Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce you to my latest stroll down cock block lane. I was out with The Good Reverend, along with some other friends, at the Springbok Bar & Grill.  As is commonplace with a night out at Springbok, I was most definitely drunk and having a groovy time.  We had a nice spot outside on the patio, at a table with just our friends.

I am normally a social butterfly, so as the evening progresses, and I get more fueled with liquid courage, and a good story is bound to unfold.  This night did not disappoint.  Enter ’50s updo hair.

I am a sucker for everything ’50s-related.  I really enjoy the styles, clothing, and hairdos from the 1950s era.  It is so unique, classy and sexy.

We are all having a good time; I’m minding my own business, and staying out of trouble.  In comes trouble.  A cute girl with dirty blonde hair, in a ’50s style updo strolls in with some of her friends (who are also cute, but they have not caught my eye yet).  Her hair was similar to the girl to the right, except instead of having both sides go back into a ponytail, her hair just went down at the sides.  Needless to say, I am digging this girl’s style, and eventually the urge to let her know takes over.  My bladder starts tingling, and gives me the sign that I need to hit the John.  Perfect opportunity to talk to the  dame with the ’50s updo, who will later be named “Cock Block Cunt” (CBC).

So I handle my business, and walk by the group of cute girls, who are plunked down next to the juke box.  I compliment CBC, letting her know how much I dig that style of hair, and that it looks great on her.  This creates a good in with the other friends, as I find out that CBC just had her second baby, and this is her first time hanging out in nearly two years.  I plant my first seed here, and mention that they should come sit with us, if they plan on going outside.

Three of the girls go outside (CBC being one of them), and they start chatting away.  But they are not sitting with us…well…obviously my 8th cumulative shot of vodka is not going to let that go without a fight, so I walk over and chat them up for a second time.  This time around, my attention is focused on Kristin, who is somewhat tomboyish, but certainly cute and fun.  Kristin is a few years older than me, but she does not look it.  Within a few minutes, she’s laughing at my dumb jokes, and we have some solid rapport going.  The girls go back inside.

It’s time to visit the bar, for another screwdriver…

Yummy

As I approach the bar, i give Krstin a cute little bump, and ask her what she wants to drink.  She gets back to me with “two car bombs.”  So I order up 3 Irish Car Bombs, and my next screwdriver, of course.  It is now Mandy, Kristin and I having the car bombs.  I did not really take note of Mandy up until now.  This girl was the cutest of the three, and she had some bombs herself…in the form of deliciously-large breasts.  My oh my.

Now I am about 20 minutes invested, time-wise, and 2 drinks down, but at least I found the chick that fits me.  My field of study narrows, and I focus my studying on Mandy.  It takes about 4 seconds to coerce Mandy and Kristin to come sit outside with us.  It is also worthy to note that of both times going to Springbok, this was the first time I found a chick that was right up my alley – not terrible odds, given that I am fairly picky, and know exactly what I want, and hate to deviate.

Everyone is introduced to M & K, and I start chatting Mandy up pretty heavy.  I am laying on the charm thick; she’s laughing, having a good time, and opening up to me.  All is going as planned.  We even get to the point where she tells me she teaches kids how to swim, to which I mention I don’t know how to swim, and she immediately offers to teach me (“…you should get one of my cards…it has my number on it, and it is in the car…”).  Everything is going well…maybe too well…

Cock Blocking in 2008?

Say it ain't so...

Kristin gets up, and goes back inside…she is then replaced by CBC.  Little do I know what will happen next.  Within a matter of minutes, CBC realizes how well Mandy and I are hitting it off, and decides to show off the lost art of cock blocking.  She was masterful.  She was swift.  She was precise.  CBC, my friends, was truly a master of her domain.

For starters, CBC waits until there is a lull in conversation between Mandy and I, then talks to her about some asinine female subject I cannot comment on.  Good for you, CBC.  Little does CBC know, I am not going down without a fight.  Little do I know, I don’t stand a chance.

