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.

Foxy Brown

Okay, So. . . . . .I’m really not going to post today so don’t you go and consider this an official blog entry or anything, because I don’t think that I’ll get much sleep knowing in the twisted recesses of my mind that the few of you I bribe with free massages to read my incoherent banter actually thought this was a real post. Cuz it’s not. So don’t think it is.

I’m only here to tell you that I’m diligently working on a new banner for Chronicles. Yeah, you heard me, I’m reachin’ deep into these pockets and paying professionals to create a visual smorgasbord for your viewing pleasure as you peruse through my senseless rant and rhetoric. I suppose it’s the least I can do right? I mean, considering the content of these web pages are filled with nothing more than my opinion on the world’s most crucial matters, and let’s face it we all know what opinions are like no? Well, like assholes, in case you didn’t know. And frankly, if my asshole is going to be on display it might as well be visually appealing right? Well, as visually appealing as an asshole can be I suppose…without having to bleach it or anything. Cuz frankly I don’t like any of you that much to go and bleach the perfect hue that resides in the crack of my ass and I can say what I want cuz this isn’t a real post anyway and if it were I wouldn’t use the word “cuz”, cuz “cuz” aint really a word. Everybody knows that. Don’t be stupid. And if you’re going to use crack don’t mix it with bleach, cuz that shit aint right.

Alright, so I’m not really going to pay anyone to do it, actually I’m going to draw what I want then send that image to knitting elves who primarily knit, but also have been known to go to art school for hundreds of thousands of dollars to learn, not to knit, but actually to take images and make them into pretty asshole accessories so that people can decorate their blogs with them to make other people feel as comfortable as one possibly can knowing that they are about to be shit on by a barrage of meaningless crap. Cuz let’s face it, every blog I’ve visited that was worth reading had a pretty masthead to keep you interested enough to want to be shit on. And that my friends, is what makes the world go round. Shit. Not money, as previously thought, but mountains upon mountains of shit, and Mongolian orphans….and cheesecake….and little lactose intolerant monkeys from South America that eat tacos and do your taxes….and smurfs aren’t real, but Leprechauns, the distant cousins to elves, very well might be.

Anyway, so that is my excuse for not posting real entries over the next few days, cuz like I said, I’ll be busy drawing and communicating with elves which is difficult to do because they live in alternate universes, not in the same one as us, as previously thought, and because everybody knows that they can get a little behind with all the knitting and baking cookies and shit since they are so little, and run-on sentences and too many, erroneously placed commas, are of no consequence, considering this post is not, really a post.

And if by some act of God, or elf, or some other spirit-like entity with a bad sense of humor that likes to wear robes and silly neon colored Crocs while sitting cross legged and eating Cheetos brought you here for the first time, please come back after the dust settles for the new banner and a free massage new stories. And by the way, starting sentences with "And" is actually okay as I learned in "Finding Forrester". And for the record, my nick name Mr. Poopie was given to me at puberty because of my disdain for humanity charming demeanor and has nothing to do with assholes, feces, crap, shit, taking a shit, taking a dump, dropping loads, doing number two, dropping the kids off at the pool, pooping, a deuce, turds, mounds, excrement, manure, dung, diarrhea, Irritable Bowels Syndrome, dingle berries, or any other poop related substances or conditions. . . . . Just thought I’d clear that shit up.

Oh, and one last thing, I like to make movie references, (besides the titles genius) and if you can correctly guess what movie, you will win a prize......Okay, not really, but I'll definitely like you more.

The Devil's Advocate

Okay folks, quick updates on some celebrity criminals . . .

Lindsay Lohan (a.k.a. freckle titty), plead guilty to nine misdemeanor charges which included her second DUI with cocaine on her person and has been ordered to serve only 24 hours in jail. Her punishment might has well have been a massage and a pedicure. Thankfully she's still on vacation in rehab, and will finally be getting better.

On a lighter note, Nicole Richie served 82 minutes in jail (1 and a half minutes per pound). That is exactly one hour and twenty two minutes, which is barely enough time to watch a movie, catch a cold, or see the last two minutes of a football game. She was released early due to overcrowding, which is quite comical considering she’s skinny enough to fit IN BETWEEN the damn bars. She reportedly blinked 6,398 times during her stay and licked a Twizzler for nourishment.

Michael Vick met with prosecutors this morning and plead guilty. As you may already know there are minimum and maximum penalties associated with the charges. As part of his plea deal, Vick agreed to assist the government in testifying in other dog fighting cases in return for a lighter sentence. Now, even though the plea agreement carries a recommended sentence from the prosecution, the federal judge has the final say on what he feels adequate punishment will be. More often than not, the judge’s decision usually coincides with the government’s requests. We’ll find out if this is the case for Vick on December 10^th.

