Life Fucking Stinks.
I really mean that.
But it's not as bad as it sounds.
Last Thursday night, I was wiring some speakers up in the bathroom and I came across some smelly, girly, bath salts. Now's the part where I'd normally say that they were obviously left there by the (ex)Girl, or that I only bought them for her and they're not really mine, or they're for my hockey injuries, or something tough like that.
This, of course, is all true.
The smelly, girly, bubble bath, however... is a different story.
*Begin Side Note*
Guys, ever wandered through the Chicks Underwear Section at a department store?
Sure you have.
Ever seen something that caught your eye because of it's sparkles/glitter/shiny parts?
Sure.
Ever grabbed it, crawled into the clothing rack and tried it on, quicklike, so that you don't get caught?
C'mon, show of hands... YOU, in the back... You've done it, I've seen you do it!
*End Side Note*
So, I figure since I live alone now, and I've finally got the shutters on the front-facing windows fixed, I can do whatever I want in my own home.
30 minutes later, I'm neck-deep in a Lavendar-scented bubble bath, I'm surrounded by some candles, I've got a glass of Chardonnay (the pricey stuff too, $7 a bottle), and Diana Krall's singing from my speakers about losing love and something in Spanish about how she wants me to kiss her. I was fully chicked-out.
When Diana got to the sad parts, and I felt a tear roll down my cheek, I self-consciously checked the bathroom window just to make sure no one could see inside.
If there was ever a moment when the S.M.A.T* team would come crashing through the window to force me out of the tub, into a pink-and-purple tutu, and march me down the street to the biker bar on Broadway, this was it.
*Sissy Mary Attack Team, composed of the roughest, toughest, meanest SissyMary's around, and renders swift, harsh, punishment on those that aren't really SissyMarys, but act like them. Yes, I am well aware that S.M.A.T. team is really saying \"...Team team\" but I checked on this with the Department of Redundancy Department, and it's cool.
I went to bed alone and drunk, but I smelled awesome, so when morning came in and ran it's fingernails on the inside of my eyelids, I decided not to shower.
(Surely, you see what's coming)
Weekend BreakDown, by Odor
Friday Night, I went out for a beer with a buddy. Only two, in fact, though I managed to spill someone else's on myself. Got home smelling like smoke and beer, knew I had to shower first thing Saturday morning.
Woke up Saturday morning, and realized I was horribly late for my nephew's hockey game at 11, in Greeley (an hour away if the Traffic Gods smile).
I brewed some coffee and poured it into the travel mug, realizing belatedly that I was out of that yummy-dairy-creamer stuff as well as milk. Went to sprinkle some sugar in it, straight from the bag, causing a Sugarlanche into my goddam coffee. Too late to brew more or even stop for some, I begin my drive North by taking a drink of my Blackened-Sugar-Sludge way too soon, and splashing a good amount of it down my left arm.
I arrive at his hockey game smelling like a fresh bag of Airport Lounge trash, and cheer him on while he grins at Uncle Judd and falls down leaving the player's bench.
My youngest nephew is 3, and a squirmer, and after his mommy got fed up with his antics, she passed him to me. I love my nephews and we have a fucking awesome time together. Apparently though, there is such thing as too good of a time during the potty-training years.
*Tickle tickle*
*Squealing Laughter*
\"Hmmm, why is my leg wet? Why is his crotch wet? What's that sme... Ahhhhhhh shit...\"
Hugging the li'l hockey player nephew after the game, he said \"Ew, Uncle Judd, you stink.\"
\"Yeah, buddy, I know. Shaddap.\"
I drove back to Denver with the windows down, because the truck smelled like Juan Valdez's donkey was next to me, smoking a cigar, and urinating on the seat.
Back in Denver, NeighborWife came over and I fixed one of NeighborHubby's tools for her. Then, she gave me a hug.
\"Have you been cleaning with Ammonia?\"
\"No, why? OH, I got pissed on earlier, forgot to change...\"
I worked outside all day, getting nice and sweaty. I figured that if I DEFINITELY had to shower, I would get as dirty as I wanted and I did.
I had allotted just enough time between finishing chores, showering and getting up to G0lden for beers with CoWorkerBuddy and The Captain of G0lden, and then possibly a jaunt to Aurora for the Gypsy's Pajama Party, when my phone rang.
It's the Brother.
The Brother that I haven't talked to in 6 weeks. He wants to talk about everything that's been going down.
Fuck.
