With Extra Sauce, If You Know What I Mean
Tonight after discovering that Rhea Pearlman had put a block on my phone number, I decided to cheer myself up by ordering a pizza. What I do is, when the pizza delivery gal gets there is answer the door completely naked. If it works like it's supposed to, it's not just a piece of pizza I'll be enjoying!
So the doorbell rang, and I opened the door. "Who's ready to par-tay?" I screamed.
Those Pizza Hut bastards sent a dude this time. On the bright side, I didn't have to pay for my pizza.
Posted by George at 9:14 PM on 3/31/2005 | Comments (0)
It’s a Bar Called “Cheers,” Goddamit! I Own the Place!
I went down to the airport again tonight, pushed my way into the bar at the domestic terminal and waited for it.
Eventually the silence grew a little uncomfortable, and people kept bumping into me as they went past. So I said "Norm!" myself.
"Evenin', everybody," I said, and sauntered in.
I was getting pretty close to the end of the bar and nobody had picked up their end, so I said, "What's new, Normy?"
"My voracious sexual appetite!" I said. Heh heh.
One spectacular young woman, maybe fifty-five or so, perked up noticeably as I climbed onto the stool next to her. "Hello there, sexy lady!" I said.
It was tough to see her eyes, with her hair matted down like that, but I think she started to cry.
Now Sam -- Danson played him, but Sam was a man unto to himself and an inspiration to us all -- would have switched tactics here. He would have said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, darin'! Nothin's that bad!" and gone all touchy soft.
But not me. I've got twelve years as an unstoppable sexual predator under my belt and what was called for here was something I like to call Wendt Direct Express.
"Wanna screw?" I said.
She cried a little harder -- it was definitely crying -- but I had a sneaking suspicion that her cheeks weren't the only part of her getting wet.
"I said, Wanna screw?" I said.
The bartender leaned in and said, "Hey, pal. Back off, OK? The lady's not interested."
"Hey, Woody," I said. "You back off. Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Some fat, sweaty bastard who doesn't have the good sense to leave someone alone?"
"Norm!" I said to the rest of the bar, most of who were looking at us. "Evenin', everybody!"
A moment passed, interrupted only by the quiet sobbing of the smokin' hot momma next to me.
"How's it going, Norm!" I said.
"Down on me!" I said.
The bartender started to wave over a security guard and I decided to leave.
Posted by George at 9:03 PM on 3/28/2005 | Comments (0)
He Probably Plays a Cell Phone in “Cars”
The other night, I decided to phone up Ratzenberger, to see if he wanted to go prowling.
"Hello?" he said, pretending like he'd been asleep.
"John baby," I said. "You, me, about six or seven professional girls! Sounds like a night for near fatal protein loss!"
Then he made a sound that was almost exactly like a dial tone.
Ever since he's been getting voice work, that bastard is such a show-off.
Posted by George at 11:48 PM on 3/26/2005 | Comments (0)
Oh, Baby Babe
I often get asked -- sometimes without me having to prompt people -- what was the deal with Norm and Vera. Did they hate each other? Why did they stay married? What did she see in him?
He was hung like a blue whale, I tell them. And then I say: They based the character on me, y'know.
Vera couldn't leave Norm because she couldn't walk.
Posted by George at 1:54 AM on 3/23/2005 | Comments (0)
Maybe Craig T. Nelson Is Free
I tried to phone up Nick Colasanto tonight, to see if he felt like double-teaming a hooker, but it turns out that he's been dead for twenty years. So I just stayed home and cried.
Posted by George at 5:14 PM on 3/15/2005 | Comments (0)
Nobody Wants to Meet Kelsey Grammer
She was twenty, twenty-two and had a chest like twin copies of Danson's bald head. She leaned over to me, and said, "What show were you on again?"
"Cheers, baby!" I said. "Nineteen eighty-two to 1993. Widely considered to be one of the greatest sit-coms ever. James Burrows, Glen Charles, Les Charles. 'Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name'. Y'know, Cheers."
"I was eight in 1993," she said.
"And my how you've grown, sweetheart!" I said. "You're making me grow just looking at you."
She backed up a little, to take in every inch of me. "Ah... You said Fraiser used to be on it, this Cheers show?"
"Yeah, baby. Grammer and I are like this!"
"Who's Grammer?" she said.
"Nobody," I said. "Fraiser and I are like this!"
"Can I meet him?" she said.
"Well," I said, and leaned back against the bar. "That really depends on how far down your throat you can get my dick."
"Oh, my God," she said, stumbling backwards. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Just over and over again, "Oh, my God." She turned and ran, her hand over her mouth.
Kelsey Grammer's a pompous twit. That's why nobody really wants to meet him.
Posted by George at 9:53 PM on 3/12/2005 | Comments (0)
Vera!
Vera! Vera! What has become of you? Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?
I need me some sweet, sweet fictional ass, baby. Where'd you go?
Posted by George at 2:23 AM on 3/9/2005 | Comments (0)
Ted?
I phoned up Danson tonight, but he wouldn't give me Whoopi Goldberg's number.
He wouldn't put Steenburgen on the phone, either.
Posted by George at 4:18 AM on 3/5/2005 | Comments (0)
Funny
I don't think of myself as fat so much as big boned.
Big boned. Get it? Get it?
Boned.
Posted by George at 4:18 AM on 3/4/2005 | Comments (0)
Note to self
Crying yourself to sleep doesn't get you sympathy sex if you're alone.
Need to remember that.
Posted by George at 11:19 PM on 3/2/2005 | Comments (0)
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