One more thing, I have something to say in regards to people who think he should be banned from the NFL for life. Although I don’t agree with what this man may have done, I also don’t agree with mercilessness. I think that he should serve his time as a result of his criminal actions as well as additional years suspended from the NFL and then be cleared to play. I think his subsequent punishment and fines should all benefit animal rights and rehabilitation. He’s already been dropped from every endorsement deal and lost millions in salary and merchandise (as he should have), but to vindictively strip away the only thing he’s ever known is vengeful, hateful, and unfair. I think he should eventually be allowed to play again, but preferably with a shock collar in case of poor performances.

Keep this in mind as well. As a convict, he will not have access to top notch training facilities and therefore will have great difficulty staying in professional athletic shape. Once released, he will have to continue training until the league suspension is served and he can be readmitted. Then, and only then, will he be able to attempt a comeback. However, you don’t just walk back onto the field and play. A team owner has to make the decision to offer you a job and that person won’t just be deciding whether or not you’re fit to play either (that’s the easy part), he’ll be deciding whether or not he wants to be the guy who offered a job to a dog killer. Vick will have to be as good as, if not better than when he left, in order for an NFL owner to conceive taking on the potential risk, and that possibility is even thinner than Nicole Richie. If people would only show the same passion in preventing child abuse, rape, illiteracy, and deforestation as they do in crucifying Vick, we all might live in a better place. Well…… at least one with more trees anyway.

Idle Hands

People often ask if my hands ever hurt or get tired and truthfully, the answer is no. On a rare occasion they can get a little fatigued as when having to massage a rhinoceros or if multiple deep tissue massages precede a few 90 minute massages back to back without a break. Otherwise, we therapists do a good job of incorporating the use of knuckles, forearms, elbows, and the base of the palm to save the fingers from not only getting tired, but for lasting an entire career.

The reason the lot of you last as long as a NASCAR pit stop when rubbing your loved ones is usually because you’re using nothing but thumb work and poor body mechanics. Instead of doing all thumb circles, next time try using the base of your palm, or the outer edge of your hand. Feel free to get creative. You can even use your forearms to apply compressions to the shoulders and back. When kneading tired muscles, use more of a grasping action with your whole hand. If the thumb is the only way to go, try bracing it with your other hand. We brace our fingers all the time to not only apply more strength, but to minimize wear and tear on individual digits. By the way, knuckles work wonders on the feet.

Just because we’re professionally trained doesn’t mean we’re above using tools either. I own a couple of hand held massagers which you can buy for five bucks at either Bath & Body Works, or Bed Bath & Beyond (they even work on the outside of clothing). I also have a few for deep tissue and trigger point work. However, those are a bit more expensive and require more skill and practice to use effectively. You can easily bruise some one, or lose an eye. Last I checked career choices are limited for pirates.

If you’re too lazy to go to a store, you can probably find a few tools to use in the kitchen. Knives, meat mallets, and blenders are good for mutilation, so stick to some big spoons, ladles, or a rolling pin to experiment with. Try not to spend too much time in the kitchen though, it may be difficult to convince your kids you’re playing doctor while mommy’s tied up and has an ice cream sundae on her crotch. “No Timmy, that’s not what popping a cherry means…”

My understanding of most relationships is that if your hands are even ON your significant other, then you’re a step ahead of the game. As long as you stay away from inflicting pain, you’ll be doing just fine. Do what comes naturally, don’t rush, and alternate your hands. Don’t worry too much if you don’t have the time or lack the creativity to give your spouse an effective rub down. After all, you can always send them to us.

Turner and Hooch

I thought I’d give you a quick update on the Michael Vick situation, just in case you haven’t heard, although I know that the majority of you are extreme animal lovers and probably just came back from a protest anyway. Here was the result of your efforts.

We’ve already established that federal courts don’t play around. With the state courts, you have a little leeway. You can probably finagle getting an Atlanta Falcon fanatic for a judge, a reasonably lenient jury, (perhaps even a few that had been bitten by dogs) and ultimately local law enforcement officers fond of misplacing or incorrectly labeling and storing evidence. No such luck with the Federal Courts.

Many of us have come to know the unfortunate atrocities that occurred at Michael Vick’s property, but what many of you may not know is that when Sir-breeds-a-lot was indicted, 3 other douche bags were as well. And as you can very well imagine, the other 3 defendants, albeit friends of his, were not upstanding, let me help you with those groceries, kind of citizens. The feds knew this and spent no time in exploiting their pasts. It took only a week for one of them to change his plea to guilty in lieu of a lighter sentence. Now we hear that the other two have finally agreed to cooperate with the government for similar deals. What this means for Vicky-poo? Not good. Basically this means that all his boys are going to sing like canaries and give up everything they know about Vick and his involvement concerning the allegations in return for mercy from the courts (Your dirty tax dollars at their best).

It’s even been rumored that the puppy slayer himself has considered a plea bargain. A source close to the investigation says that Vick has until Friday to make up his mind whether to accept a plea agreement. Otherwise a superseding indictment will be filed and Vick will face at least two more federal dog fighting charges. His lawyers are in the midst of negotiating a deal that would involve less than the year of jail time that the prosecutors have already offered. Looks like it's gonna be a maximum fine and minimum time. I’d hate to tell you I told you so. Well . . . . . not really. I have no problem saying it at all. Told you so.

