brittney's latest catastrophe, having to lose custody of her children. As much as I believe that the destinies of those two love children are already plagued, no mother should have to endure losing her own children. We can only hope that this will lead Brittney to a treadmill rehab.

Now to talk about something that is near and dear to my heart . . . . BREASTS! I was going to say strippers, but I wouldn't want any of you to think less of me and it wouldn't be a smooth segway to discuss something that threatens beloved breasts around the world, breast cancer. That's right. October is breast cancer awareness month and those of you who are overtly aware of my unhealthy adoration to female mammaries, know that I will do anything to protect them. Even if that means visiting every strip club in the country to spread awareness. I know, I know, a long and perilous adventure it will be, but I'm prepared to take one for the team.

Although a meager contribution, I've vowed to do a multitude of things this month in order to show my love for breasts. As of yesterday I proudly started wearing a pink ribbon on my shirt and intend to wear it every day this month. Originally I wanted to wear a big pink bra on my head, but the spa director said the ribbon would not only get my point across, but also prevent a lawsuit. I suppose that why she's the boss. I'm not stopping there. I also plan to buy as many products as possible that are contributing to the cause. I've already bought some pink tic tacs and pink M&M's. I anticipate buying a few pink bracelets to pass around, running a 5k, and even providing free breast massages exams. I'd also like to buy a couple of dome tents, spray paint them pink, and put them on the front lawn. I just need to check with my home owner's association to avoid any unnecessary monetary setbacks. If you can think of any other "creative" ways for me to support the preservation of the ta-tas, I'd love to feel hear them.

Okay, so maybe the reconstruction of my little piece of the internet pie, was a little premature, but with so many breasts to think about, I don't think I can really be blamed no? Besides, the elves I had employed for the job apparently were Mexican and were recently deported for being illegal immigrants (I seriously hope they don't deport the cleaning ladies at my work before I'm able to give all of them proper breast exams).

Anyway, sorry for being out so long. The new banner will be up before you know it. Intermittently I will continue to brighten your daily lives with a little bit of Brown.

Flash Dance

People often ask me if I ever get hit on, the answer is yes (well c’mon I’m brown). It’s just that women possess more couth than men and are usually much more subtle with their flirtations. I suppose it would be a little difficult to ignore an erection tenting towards the sky though. (They actually train you for those situations in school.) I haven’t had anyone wave a penis at me like a Louisville Slugger yet, but I hear it happens.

Believe it or not, sprouting wood is an absolutely normal reaction to a massage (I have one every ten minutes), so you can’t automatically assume that you’re being propositioned for sex. The ones you have to worry about are the ones who start writhing around and moaning excessively, or purposefully trying to rub against you. Then there are the more straight forward types who just come right out and ask you (you have to applaud their balls, I...uh... mean, bravery). Now, I work in an upscale spa, so people don’t try shit like that, but we did have this one guy that none of the girls ever wanted to “deal” with. He didn’t speak English (how convenient), and during the massage he would somehow manage to expose himself. After his first offense, the girls just thought it was a harmless accident (clients do expose themselves from time to time, but I’ll get more into that in a sec). After his third game of “peek-a-boo”, nobody thought it was funny, and he was asked not to come back. Dumbass.

I do have this one client who’s an absolute riot. She’s one of the few who’ll talk most of the massage, but she’s so entertaining that I don’t mind. The really funny thing is that she’s a criminal defense lawyer, so she has all these hilarious stories about how she will straight up tell her clients that they’re going to jail, then go out and have a few drinks. The only thing is…… she’s a flasher. The first time it happened, it was no big deal. Like I said before it happens on occasion, but let me be absolutely clear, it's NEVER a therapist error. With her, I'm just not so sure it's happenstance anymore.

Well, miss flasher is extremely well endowed, which is already difficult to deal with. She loves to help herself when it comes to changing positions, never waiting for my assistance, and often flashing a nipple (kind of like how mobsters nonchalantly open the side of their suit jackets to show their gun, as if to say try me). She also gets up on her elbows when prone (facing down), to ask me a question revealing her large, chocolate . . . ahem . . . (I guess I shouldn’t tell her I’m an ass man huh?) Anyway, knowing her, she’s probably just toying with me, or it is totally possible that she’s just really ditzy and can’t follow directions. For as well as she tips, I’ll just pretend the latter.

I’ve had other incidences of brief displays of nudity, usually from foreigners. I’ve come into the room after explaining precisely what to do, only to find the client buck nekkid lying on top of the sheets. Personally, I think the opposite is funnier. I’ve had a few people lying on top of the blanket in full bra and panties, and I’ve even had a couple of knuckleheads get under the sheets wearing the fucking robe. People never cease to amaze me.