At this point, I understand my time is limited, so I go for the jugular.  I let Mandy know that I need to see her again, and that she would have a great time, blah blah blah.  For some reason, Mandy starts passively back-peddling, which is really odd considering how well the evening went prior.  It was either something I said in the five minutes prior to this point, or the change to CBC instead of Kristen at the table.  In any cases, I keep on keepin’ on, until CBC drops the hammer…

Mandy has a live-in boyfriend.

I am down, but I don’t feel out.  In my mind, had this really been a relevant issue, Mandy would have brought him up in any of the prior 40 minutes I was charming her pants off.  My thought, after finding this out, is that she’s just looking for a replacement.  Assuming my gauge wasn’t super off, I was expecting to still exchange numbers with Mandy, and eventually play with those massive breasts of hers.  My oh my.

CBC made sure I was wrong.  Now CBC says something to the affect of…”Mandy is such a sweetheart, and she would never be able to tell you herself…but this is not the right time for her.  She is in a serious relationship…” blah blah blah.  I guess there was some truth to it, or Mandy was simply not diggin’ the RMTC-look.

In any case…thank you once again, cock block cunt, for making sure Mandy and her delicious breasts were out of harm’s way.  Fucking cunt.

I do my best not to go into movies with expectations anymore.  This way, if the movie sucks, I’m not too sorely disappointed, and if it rocks, then I’m super satisfied.

So my brosef, Lenny, and I decide to catch “Righteous Kill” today – the new movie with Al Pacino and Robert De Niro.  It is hard to not go into a movie with these big names and have zero expectations, but as mentioned above, I still did my best not to.

But I mean…how could you go wrong with casting 50 Cent, right?  Right?  RIGHT?  Fucking idiots.

I do not plan on going into too much detail, because I am definitely not that guy when it comes to giving a review; not to say this is a review, but you catch my drift.  In any case, I will give a brief synopsis of the flick now.

As as the trailer suggests, Pacino and De Niro are these two bad ass detectives, who are partners in the NYPD homicide unit.  We do not really get to know the characters too well, as it is irrelevant to the plot.  What we do know is that Pacino is the good cop, and De Niro is the hard ass / bad cop.  They have been partners for awhile, yadda yadda.  The main thing driving the movie is that there is this “poet killer” (because he leaves poems on his victims) that is killing criminals that have either gotten off from charges, or who the police cannot pin anything on.  That is fair.

What I hated more than John Leguizamo’s acting was the fact that the movie heavily relied on music to set the dramatic tones.  To me, the plot/dialogue needs to do the “talking,” if you will, and let the music add to it.  At least we get to see a good amount of the scrumptious Carla Gugino, albeit her titties were not unfettered as they were in “Sin City.”

Anyhow…after little difficulty do another pair of detectives, Leguizamo and Donnie Wahlberg, start snooping around the case, and decide that the “poet killer” is an inside man (i.e.: a cop – possibly retired, possibly still on the force).  Well, these four knuckleheads (Pacino, De Niro, Leguizamo & Wahlberg) are now looking for who it could be.  Blah this happens, blah that happens.

Some very shitty and obvious twist occurs, we get a complete rip-off scene from ““Heat” and everything gets resolved.  Blah blah…where is my fucking $12 dollars?

The plot was about as simple as getting a hard-on, the acting was pretty smeh, and the forced drama/suspense was too over-the-top.  Not to mention it was pretty hokey in several scenes, which really does not mesh for me when you got dudes being capped every 5 minutes.

Do not waste your money on this horse shit; watch “The Dark Knight” again instead.  Have not seen “The Dark Knight” yet?  Well – A.) Go watch it, and B.) Go fuck yourself.

For more movie reviews, check out BehindtheHype.com today!

I was feeling a little famished as 3 p.m. approached, so I figured this would be a good time to leave my cage, and grub-a-dub-dub.  So I jump in my whip, and head over to Spumoni’s (which is an Italian restaurant down the street.

