changing fluids in the dark

so NOT what you think...

A few weeks ago, and after months of prompting from the spousal unit, I decided to check on the fluid levels of my red 2004 PT Cruiser. I noted that the oil was low and that I was out of windshield wiper fluid. It was getting dark fast and as I did not have sufficient exterior lighting, I took an educated guess. This dipstick was clearly for oil, this cap is for the powersteering, WELL, the windshield wiper fluid is traditionally on the top right side when you are looking at the engine block, that MUST be it. I beamed with pride as I took care of my sacred MAN duty of maintaining my jelopy whose secret name was SEX MACHINE . My wife can pretend the car's name is Otis (Redding) all she likes. Anyhow, I tested the windshield wiper fluid the next day as it was raining and I needed to clear the detritus and scum from off my glass. I pulled on the lever and nothing. A flaccid stream of cleaning fluid dribbled out weakly. "Son of a bitch," I exclaimed ! Hmmm. Perhaps its a little cold this morning and the fluid is somewhat frozen at the nozzle opening. Yes, that's the ticket... Friday, I finally got around to putting more oil in the car as it was bone dry. The car chugged 2 pints of oil and licked its lips begging for more. In the light of day I was able to see much more clearly at the gauges and meters. Here's the oil, power steering, windshield wiper fluid container on the LEFT hand side. Hold the phone... I flipped open the cap in which I had put the wiper fluid and noted that it was bracking brown and smelled of oil and Windex. The cap on the container had an admonition to clean the cap before putting it back on. I make a mad dash for my glove box where the Warranty and Owner's manual resides, flip the pages and come to realize that I put wiper fluid on the BRAKE container. I quickly called up my neighbor and mechanic Jimmy James . "Jimbo Baby? This is Stone Jackson. Well, it looks like I've done a boneheads thing and need your help. Don't worry nothing ILLEGAL, mind you..."

Jimbo laughs. I tell what I did and ask him if its something I should be worried about. He said, "well, it ain't good. You need to get that stuff out there and replace the brake fluid. Have your brakes been feeling kind of spongy?"

I retorted that they did feel spongy and that I had been driving 34 miles to Redmond each way and back to get to work. Well, thanks to this boy genius, I need to drop of the Cruiser this morning at 11 am so that they can hoist up on his hydraulics set up to bleed the fluid that's in the brake lines. Keeping the wiper fluid in there can lead to corroded lines and brake failure, which=death.

So, kids, remember when its time to change fluids, make sure you have enough light, m kay? There's no rush. Do it right the first time.

Bitch Tits

That's right, Bitch Tits. No pithy title. No tongue in cheek, or tongue on boob, as it were. Just. Pure. Natural. Bitch Tits.

For guys, there is no harsher diss in the English language than this phrase.

We all age. It's true. I have seen the evidence. We lose our muscle tone. In men, our hair recedes - a "reverse flanking maneuver" (as they say in the military), our stomachs becoming enlarged - beer gut, our asses flatten to 2 dimensions, like a thinly pounded phone book. We can deal with these things, it's the loss of our amazing pectorals that reduces us to tears, like ladies watching a Steel Magnolias marathon. Manly tears, mind you, but tears nonetheless.

Case in point, look at the examples below.

"How's it going cue ball?"
"Who loves ya baby?!?"

"Jesus, Bob! What's with the kegger you're carrying in front of you?"
"I'm so fit! I have me here a TWELVE PACK, Son!"

"Your wife being chewing your ass out again, Frank? 'Coz you have none left!"
"Tell me about it brother! When I take the bus, I HAVE TO stand up ..."

Now, the difference below.

Two dodes* are in the locker room after a game. They are both getting dressed when one turns to the other and says. "Damn!!! Nice bitch tits you got there!"

The proverbial record skips. The silence is deafening.

"What did you just say?"
It is ON! A crowd quickly gathers. A cobbler starts building bleachers so that all can attend this throwdown .

"Um..."
"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. I'll have you know. I was in Nam! I took shrapnel in my heart, my lungs, and my spleen! The doctor's never thought I would recover. The metal tore through my organs and muscles. My life was spared, but I can never regenerate the muscle in my chest again..."
"Frank, you're 29 years old ! You weren't even born when Nam ended."
"Oh, now you calling me a liar?"
"Yeah..."
"Did I say Nam? I meant, um. Desert Storm! Back in 1991 !"
"Dude, don't you mean Dessert Storm. Pass the ice cream Sundaes and the Jello trough. More Cheetohs for all my men! I gots me an appetite. Nevermind that you would have been 11 years old at the time. Want to try again?"
Barely held back tears. Deep breath. "You know you crossed the line right? I mean there are RULES? Yes?"
Stop. Pause. "You're right Frank. Never again. I was way out of line. I'm sorry. Shake on it?"
Frank finishes getting dressed. He walks over and they shake.
"Ok. We're good, baldy!"
"Make it so Number 1 !"

*Curtain Falls.

See. Women, have it easy. With the magic of botox, hair weaves, extensions, toners, that there Pilates, or was that Pirates of Pains Ass? Anyway, women have options. Getting older and don't like how your boobs look? Get implants! The gents will be more attentive and you will be the envy of all your girlfriends (who will secretly plot against you and try to get a bigger cup size when they go for their puppy implants). Dudes don't have that option. We either hit the gym or hide our heads in shame under a XXX Giants sweatshirt.

Bitch tits indeed...

The only man that has been able to get away with Bitch Tits in recent history. Is Ric "Nature Boy" Flair. And those be Tits of Power!



dode - an over abundance of dudes . As in, "let's jet. This party has too many dodes in it!"

Nerdfinger

Recently, the wife and I were discussing our strategy for my upcoming 35th Birthday Party, this coming Saturday, January 10th at Rancho de Stone Jackson (Bring presents) .

She turns and says to me, "You know, I can't recall the last time we had an adult shindig at our house."

"You're right," I say. "I'm not sure we ever held one at our old place in West Seattle." I do the math and, not counting family events, it's been 9 years or so since we have hosted an event for adult friends.

"I used to host parties all the time, back in my studio (in San Francisco) when I was single," Mrs. Jackson intones with a wistful look in her eye.

"Yeah, back when you were young and cool!" I snort like one of the eponymous zeros from my childhood.

"I was until you got your NERDFINGER on me!"

I stop. I rear my head back and laugh hysterically. What the hell?

"NERDfinger, eh? You're probably right..."

I'm like the dude below, but more Nerdy ...



Nerdfinger.
He's the man, the man with the geek touch.
A dork's touch.
Such a cold finger.
Beckons you to enter his web of sin
But don't go in.

Nerdy words he will pour in your ear,
But his lies can't disguise what you fear,
For a nerdened girl knows when he's kissed her,
It's the kiss of death from

Mister Nerdfinger.
Pretty girl beware of this heart of Nerd
This heart is word.

Nerdy words he will pour in your ear,
But his lies can't disguise what you fear,
For a nerdened girl knows when he's kissed her,
It's the kiss of death from

Mister Nerdfinger.
Pretty girl beware of this heart of nerd
This heart is word.

He loves only nerds,
Only nerds.
He loves nerds.
He loves only nerds,
Only nerds.
He loves nerds.