They can't all be winners.

Not every endeavor is a successful one and today I would like to share with you one of my birds that never took flight, perhaps because it was ahead of its time, illegal, dangerous or downright offensive.

My Eureka event or as I like to call it "Peanut Butter & Jelly", was born out of my friends and I sitting around in college doing bong hits. The smoke from which I have never really enjoyed do to the harshness, but if my memory serves me and it tends not to for about a five year period there I did enjoy the after effect.

That day I realized that I would take two things dear to me and create a pathway to heaven.

Bong + Nitrous = Cool super smooth bong hit that makes you into a visionary. Or so I thought.

Well, I went down to my laboratory and fashioned something the kids call a Cracker (for opening small nitrous canisters or whippets) to the side of a plexi-glass bong with a little rubber cement, and we were in business.

Here came the challenge, with even my most burnt out of cohorts shuddering at the thought of mixing these two drugs together. As if GOD himself might smite them for figuring out the hidden secret to the universe.

Then Holly came to mind.

Holly had been a friend of mine and even a roommate for sometime. A tiny little goof ball of a druggy chick that would pretty much do whatever I asked, except sleep with me. Which by most accounts would be more dangerous than trying out one of my inventions? So with a little reassuring of its safety, she was in.

We set the mood with some Rev. Horton Heat, gathered around our favorite front porch coffee table and proceeded to find God. We even made plans to travel the world teaching others about our new religion.

Then we packed the bowl, lit the lighter, and cracked the nitrous.

Holly grinned from ear to ear as though she had seen the face of our creator, and inner peace washed over her, as she hit her face on the coffee table drooling.

Can somebody help me find a shovel?

love,

-ideajones

Gayest Headline Ever

ideajones IS WRITING AGAIN! Haha I'm just kidding (I'm not), that's not the headline (but it should be). Actually, it's this:


Wow. Just wow.

According to NBC Miami, Brian Dotort went to a gay bar called Georgie's Alibi (worst alibi ever) and took his chihuahua, Hudson Hayward Hemingway, with him. Because Hudson Hayward Hemingway was dressed in pretty pink clothing, some queen with a Britney Spears tattoo asked if he could could him. Brian said okay, turned around to look at some guy's package, and by the time he turned back to his dog and Mr. Spears, both had disappeared.

As a pet owner, I think this is a particularly sad story, but it's important to remember what my parents taught me back when I was young, trusting, and still hadn't realized that I lived in one of the most dangerous cities in America -- don't display anything that you don't want stolen. This edict is malleable, of course, because I have to display some things in order to get others. Example: at reputable establishments, money must be exchanged for booze.

The underlying point was that I should prepare for theft relative to the venue. If I bragged about my large stash of chewing tobacco at a Toby Keith concert, for example, I should not expect to retain ownership for very long. (NOTE: I would never use chewing tobacco or be seen at a Toby Keith concert.) Likewise, if I carried my punt-able, dressed-in-pastels dog into a South Florida gay bar, I would soon find myself dragging an empty leash along the beach and crying about how my special little friend isn't around to watch Golden Girls re-runs with me anymore.

I could always give ideajones a call, though.

Finding Perspective

For those of you who don't know, ideajones once wanted to be a body builder.

I don't know where it all started. I think it might have been trying to impress a young lady. One whom I soon replaced with my well oiled chest and bikini wax.

As time went on I thought that the bigger I got the sexier I looked.

Then one morning while doing a private pose off for myself I noticed something shocking. My "Package" was smaller. Immediately I became paranoid about all the chemicals I had been taking.

How could this be? I had read all the warning labels on the snake oils I had purchased at the local SELF-IMPROVEMENT WAREHOUSE. Not one of them mentioned a penis shrinking side affect.


How could this be self-improvement? My perfectly polished muscle car had a tiny hood ornament all of a sudden.

Well, at first I was just angry which turned to depressed and crying. By the way not a pretty picture (Super muscular man naked and crying with a tiny penis in one hand and a bottle of Bronzer in the other). Later however I did read on one of my supplements that I might have mood swings.

Once I calmed down and had a Raspberry, Banana, Kumquat, Apple, and Ginseng protein shake. I made my way over to the strip mall where I purchased my new physique to demand retribution.

My penis is Tiny! Was my battle cry as I burst through the front door, causing the two young ladies behind the counter to break into a flurry of TEE HEES and scurry into the storeroom.

"I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANGER" I exclaimed.

Enter: A short muscular man wearing a sleeveless cutoff sweatshirt and spandex shorts.

'"Look here you Olivia Newton John reject, I have been taking your pills and powders for longer than I care to remember and now I can't find my member".

"Calm down sir, your scaring my customers" the man said.

Then he suggested we discuss this in the back, which of course I was OK with considering I had just told everyone in store I had a chicklet in my pants.

Now, I could go on and on about the dialogue between myself and this self-loather, but I don't want to bore.

What I can tell you is our conversation was a little embarrassing and involved a ruler and a minor discussion about the artistic properties of "Perspective".

So, after helping me realize that I had built a barn around a front door that was once the entrance to a 2nd story walk up. He directed me to a whole section of his store devoted to men with similar problems.

Needless to say I abandoned my barn, returned to my 2nd story walk up and never had to worry about "Perspective" again. I did however pick-up one of those penis enlargement pumps on my way out.

love,

-ideajones

Need to feel inadequate

So, I have not written anything in a while, and I owe you all an explanation. I've been jerking off every time I sit down at the computer (sorry public library computer lab users).

Anyway,

As a married man and a frequent customer of the local pharmacy, I often find myself wandering the medicinal stacks. Taking the opportunity to peruse the myriad of contraceptives and sexual aids. A world that I haven't inhabited in sometime, a world full of VD and a need for pina colada scented butt lube. This world has expanded by the way, whether it be your basic flavored condoms, lube that makes your private parts burn (On purpose really?) or for the really adventurous a condom that vibrates.

Being an inquisitive type, as I go to leave said isle I always check out how much dust has collected on the Magnum condom boxes, just to see if someone actually buys these. For those of you who don't know, these are for people with a birth defect.

Well, much to my chagrin there is actually now an even BIGGER CONDOM, The Magnum XL. Not only is there bigger dicks out there, they are actually enough of them that they have added a shift at the factory.

Now don't get me wrong. Who am I to begrudge another man his need for contraceptives or the fact that his mother was a heroin mule while pregnant with him. My problem is with the Manufacturer.

Manufacturer? You might ask.

We'll, I just would like to know why the Huge Penis brigade gets a condom named after a Clint Eastwood Movie. Like they need more self-esteem.

I have an Idea for Trojan since Clint Eastwood seems to be there muse.

How about a condom for guys who date whores " Any Which Way But Loose" OR condoms with extra lube meant for that extra input " Dirty Hairy". Maybe even a condom for that guy who has a girl whose vagina is like a prison "Escape from Alcatraz" for that bitch who just won't let go.

love,

-ideajones