Fan Fiction: Competitive Erotic section

From time to time my brain conjures something so far afield that I leave it to fizzle out before it breathes fire unto itself. Sometimes it's so embarrassing I would rather nobody see it, rather not be associated with it. But sometimes it's so embarrassing and gross and weird that I'd rather just admit this is a part of my psyche that should get entertained and let the dogs run themselves out and over the hillside and be free.

Last night I read the following piece, which I wrote (big "Sorry guys" to my boys), in a Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction show in Seattle. I tied for first place. It is a tale of Jeffrey "Bloeharten" Steingarten, Paula Deen, and Guy Fieri gone wrong. You read the rest. In the voice of Jeffrey Steingarten. A good meal can leave one feeling as euphoric as a restful slumber, waking mid-dream only to drift back into sleep, into the dream of laying under a glass coffee table while Rachael Ray squats over you. As a food critic I have eaten in the top restaurants all over the world. I have sipped 800 year-old beers. My olfactory senses have run headlong into the still-beating heart of a Nile-born crocodile. Once, in Massawa on the Red Sea, an elderly Croatian eunuch who had been force-fed only persimmon and organic brown rice for 2 decades, shat into my hands a product that I can only liken to what God must use for toothpaste. Tonight was different. I was redlining a sensory overload rivaling the time I had to knife-fight a coked-up Anthony Bourdain for calling his taste in cuisine "as influential as the Ramones were to orthodontia." This night, this hazy timewarp had me reeling. There were flavors, not just something my mouth could relay to my brain, but multiple layers of taste and smell. Butters. Creams. Foams. Organ meats. Desserts. Sex. And porkfat. Oh dear... You see, you haven’t had bacon until it’s been run under the sweat-drenched breast of Ms. Paula Deen. "That's ryt, sugar, you just let mamma do the cookin', and you do all the eatin' you can handle. I loooove it when you get a hand in my mixin' bowl and go to work. Hooo hooo, my Mrs. Butterworth done sprung a leak HAWT GOLLY." Wading in and out of consciousness every time she pinched my nipples or drizzled hot clarified butter down my stomach, the booze-drenched coffee cake we’d put away was wrapping me in a mahogany haze of rum and insulin. My senses were crackling like funnel cakes in a deep-fryer thanks to the Ecstasy-infused crème fraiche I previously tongued from Paula’s open mouth. Sure, we’d gone full-sprint into Hedonism a few times, but this was something special. In the past, it wasn't unusual that Guy Fieri would drop in and hang out if he were in the area. Guy liked to do a bump, kill a few White Russians (he once actually choked a half-blind Ukrainian girl to death in Memphis), wait for things to get hot and heavy, then sort of blend into the background – as best a guy dressed like Ed Hardy’s special-needs step-son can - and Guy would tug at his vienna sausage while Paula and I hit the passion buffet. I have never figured out why he wears only one sweatband on his wrist. Paula brings tons of food and asks only that I bring half a Viagra and the Morning-after Pill. As a food critic it’s a pretty great gig. I eat great food all around the world for free, and when it comes to Paula, it’s really all you can eat, if you know what I mean. Or as she calls it, "Drinkin' from the gravy boat." My medically-induced soupbone is throbbing to the point of near pain, and she’s rocking back and forth on me like she's churning butter. At one point I'm pretty sure a testicle went in there. She’s telling me “No don’t you drop the batter on the griddle, hun. It’s not hot enough just yet. Yew hold onta that fer me, sweetloaf. When I need yer frostin', my cake'll be ready. I'm gettin' up on my third orgasm herrrrr, HOLY WAFFLE HOUSE.” I glance down to watch her stomach hit mine as she leans into me, then rocks back, separating us with a gossamer sheen of butter and Bacardi and a dark… what is that… is that chocolate syrup? I black out again and my mind goes to a previous encounter of ours. For a while we used butter and olive oil to saute our main course until she got a blue-ribbon yeast infection, which was probably kicked into high-gear by actual yeast and flour from the floor of her kitchen. For a while her crotch smelled like an old pair of Mario Batali's Crocs. Still, that was literally the best loaf of sourdough I’d ever had in my life. Now and again we mix up a batch for the diners at her restaurant “Lady & Sons.” As I come to, I see a reflection in the mirror. It's the shaved, spray-tanned, Tazmanian Devil-tattooed calf and DC Skate Shoe'ed leg of Guy, off somewhere to my left. I sit, tied to a sticky, fluid-soaked chair with my purple root straining skyward from within a cannoli, my entire carcass glistening like a honey-glazed ham. The air is thick with musk, Malibu rum, peanut oil, an odd metallic scent, and a Glade Plug-in... "Cool Serenity" I think. Paula returns from the bathroom with a stemmed glass, pouring in a Tawny Port to top off our fleshy dessert. I glance over my shoulder and see Guy sitting backwards, but slumped over a chair. His shorts around one ankle, his shoes covered in a glossy red... I take a sip from the glass pressed to my lips as my lover, Ms. Paula Deen, spits in her hand. She reaches down to twirl her fingers around the head of my GAAAA T THTHTTPTPPTTPHTHHFHFHFHFFF I spit out the wine. It's gone sour or it's drugged, I can't tell which. It has a heavy smell, like a handful of old pennies... Like an animal. Like blood. "Okay, sugar," she says, lowering herself to the floor, her sweat-matted head of lavender hair tickling my full stomach. She takes a big sip of the bloody port, spits it onto my love mushroom, and begins crunching through the cannoli. "The griddle is ssssMOKIN' hot, sugar… Let's have that batter."