La Cubana Gringa

As some of you may have gathered, La Cubana Gringa and I are wonderfully close friends, but live on opposite coasts. So, we don’t get to be obnoxious to each other in person nearly as often as we would like, or as often as we did in high school. Needless to say, we make a point to see each other whenever the opportunity arises. Even if that means she’ll call me in the wee hours of the morning, with a layover in my city, needing a place for her and the Brit to crash. Mi casa, Cubana casa.

Lucky for us, LCG has been in town this weekend on another medical research convention/seminar/study group thingy to exchange the newest information about breast cancer as she prepares for her journey into oncological bliss, one breast at a time. (Exactly how I would do it.) We got together on Sunday and hung out, laughing and being obnoxious just like the old days. Except now her boobs were more incredible than ever, thanks of course to Tulip. I complemented her hair, which she now wears much darker and shorter than in our younger years.

We took her great hair and boobs to a place that brews its own beer for dinner and had a few drinks at the bar while we waited for our table. We continued to exchange stories while a couple of softball playing lesbians made out next to us. LCG has lived in California so long, that this went unnoticed. However, the fact that smoking is still allowed in our bars did not.

Before long we were led to our booth and greeted by our waitress, a soft spoken, well fed Indian girl named Janelle. It was my first encounter with either an Indian named Janelle, or one who was over weight. (This restaurant was the kind that served little pastries shaped like breasts adorned with icing instead of bread, which may have been Janelle’s main source of nourishment.)

The rest of the evening went as would be expected when the two of us get together, laughing hysterically, exchanging stories of near-death experiences, and taking obnoxious pictures with aforementioned pastries. We shared our favorite movies, our hatred of the Titanic, and reminisced about High School.

As with her last couple of visits, our time was limited, so we couldn’t spend the rest of the night terrorizing other local establishments and traumatizing children. We’ll have to save that for next time. We ended up calling it a night, as the future of many many breasts would depend on her one day. After we coordinated our next adventure and said our goodbye's, I started my long drive home with a smile. It was really good to see La Cubana again, I miss her already.

Lactalicious

I feel it’s my civil duty to speak out against these people who think breast feeding in public is inappropriate. Like most things, there are probably a few places where such activity should be given consideration, like a fine dining restaurant, a job interview, or your high school prom for instance. But otherwise, I think people should stop trippin’ about the boobies. By no means am I a Lactivist (that's what they call themselves I swear,) but let’s be frank here, if we’re going to allow advertisements of practically naked women every where and entertainers to excessively grab their genitals, then I think that we can allow a minimally exposed mammary for the sake of feeding a baby from time to time. Besides, I’m all for quieting a crying baby.

People are so frivolous to concern themselves with such nonsense. I would much rather outlaw hairy ass dudes wearing wife beaters or big girls wearing booty shorts than breastfeeding. Where is the adamant outcry against these people? Give me a freakn’ break already. Look, if you deem it absolutely necessary to feed your baby while I’m eating my steak, by all means get up and go somewhere a little more discreet. I have no problem. To everybody else, if you happen to see a woman breastfeeding, for the love of Buddha, leave her the hell alone and don’t act like you’ve never seen a f**king breast before. Geesus!

Breast man

Thank God I don’t have breasts. I mean, besides the fact that they would look extremely odd, no one would ever take me seriously (not that they do now anyway). I feel for you women and your breasts (no pun intended). How difficult it must be to constantly be judged on the size of your tits. Whether you have them or not, they seem to be a hindrance to your endeavors, and to the healthy development of your self esteem. (How vain we are). Unfortunately, they also play an integral part of a man’s initial impression of you. Naturally, we were born with an insuppressible desire to impregnate anything with breasts. (Another reason I’m glad I don’t have them). Consequently, our boob-centric minds are already in conflict between conforming to proper social etiquette and primitive physiological desires before we even engage in conversation with you, putting us at an immediate disadvantage. (It’s difficult to think with a hard on, or pee, of course. Unless you’re in the woods, then it’s not so hard. Ahem.)

We must constantly fight every thing that comes naturally to us, evolutionary behavior that has been ingrained in our brains since the beginning of human existence as a means of survival. On top of that, from the day we’re born, we are taught that they are the source of our nourishment. And for another 9 months or so, the ritual of breastfeeding will serve to reinforce and solidify this instinctual obsession. It is through this maternal bond that we are drawn to the tits, they are our life force.