I plug in my hands-free, throw on some 'clean' clothes and a half-gallon of AfterShave, because I can't just hang up on my own flesh and blood simply because I smell foul.
I arrive in G0lden an hour late, and now smell like a FratBoy that just got gang r@ped by drunken bikers.
A night of drinking and debauchery with the Captain ensues, and much fun is had by all. I wake up on CoWorkerBuddy's couch, after a pleasant 2 hours of sleep, to CoWorkerBuddy's Yellow Lab, repeatedly licking the side of my head. CoWorkerBuddy and RoommateGirl, both of whom went home fairly early, are fresh as daisies, and are up making a bunch of goddam noise, so I leave.
I got home smelling like someone wiped beer off their dog's ass with a Vanilla-scented ashtray.
My head pounding, I turned on the NFL pre-game show, flopped down on the couch, and begged Asshead the dog to take my keys and go get me some Burger King. She refused, because she's a bitch, but she did snuggle while I was passed out.
I woke up intermittently during the Broncos game, played on the computer, and vowed not to move my body until at least nightfall, when I would most assuredly shower.
A friend calls, waking me up. She reminds me that I told her I'd play goalie for her that evening.
Fuck.
It's an All-Girl team, but they play in a men's league, so I didn't have to hide my penis or anything when I got there. My overwhelming excitement at a lockerroom full of half-naked chicks was almost instantly crushed when I asked, \"Don't they have showers at this rink?\" and was told, \"Not yet. What's that smell? Is that your equipment, or you?\"
Neither of these things were good to hear.
We mustered a rousing 3rd period comeback to win the game though, and I got to undress next to super-hot-former-model-turned-motorcycle-cop who never remembers me even though I used to ask her out weekly a few years ago.
I dressed and walked out to the truck, now smelling like someone set fire to a drunk and sweaty Hobo's asshair.
My phone rings again. It's the Mom asking if I remembered that I promised to come over for dinner. Despite my protests that I desperately needed to shower, I am ordered to come over right away.
Fuck.
But, it is The Mom, and she'll love me no matter how bad I smell right?
I arrive and LittleBrother, in his Spidey outfit, gives me a hug and says, \"Ohhh MAN, you smell bad!\"
This statement causes an eruption of laughter from the FUCKING DINNER PARTY in the next room.
The Mom forgot to tell me that she'd \"invited some friends over.\" Dinner was served with 3 very nice, funny, sweet, lesbi@n couples on one end of the table, and Spidey & Stinky on the other. Bless li'l Spidey's heart, as he was the only one that would sit next to me at first.
When I finally climbed into the shower, I remember thinking that there is a certain freedom in being a complete and total slob, and unlike last time that I pushed the limits of the olfactory senses of others, this time was unintentional.
The soap hissed loudly when I pressed it against my skin, and I thought of the heartbreak and depression that I've been going through, and that sometimes life really fucking stinks.
But then I thought, it's my life to live how I want, and sometimes it can stink and still be pretty good.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.\”JuddHole,\” the movie.
I turned on that piece-of-shit-talking-box in the living room for the first time in a week or so and flipped through the channels, eventually landing on Erin Brockovich.
It's got Julia Roberts in short skirts, so I turned the sound off and enjoyed the view while I drew pretty pictures of stuff and worked on making a kilt.
I remember when that movie came out, somebody mentioned that the real chick it's about plays a waitress in it.
That got me thinking.
When they're finally smart enough to make a movie out of my life, I'm going to be ready for 'em. I've got the cast all picked out.
The part of my father will be played by Michael Jeter. You may know him as that squeaky-voiced, odd-ball, southern, little shit on some 80's sitcom.
It's not that my old man shares any of those characteristics, but the physical similarities are enough.
Give him darker hair, and it's my old man, perfectly. They're both tiny too, like 5'5\" or so.
I've never pointed any fingers, but I've reminded the Mom that I'm 6'2\" and so is the UPS guy, and we both have Hazel-Green eyes.
![](\"/images/michael_jeter.jpg\")
I just checked though, and this dude is dead.
That's cool, I don't want my old man in the movie of my life anyway. As long as we can cast somebody to shout derogatory shit at me from off-camera and effectively cast me out on my own at age 15, that'll work just fine.
Uffda, SOMEbody's got some unresolved issues*.
*I'll give you a hint: it's me.
The Mom, in all her amazingness, can only be matched, both physically and spiritually, by one of my most favorite heroines of all time, Sigourney Weaver.