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Dad About You

I had no idea that I would appreciate being a dad, nor my parents, as much as I do. Blessed I was to be raised by people who truly did the best they could with what they had to work (me)... I really put them through some sheeeit. If they knew the whole story, wow...

WOW....

I mean that in a Federal sense.

Wow.

So as I move forward in my life with the intent of being the best father I can be to my son, and maybe another kid in the future (homemade or off-shored), I'm learning a lot about the wounds we suffer as we grow. Science tells us all that before about 3 years of age our minds are incapable of hard-coding as much detail to memory as we have now. Do YOU remember all of today? No. Because it was snore-inducing, and that ridiculous excuse for a manager/man-ager/JCPenney shopper should have been kicked in the hamstring until his leg purpled up like his neck sores. And if you remember THAT, you need to get thee to a new job.

There's no real pause in parenting. I'm probably hovering too much - a Helicopter Dad - when I'm around The Boy. I like watching him, playing with him, and discussing what he did today, and what tomorrow's plans hold. (ayayaayayyaaayaaayaaaayaSHISHISHISHAYAAYAAAA! for the record) And anytime he's not in his crib asleep, you better be on your damn toes. I lost sight of him for 7 seconds tonight. Count 'em off....

I found him with lifting wiggling his hand under the toilet seat (With lock in place!) and splashing the water. I had only to hope that it was NOT yellow, and was NOT left to mellow.

There's no rest until he rests. For now. And I'm cool with that. It takes involvement and energy and intent. I can see where parents go nutlog during this time. I can see how people thrive in this pattern. I can see a bottle of Blueberry Vodka waiting for me in Salem, OR in a few weeks when I hit it for a road gig. I can see 5 years from now really missing the time when Graham "was" this age and how easy it was then.

I'm not a benevolent being in all this; I'm a human being trying to do what I think is the best I can with what I have. I didn't take parenting classes for this. I can change diapers and feed him By The Book, but everything else is gut-reaction. When it stinks, get rid of it. Choking is bad. Fire is worse. Spiders are everywhere and are all trying to kidnap the baby. So are Eastern Bloc immigrants, looking for a facial mole antidote.

I don't expect an award or some bullsh*t mug declaring ME as "The World's Greatest Dad." It's incredibly subjective as a competition that shouldn't even be taking place, and scoring is always biased to the older guys who are emotionally detached from work, and multiple kids and distant wives. All the same, there's a different kind of satisfaction in getting my son laughing than there is getting 500 audience members laughing. A bigger one. A better satisfaction unlike anything.

Then again, I haven't made a baby with Salma Hayek.

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Booze Clues on I-1100 and I-1105 (a nod to Chilidog Dennison)

Washington State is broke. We have a deficit for social services which include Police and Fire Departments. Our public education system progresses, but teeters. Voters keep saying "No Taxes" yet forget that Taxes are what keep potholes filled, crosswalks lit, and school programs open long enough for them to go to work and make money to pay to the OTHER F'ed-up Washington.

If you own a bar, drink a fair amount, enjoy alcohol, enjoy sanity, worry about DUIs, and want to see how you'd be affected YOU MUST CHECK OUT THESE 2 LINKS!!!

There are 2 initiatives (I-1100, I-1105) we have coming up for Vote in November in WA State regarding Alcohol. While we can all agree with Homer J. Simpson that booze is the "Cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems." It was actually a great writer, not Homer, but I digress...
These initiatives are intended to deregulate and free-up the current state of liquor sales in the state. They are relatively arcane and do need an overhaul. Currently, you can only purchase hard liquor/spirits through a state-run store. It provides tens to hundreds of millions of dollars each year into the quickly-emptying coffers of our state. Distribution isn't real slick to the bars and restaurants, either.