I guess the Italians feel they are underappreciated, and they left.  They posted a really professional, hand-written sign saying, “Back at 4:30.”  Well, friends, I was not having that.

Luckily for me and my hunger, there’s a Subway in the same shopping center.  I stroll over to Subway, knowing that I’ll at least get my food relatively soon, and get on with my bad self.

So I get my five dollar footlong (I know now every time I read/hear that, their stupid fucking jingle pops in my stupid fucking American brain…FUCK YOU MARKETING AMERICA), and I proceed to chow down.

Then something dawned upon me.  “What’s this horrible noise that’s just slightly louder than the sound of me chewing?”  Seemed to be what some parts of the world call “music,” but I was certainly confused/skeptical.  It almost sounded like “fake” music.  Not quite elevator music, because elevator music has it’s place/role, and it does it well.  This was something else.  Almost seemed like they wanted to test you…see if you are actually paying attention while you are there, or if you are such a worker-bee, corporate drone, brain-dead American , that it would go completely unnoticed.

FUCK YOU, SUBWAY – I NOTICED!  It was some sort of fake, wannabe country, fluff-filled, cat scratches.  I tried to zone it out the best I could, which is very obviously what Subway wants/hopes/expects you to do, otherwise they wouldn’t force you to listen to it.

Drivel.  Drivel is the correct word for the noise coming out of the speakers at Subway, and into my beautiful left-and-right ears.

So I’m sitting here and am thinking of what to eat…

I happen to live on the third floor of my apartment complex, fyi…

I could go buy some fast food…but then I have to do this stupid shit process again tomorrow night…not to mention the stupid-fuck, shit i’d have to put into my body…

I could go buy food at a grocery store…but that requires a shit-ton of work…i’m talking getting out of the car…walking around the store…picking things up…

But then, when i have all my shit back home…it’s not like it’s going to cook itself, right?

Don’t get me started on cooking…let’s just say IT’S NOT AN OPTION

So what’s a Jeff to do? I don’t want to shop, I don’t want to cook, I don’t want to continually go buy shitty fast food.

Could i perhaps pitch the state of california to install some instant-food-making device in my apartment? Say i pay a bit of taxes for it, and i’ll even pay per-order…just to have a constant don’t-have-to-leave-or-do-one-fucking-thing food source in the apartment

I’m thinking if that food source item doesn’t go over well with my governator, maybe i’ll pick up a mail-order bride…do they still have those? Fuck

There have to be other lazy people that are hungry…what the fuck do you do?

So I was zipping down the 101 the other day…minding my own business, as usual.  Not a care in the world, etc.  Probably listening to some fantastic music too (since I am fantastic, and fantastic people listen to fantastic music).

Then I see a car zoom by me in lane number 1 (for those that don’t know: that is the lane closest to the center divider/wall).  I really didn’t get a good look of who was in the car, or anything like that, but there was something that caught my eye.  This set off all kinds of internal alarms, and I think I went into caveman mode.

Driving along in lane number 1 was some girl, with her windows down, and her long hair just flying all over the place in the wind.  There wasn’t a moments hesitation – I just bolted to see what this girl looked like.  Something about that long hair, flowing in the wind…it was mezmorizing.

I’m sure my fellow penis-wielders experience similar moments of losing their rational capacity.  For whatever biological reason, long hair flowing in the wind does it for me.

It also might be the fact that she was fucking FLYING when she zommed by me.  Speeding is Jeff-approved as well.  It is also worthy to note that I never caught up with her…she exited 2 or 3 exits after she passed me, and even with my pro-level bob-and-weave skillz (yes, with a Z)…the ol’ Maxima was no match for her whip (whip lol).

So what did we learn today?…

They have to be female, and of legal age. Attractive would be helpful. Smart (but not too smart) is OK, but I’d much prefer dumb and pleasant.