Keepin the Faith

Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for my little hiatus, but between Guitar Hero II, baseball record breaking milestones, and breeding blood hungry Pitbulls, frankly, I’ve been a little busy.

I know you are all dying to know who the dummy of the week is, and I assure you that it will be announced shortly, but before I do I’d like to bring you up to date with some current events, just in case some of you have been hibernating in a cocoon. (I love saying that word . . . . . cocoon.) Moving on.

Lindsay Lohan was arrested again for drinking while intoxicated, this time with cocaine on her person. Apparently she still can’t afford a driver or a tan.

You would think that a person with Britney’s money could afford a wig that looked some what real. I would almost prefer it if she’d just wear one of those Jamaican hats with the fake dreads. I think one of those fake arrows would be really cute too, but some how I think that would trigger an uproar in the Native American community.

The morning show The “View” apparently got rid of one loud ass, nonsensical, fat lesbian for another one. At least Whoopi is funny though. Sometimes.

Drew Carey is now the new host of the TV show “The Price is Right” and “The Power of 10”. Because being an embarrassingly unfunny host on one show isn’t humiliating enough.

Alex Rodriguez hit his 500^th home run the other night. To put that into perspective, he’s only the 22^nd person in history to do so and only six of those twenty two have reached the 600 mark. A-Rod has shown interest in buying the baseball from the lucky Yankee fan who recently had to sell his house due to unemployment. He’ll now be able to afford a nice New York apartment facing a brick wall. Cha-ching!

Barry Bonds finally hit his 756^th home run surpassing Hank Aaron’s all time record. I’m happy for Barry even though he isn’t the most liked athlete out there. And before people start pointing fingers concerning steroids, take a good hard look at the “holier than thou” NFL. Definitely no juicers there.

Eddie Murphy is off somewhere thinking up another horrible idea for a movie.

Tom Cruise has just prayed 3 Hail Aliens.

Now that we’re all caught up in the world, here is the dumb ass of the week . . . . . Drum roll please . . . . . The award goes to Rev. Robert Whipkey of Frederick, Colorado. As if the Catholic Church needed anymore indecent “exposure”, this ignoramus decided it was okay to go jogging naked on a high school track at 4:30 in the morning. He told officers that he sweats profusely if he wears clothing while jogging. Apparently priests are horrible liars.

When approached for questioning the quick witted Pope dawned a disguise and plugged in his ipod.

The Fugitive

Yesterday, I found out that my sister is a fugitive of justice. I discovered her newly acquired talent last night when she called me to confess her crime. As any good brother would do, I recorded our conversation for evidence and this was her story . . . .

[my phone rings]

“Hello?”

“Brown, have you heard?

“Cris?”

“Oh my God,” I hear her hand slap her forehead. “You won’t believe what I did last week. I’m such a criminal!”

“Slow your roll there O.J., what happened?”

Taking a deep breath she began her explanation, “Well . . . . During an afternoon last week I was walking Lucy (her golden retriever) and as usual she was off-leash. We had already been out for a while and it was pretty hot, so we started to head back home through a park next to some running trails. As we came around a bend I noticed a park authority official getting down from her vehicle. As she descended from her truck I called Lucy over so that I could quickly attach her leash. Lucy miraculously came (which she never does) and as I snapped on the leash I looked up and noticed that the park authority lady had noticed and was already making her way towards me. As she made her sheriff-like approach she said she was going to give me a $350 ticket for walking my dog off-leash. I asked if I could get off with a warning, but she said that the county was done with the ineffective “warnings” and that she would have to issue me a ticket. She started writing furiously.”

“Uhuh”, I said listening intently.

“Well, I sure as hell didn't want to pony up $350 so I told her that I wouldn’t pay and started to walk off. What the hell was she gonna do, right? Then she said that she was going to call the police and I stopped dead in my tracks. Brown, I didn’t know what to do, I started panicking. So, I turned to her and said FINE, call ‘em! And I took off running.”

“You did WHAT?” I asked as I choked on my iced tea.

“I dunno what I was thinking, I just took off. As we ran I could hear her making a call on her walkie-talkie as she attempted to follow me while holding up the cumbersome utility belt that was obviously slowing her down. I sped through some trails and after coming around a corner I ditched my conspicuous red and white top in the bushes.

“No you didn’t”, I muttered in disbelief.

“Oh I totally did, I don’t know what came over me. I ran the rest of the way home, practically dragging poor Lucy behind me.”

“I can’t believe you, that’s fucking hilarious”.

“At nightfall, I went back and retrieved my shirt from the bushes.”

“Haha, you better not walk Lucy around that park again.”

“I know, I know, I’ve been avoiding the neighborhood altogether and I’ve even been wearing a hat all week. I told some people at work and now everyone has been calling me a criminal.”

“A criminal on the run huh? Hehehehe . . . .sorry, I couldn’t resist. Let’s just hope they don’t find out about those highlighters.”

“How’d you know about those?”

“Let’s just call it a hunch”