I-1100 (PRIVATIZE) states, per the WA Secretary Of State:
This measure would direct the liquor control board to close all state liquor stores; terminate contracts with private stores selling liquor; and authorize the state to issue licenses that allow spirits (hard liquor) to be sold, distributed, and imported by private parties. It would repeal uniform pricing and certain other requirements governing business operations for distributors and producers of beer and wine. Stores that held contracts to sell spirits could convert to liquor retailer licenses.

I-1105 (REVISE) states, per the WA Secretary Of State:
This measure would direct the liquor control board to close all state liquor stores and to license qualified private parties as spirits retailers or distributors. It would require licensees to pay the state a percentage of their first five years of gross spirits sales; repeal certain taxes on retail spirits sales; and direct the board to recommend to the legislature a tax to be paid by spirits distributors. It would revise other laws concerning spirits.

So, 1100 removes the State as the gatekeeper to booze.
1105 revises the rules to allow private sellers (Costco, Safeway, Bartells, etc.) to get licenses to sell booze, give a portion back to the state for 5 years and repeal other taxes.

Here's my take as a mid-30's married man whose work as a Comedian happens in bars and clubs with most people drinking a'cahaul:
1) Our state's too broke to give up the nearly $500M we'd lose over the next 5 years if these pass. We're too broke to give up ANY money.
2) To make up the shortfall, booze would have to be taxed so heavily that it basically would revert to the same bottom line it's at now, or people would have to start drinking they way they REALLY want to instead of responsibly enjoying it, and then there's a whole other barfpool to wade through.
3) We need new regulations and we need new distribution allowances; it's too costly and too clunky for bars and eateries to get what they need. These are not the way to do it. Too vague.
4) I don't want booze available in grocery stores, which already have kids stealing Energy Drinks!!! for crying out loud. A minor drinking alcohol should be up to the parents. (wink)
5) California sells booze in grocery stores. How are THEY doing?
6) These don't help small businesses. Costco, Safeway, and other big stores could undercut prices to other retailers, including bars and restaurants. It's not "Free Market," it's "Dominate Market." It favors big chains and high volumes.
7) I like shopping for booze with adults. I don't want to buy booze at a grocery store while I'm silently crying and my son stares up at me from the cart.
7a) Similarly, I don't want liquor available in gas stations and KwikMarts until 2am.

I am voting No on each one. I think there should be reform on the sale and distribution to Businesses that sell/resell alcohol, but the complete Slash & Burn of the State's involvement strips tax money we need, makes it more visible to children, and allows it to get into places with fewer restrictions and regulatory incentives to not sell to minors.

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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Where's The Sugar, Baby?

(secret surprise at the end!)

My son Graham turns his first year-young on Sept. 23rd. It's been a really interesting year, to say the least. His journey towards being frustrated with the public education system began in March of last year when we were told Graham's due-date was September 19th. I immediately did the right thing, got on the internet, and found that to be the day that the legendarily crooked USC Trojans were visiting the vaunted, hallowed UW Huskies in Seattle. And I prayed. I prayed to God that Graham would be born healthy, happy, and 3 days late. And God answered that prayer! As a bonus, God threw in a 16-13 win by the Huskies. Take THAT, Stephen Hawking.

In the past year I've found that a lot of people share a lot of their wisdom about raising and caring for a child. Many of whom have decades of experience without ever being a parent. Oh sure, they've kept a couple of parakeets alive through a cold winter or two. Or they are an Aunt/Uncle to a few nieces or nephews. And that's, hey, that's a solid foundation for making the childless look like an asshole by offering non-comedic parenting tips. No, we're not going to let him try wine again. Thanks for your input. Enjoy sterility.

I've also heard a number of people say that they don't like babies. Or specifically, they "hate" babies. Wow. Not that they hate MY son, just babies in general. Everyone knows the grave demands babies place on people who never interact with them, so I can see where the roots of that hate have taken hold. I never hated babies, I just was scared that I would break one. A year in, no breaks, minor fears, and all's great.

What's also side-F'ed is that some people feel that they can do things while holding a baby that somewhat endanger the baby, because a mis-hap wouldn't officially KILL the child, but it seems like it should entertain your baby. Like get them to touch a ceiling fan. Or swing them around by their tiny hands. Or hold them aloft with one hand while lighting a cigarette off the grill.

Won't KILL the baby? SHOULDN'T EVEN MAKE ME THINK THE BABY MIGHT BE EVEN A BIT UNCOMFORTABLE. There is no official Baby Police, but nobody has the right to endanger your child for their own attempt at entertaining themselves by trying to get the kid to smile near a snarling pit-boxer mix. This secret hate of babies is more bothersome than the outright hatred. Old women in a grocery store are the worst. Keep your dirty nails away from his face, Bernice.