![](\"/images/sigourney_weaver.jpg\")
This chick has been the ever-loving shiznit since she blasted that acid-blooded fucker out of the air-lock in Alien.
She looks enough like her, and rocketh the knowneth Universeth, like her, to fully take on the role of the Mom.
The Brother is quite possibly the coolest individual on the planet. Think of James Bond, Wesley Snipes, and Iceman (see below) all rolled into one. Think of the coolest guy you know and the coolest thing they've ever done. My brother is that guy, all the fucking time.
Growing up behind that wasn't easy, and probably accounts for what a monumental tool that I am to this day.
If you ever met the Brother, the physical similarities between him and his actor counterpart would freak you the fuck out.
Again, I'm not one to point any fingers at the Mom, but the Brother and Val Kilmer look too much alike for them not to share the same DNA.
![](\"/images/val_kilmer.jpg\")
Seriously, it's eerie, they could be twins.
I figured I'd work with actors that are roughly the same age, as well as those that look like the primary players in my life.
Plus, there's no way I can post this many friggin pictures without throwing in the token hot chick.
The part of the (ex)Girl will be played by Laura Prepon not only because they actually DO look a lot alike, but because Laura recently went blonde, now looks even more like the (ex)Girl, and totally turns my crank.
This one shows her looking most like the (ex)Girl.
![](\"/images/laura_prepon.jpg\")
And this one is for the select few dudes that actually read this ridiculous excuse for a blog.
![](\"/images/laura_prepon2.jpg\")
Uffda. Gimme a minute.
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Yeah, thought you guys'd like that.
You're welcome.
The part of JuddHole was a tough one. I'm not really good-looking enough for any actors to be popular and still look like me. Plus, ages and body-style are too tough to match up. You know, 'cause I'm all tough 'n shit, and actors are all weakly. Not at all because actors have personal-trainer-personal-nutritionist bodies and I have 12-pack-a-day-love-handles.
I've got a little Jim Carrey in me, but he's too good-looking and too old.
I'm told I can look like John Travolta when I smile, but he's too old. Um, yeah... and he's way, way, way too fucking good looking.
One of my asshole hockey buddies threw this one at me the other day and, while it caused me to smack him in the junk with a roll of tape, it occurred to me that he's actually pretty accurate.
The starring role in, \"The Life and Times of JuddHole,\" will be played by...
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... wait for it...
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![](\"/images/fuckhead_jared.jpg\")
That fuckhead, Jared, from those goddam eat-fuckin-sandwiches-and-not-be-a-fat-fuck-anymore ads.
You've all seen 'em, I'm sure, and while you'll probably all agree that there is no one on this planet in more dire need of a cock-punching than this absolute fuckbutton, we do share a certain resemblance.
In fact, several years ago, a hockey buddy of mine started a funny-as-fuck paper called, The Onion, that had Jared right behind Bono on the Top Ten list of people that need a good cock-punching.
Once, during a game, OnionGuy was coming in on a breakaway, and ate shit right after crossing center ice, with nobody near him. I took this opportunity to remind him, \"Watch out for the red line! It'll jump right outta the ice and trip you up sometimes!\"
I'm pretty sure that got me into the number 11 spot on that list, hence my motivation for using Asswipe, Jared, for the starring role.
I know he's a complete lame-ass, but I figure with me on-set, feeding him Tequila and Hawken Chewing Tobacco, while repeatedly flicking him in the cockandballs, he'll start acting like me in no time.
There will probably be an appearance by Katie Holmes, or at least her nose, but that remains to be seen.
At work, they've been clamoring for \"baby\" pictures all frickin' week. There's some sort of contest between each department for how many members can provide pictures of themselves from the ages 3 to 8.
We get to vote on 'em too. Some sort of shit like \"Most likely to be an MVP in professional sports\" and \"Most likely to become a wildly popular p0rn star.\" Plus, you get a prize if you can guess who somebody is and stupid shit like that.
I had to ask the Mom for pictures, as all I have anymore are pictures of me being a drunken fucking idiot. Instead of \"a\" picture though, she drops the whole freakin' photo album by my office today.
I gotta admit, it was pretty goddam fun to go through a 24-year old photo album. All of a sudden, Sigourney couldn't hold a candle to the Mom's beauty, there was no way that Val could look like that crooked-toothed-freckled-face little shit in those pics, and it would be inconceivable for Fuckhead Jared to be as cute as that scrawny little fucker grinning like a thief as he reeled in his first trout ever.