The reason attractive would be helpful is I expect them to wear skimpy outfits while in the apartment.

They need to live with me…cook, clean and do my laundry. These are the main “requirements” of this deal. The occasional massage would be nice.

I will not put up with their shit, mood swings, or problems. Likewise, the same is expected of me, to them. I don’t have “times of the month” so neither should they.

I don’t expect or want anything romantic. The occasional blowjob would be acceptable – maybe after they cooked an especially good meal (this I call “2 for 1″).

That being said, they will not turn the apartment into a revolving door of cock. If they want some pipe laid, they can go to the “layee’s” place.

They can make the apartment as girly as they want. It’s pretty empty because I’m too lazy to buy furniture. I just don’t like froofy smells.

My end of the bargain – rent, food, dsl and utilities would be free.

So so so…Lots of stuff to talk about, in the wacky world of your lord & savior, World Chancellor Jefforiah the Valiant, but it’s late, and I have a flight to catch tomorrow. So I will keep this sweet, and as short as I can…but I’m already starting to ramble.

Anywho…this won’t be about me trimming my pubes. Although, I must admit, last time around I did a hell of a job. I’m not talking award-worthy…but maybe “honorable mention” – you know? OK.

About four weeks back, I heard about this thing called the “Master Cleanse”…which apparently has been around for 40 something years, but I’ve never heard of it. Let’s not forget I don’t get out much…what with world Chancelloring and all…it’s tough to keep up with every little thing – you dig? Cool.

So I think about doing the “Master Cleanse”, after reading up on it (all of 12-14 minutes), I check out the pricing, etc…it all seems pretty a-OK. I figured, if I do it and I die, then my family would collect on insurance, but if I do it and I live, then I’d finally have proof of my superhero status.

In a nutshell, the cleanse is a fasting diet, that consists of drinking lemonade, water, morning/evening laxatives…and that’s it. No food, no other liquids. That’s it. Read it again if you don’t believe me, but this time stop at “That’s it” and just skip this sentence completely. I know, I know…that’s not healthy, that’s dumb, that could kill you, that’s a gimmick…whatever whatever whatever. Listen – I was born to rule the world, so I don’t give one hair on one rat’s piece of shit what anyone else thinks about my dumb and extreme decisions – me me me.

They recommend that people do the fast for 7 to 12 days, but it could be done up to 40 days. I’m talking consecutive days, of course. I picked 18 days. Why’d I pick 18 days? 1.) Go fuck yourself if you didn’t get the hint from above, & 2.) It just worked out that I could do 18 days, have 3 days to come off the diet, and then head to the convention in Florida.

Was it hard? Heeeelllllooooo superheros love love love to eat. Did I cheat? No. Not even once? No. You sure, buddy? Yes. 18 days is a long time…not even one little itty bitty morsel? No and fuck you. Is it for everyone? Probably not, but then again, we aren’t all lords/saviors/world chancellors/superheros…go fig. Would I do it again? Yes. Will I do it again? Probably, but not any time soon. Am I the greatest? Duh.How much did you lose? I lost 26 pounds.

If, for whatever reason, you want to try it yourself and have any questions, feel free to ask. There’s a lot of pointers I picked up over the 18 days that might be universally applicable, plus I read things on their forum boards, etc etc.

It’s getting late, and I don’t feel I can sustain my charm and wit for much longer, so I think this is where you and I part. But my last two thoughts….

1.) Ashley – you are fucking awesome as shit for making me vegetable soup. If you ever need a left or a right nut, for whatever reason…lab work, research, etc – you can count on me.

2.) This is another plug for Ashley, ’cause someone cooking for me is unheard of, and deserves double thanks. If you don’t know Ashley, and you are totally bomb ass cool, then you should add her and read her blog – http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendID=76700166. Note : no one will ever be as totally bomb ass cool as me, ’cause I am da bomb, but don’t feel as though you need to be at Jefforiah level.

That is all from my brain – MUAH!