So as Graham nears the One Year mark, we are gearing up for the Birthday Party, and a number of people have asked me what kind of cake we're getting him. My wife, foremost, has done a great job of introducing healthy food to Graham as he grows. We don't feed him sugary stuff or ice cream (maybe a tablespoon here and there) or a lot of processed food. He eats a lot of fruit, loves avocados, and digs salmon. Washes it down with a nice chug of jasmine green tea. He won't turn down a Mum-Mum, either. For a kid who eats a lot of healthy, whole food we're not going to jam a huge cake in his face so we can laugh at the mess and the sugar-rush. I think it's actually pretty cruel to jack a kid up on that stuff just for a few pictures. "Tradition" can eat my Bavarian ass. Maybe a little cupcake to have fun with, but 500 calories of sugar and fat, I just can't do that to my guy.

He'll have to wait for public school.

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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

NiceHoles: The Candyland Edition

A new NiceHole has been uncovered:

The SweetHole.

DO NOT GOOGLE THAT AT WORK, you will be put back on that list you had to work to get removed from.

The SweetHole is a NiceHole who provides some sort of confection as a way of saying "Aren't I wonderful?" Really, their intent is not to bring candy to co-workers and share some joy, it's just to get rid of stuff they aren't going to eat at home. Nice, but come on...
The road to this blog is paved with the good intentions of people who are retarded in a way you can't test for.

I've noted this before in THIS BLOG about good intentions. Candy in the workplace should be familiar, individually wrapped, and portable. You wanna sandbag 40 packages of Coconut M&Ms near the printer, GREAT, you should be canonized.

But you want to leave a box of "Orchard Fruits" (the smelly 3rd-cousin version of Fartlets&Craplets) along with those wax bottles filled with colored syrup out by the garbage cans?

What kind of skidwagon raised you?

Work candy should be, if NOT chocolate, close to it.

Everything else falls short and you should just stop trying to be nice to people. If you're not willing to fess-up that you shop for groceries at a drug store, then you aren't good with work candy. Stick with collecting Faerie Tale Cat Figurines.

NICEHOLES. They're everywhere.


Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad

MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

No Comment is Good Comment

I was reminded this morning of a favorite Corporate Panic moment. One of those where, in the vein of "Paralysis by Analysis," we'd hit the wall on getting a project approved. After 5 rounds of documenting the process, refining it, mocking it up, running tests on it, the final package was sent around for comments... heh-heh, "package comments"... and NOBODY SAID ANYTHING BAD ABOUT IT. We had addressed everything that raised red flags, fixed bugs, and were ready to roll on this hot new version of your own "at-home Frozen Yogurt tap," or the "Icy FroGo!" (kind of kidding)

Long story short, we took it to the VP with proof that we'd met all requirements to get this thing launched, from cost to execution to benefit. And when she looked at it with full approval from everyone, her comment was a classic Corporate response:

"I'd like some folks to vet the comments you have received to see if they are valid."

In other words, she wanted comments on comments. Opinions of opinions.

Two weeks later we had not only received all the Comments on the Comments, and reviewed them in another 7 hours of meetings, but we MISSED OUR LAUNCH DATE for the Quarter!

So, before you open your mouth about your work, your dinner, the perfume of a co-worker, or why the shopping mall doesn't have a knife store, remember that your opinion has been considered, and was deemed a soft, round, pointless turd by your exclusion in the planning phase.

You're welcome.

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT, NPO

What Twitter Is

If you're wondering about what Twitter is, you're likely well-versed in things other than the latest how the internet is using all 9 hands to shovel your free time (i.e. bandwidth) into its gaping pipeline. Frankly, I'm not sure what Twitter is, NOW. I know what it was intended for. But like every piece of technology, from the wheel of cheese to the atomic bomb, idiots get their stinky fingers on it and skew the intended use of it.

There's a "trending" section in Twitter that states what people are talking about. By adding a "#" to the beginning of a word or words, Twitter begins logging which words are "#"ed and sees that "trend" and makes a "list" of who "is" tweeting about the topic. For example, "#GeoffLottIsAnAss" should, but won't, make the top 10 topics.

So the sociological aspect of Twitter is found in that you can see who is using it by looking at the Trending Topics. Twitter is a way for people to feel that other people are hanging on their every word. So yes, it's narcissistic - unlike blogs, which are almost narcissistic but mostly masturbatory. It's more take than give. (thank you)

And by looking at microcosms of society you get to see snapshots of what the "hoi polloi" think, feel, speak of, and want to have sex with.