Although I don't remember much about being 4 years old, a trip down memory lane is good for anybody.
Then, the JackAss that lives in my body found the perfect picture for this retarded 'contest.'
I think I'm about 4 in this picture and it was taken while the family was out grouse hunting.
I almost pissed myself when I saw it.
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... wait for it...
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![](\"/images/little_pisser.jpg\")
Turning in that photo may have been a mistake though, as any male at MyCompany will guess it easily.
Because I still pee that way.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Reeling, but still standing
Life, for all it's drastic ups-and-downs lately, if finally on an upswing, and I thought I'd write a little bit.
The Bouncing Baby Book is coming along, and a recent ultrasound shows that it's developing bones in it's little body. The due date is ever-changing as I've been infirmed for the last 3 weeks.
I had to undergo a time-intensive, painful, self-performed, procedure called a Cranial Extraction From Rectum.
This procedure has numerous components including:
Pulling one's head from one's own ass isn't ever fun. It took me a while, and it hurt quite a bit. I cried a lot, but let's be honest, removing anything forcibly from your ass is going to cause some tears. Doing it with a broken heart makes it exponentially worse.
I know, I know, Boo-Fuckin-Hoo.
I finally figured out that if Love is going to bitch-slap me around, I'd just turn away from Her for a bit, and focus on more important things.
Like, Pimphood.
A lonely Friday evening rolled around and CoWorkerBuddy and myself found ourselves, once again, alone in the deserted office and working late. The Nerf Dart Guns were broken out, complete with a fresh pack of replacement darts, and there were many shootouts and contests-of-shooting-prowess in the darkened CubeWorld. Jet loudly asked their questions about female companionship while we ran around like the IdiotMonkeys that we are.
Since we're both skilled gunfighters, and had lost most of our darts, it became necessary to validate our singing and dancing skills as well as our CowboyPimpin skills by cranking up Cowboy, and letting Kid Rock tell all of CubeWorld exactly what manner of Pimps we are.
As surely as Murphy and his laws are real motherfuckers, CEOGuy cruises through Koderz Korner when I'm 'galloping' up the aisle with one hand out holding the 'reins' and the other smacking my 'pony' on the ass with my hat.
CEOGuy: Jesus, what are you doing now?
Me: Um, ridin' my pony on a cattle drive?
CoWorkerBuddy (from his cube): Wrong song, dude.
CEOGuy (confused look): Wha...?
Me: Oh, right, sorry. I'm rockin' dat bitch up and down the coast.
CEOGuy: Are you even working still?!?
CoWorkerBuddy (emerging reluctantly from his cube): We're working on the (boring-ass-too-detailed-to-explain) project.
Me (nodding in time to music): Yep, and that's why they call me a 'Cowboy' bay-buh.
CEOGuy at least laughed this time, and then wandered away muttering something about how he's never come down here again. I'm damn lucky that I'm making him oodles of money, or he'd can my ass in a heartbeat. Yeah, I said, \"oodles.\"
ManagerGuy came out of his office and wondered loudly why two, strapping, single guys were working late on a Friday Night instead of working our CowboyPimpin skills on the fine ladies of the Denver Metro area.
While I wondered aloud why he'd use the term, \"strapping\" when describing us, CoWorkerBuddy told him that he'd possibly be up for it, but that I was still in the all-women-bring-nothing-but-pain stage and would make a terrible WingMan.
I told him he couldn't be more wrong, and that I have the perfect amount of angst and apathy that draws women in by the dozen. He still declined, and I went home to my dog.
I'm looking to test this Angst/Apathy theory on New Year's Eve.
Before that, this holiday season is going to suckify because I'm so fucking broke. I did find a Valu-Pack of Muppet Pez Dispensers, and everyone is just going to have to roll with it when they get their gifts from me.
\"Merry Fucking Christmas, here's your Pez. Don't bitch, it could've been worse, you could've gotten Miss Piggy or Rolf or something stupid like that.\"
So, piss on Christmas. New Year's is going to be the bestest ever.
The Mom hooked me up with her Frequent Flyer miles, and I'm heading down south to party like a Drunk Monkey with a good friend of mine.
He's even agreed to join me in celebrating the New Year whilst donning a kilt at one of the biggest parties in his city.
I'm stoked.
We're going to be the clan-representinest, true-scotsmanninest, swanky-party-goingest, ninjas that town has ever seen.
I'm going to go find a nest in the hills chill like Flynt now, even though I don't know what the hell that last part means.