Here are some recent high-points under the topic "That's Why You Hate Me"

• I'm not the fAther of ur baby #ThatsWhyYouHateMe (he may not understand "hate")
• i took a shit when you were in the shower &#ThatsWhyYouHateMe ever seen a grown man cry <#funniestshitever #epic #smh (this was from a woman)
• I tell you the reality of ur life and#thatswhyyouhateme.. bt come 2 think of it, do u really hate me or are u just angry at the truth..lol (did you really just Laugh Out Loud and need to document it?)
• I ghost hunt to get your Boo snatched#ThatsWhyYouHateMe (I have no clue...)
• 'Cause I can't do nothing right#thatswhyyouhateme (such as construct sentences)
• I see myself as a superior being #ThatsWhyYouHateMe But I'm don't a superior being (thanks for clarifying)

There are times I hop in the top trends to tweet to the idiots who may be reading it, and that shows what I think of myself and the people trending: They're dumb, and I am better than them, but not secure enough to not tell them, so I have to let them know in they own language, whaaaat?

So that's Twitter: A snapshot of short thoughts thrown into the webosphere by people with nothing better to do. That must suck.

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My Blog About My Dad

Tiger Buy The Tale

Eldrick "Tiger" Woods today did a fantastic job today of reading a prepared statement that included words one would use when apologizing for throwing his famous, multi-ethnic, Stanford-educated, highly-endorsed penois into a number of women. Some of these women, including porn actress Joselyn "Manhole" James, and Jamie Jungers, whose claim to fame is being the least-attractive woman on the planet to know what Tiger's wood looks like when teeing off, were jammed in front of cameras for their reaction in the event the rest of the world's problems had all been solved. Riveting words always spill from the mouths of women named Jamie.

I single those two out in particular because they had quite a reaction in the wake of Tiger's televised speech that was not at all a heartfelt, in-the-moment apology. They said they were "hurt" by not being included in Tiger's apology. The cited that he was apologizing to children and the public and some media figures and his product sponsors and his family, but NOT to the women involved in this scandal.

(The Associated Press)

Whores, please pay attention. Man-whores, too...

1) Tiger Woods had sex with up-to but not stopping-at 19 women (at last rumored count) who were NOT his wife. He is guilty of being a bad husband. Other than that, you can label him a cad, a fornicator, a scamp, a crazed f*ck diesel, and/or a nerd, but his actions only truly affect His Family in a long-term kind of way.

2) Unless they had absolutely zero access to any type of media for the past decade, every woman who was NOT the wife of Tiger Woods and yet had sex with him anyway... HAD SEX WITH A MAN THEY KNEW WAS MARRIED. Putting the blame entirely on him, as if to say he was the only person at fault in the co-mingling of any number of boozy lubes and WD-40 (not an endorsement) is erroneous and as irresponsible as having sex with a married man who is having sex outside of marriage. Or outside.

1+2 = 3 ways to say this...

1) Tiger Woods owes anybody he's not related to or had no time invested in a relationship or friendship with NOTHING. It's a Good thing to apologize to the young people who looked up to him, and perhaps he'll be able to address this in an organic way in the future. But yeah, I don't care what Tiger Woods does once he leaves the course. As long as he isn't driving drunk or kid-touching or rooting for Washington State University.
2) Tiger Woods owes the women he had sex with NOTHING. Not one cent. Not one apology. Maybe a call to say he can't hang out in Lauderdale this weekend, but otherwise, NOTHING.
3) Tiger Woods is sorry this went public.

I feel bad for his kids who may get teased at school about this.
I feel bad for his wife and the judgment a gutter-heart public may lay upon her household.
I feel bad for his mother, who apparently missed a few moments of "respect" lessons.
I feel bad for Tiger Woods that all his fellow pro golfers threw him under the bus when I'm sure a ton of them "putt from the rough" on the regular.

Lord knows I've been a turd in my life, skidding through a few relationships without a clean break to flush-off at. And I'm lacking when it comes to being the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most-communicative husband in the world. But when it comes down to it, while I don't condone nor comply with what Tiger did, nor why he did it (compulsion, addiction, adrenaline), I can't see why anybody else would really care about this.

He had affairs outside of marriage. It's going to cost him millions of dollars. He'll have millions more to rest upon. He will play golf professionally and continue to win millions of doll-hairs. And he has a hell of a way to go to patch things up with his wife and kids and family.

Imagine how much better he'll be when he's not skank-banging every weekend. Rested, focused, sober...
Way to go, media. PGA, he's gonna F you so hard.
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