No really fuck it. The Kindle is Amazon’s little ugly bastard child of an E-book reader. Its like when you’re visiting your family and you’re all having a good time and your cousin from the “deep south” shows up with plastered with his cousin and starts fucking up the place. Everyone just sort goes into a hush and starts commenting on the wallpaper. But no one says what they’re really thinking, which is “What the Fuck?”.

The kindle is an e-book reader and is just barely on the curve of the 2-nd generation of ebook readers. It has everything you’d expect, e-ink display, read your ebooks and your news… woo hoo. But that’s where its similarities with every other reader ends. It’s uglier than a hat full of assholes, it looks and feels cumbersome. It was rammed down our throats on the FRONT PAGE of amazon for weeks on end, in a shameless display of self-promotion. It costs hundreds of dollars more than the competition and it has DRM (Digital Rights Management = NO FREEDOM) for days and days.

Seriously guys, what the fuck. It has a cell phone modem to download content, which is neat, but all the content costs money and you can’t read shitloads of your own material on it. Plus the battery life is crap compared to cheaper offerings and oh hey did I mention it’s a clumsy looking shit-tool that seems to have escaped from the movie TRON? It’s angular planes, tiny spaced out keyboard and lack of any real place to hold it comfortably, make it look about as fun to read with as a broken fish-gutting tool.

It wouldn’t be so bad if everyone just shrugged and moved on, but its like all the reviewers WANT to like it. They don’t. But they WANT to like it. So everyone focuses on the good parts and politely smiles and looks away, while the Kindle fucks its cousin on the living room couch. Well I’m speaking up, its ugly as shit, expensive as hell, and not worth my time.

Just when Amazon pulls their head out of their asses and fixes the ugliest site on the internet, they got the old designers to make the Kindle instead. Don’t quit your day job Amazon.

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Recently I published an article called “People You Meet at the Bar” and there was such a positive response, I’ve decided to follow up with More people you meet at the bar. Guess which one you are.

Bar Whore

Age: Usually 21-27

Blood Alcohol Level: Wowza

Annoying Factor: 9

The Bar whore is usually a gal who seems nice, even friendly and outgoing. But then the booze kicks in and she turns into cold calculating Terminator-mode searching for John Connor, but in this case, John Connor is DICK. She picks about 3 guys and starts laying it on thick, makes them compete for her and arbitrarily picks one to take home. She takes all the control, kicks them out when she’s done and never talks to them again. She’s back the following Friday with a girly drink in one hand and an agenda in the other. For those of you looking to get some random sex, its not so bad. But woe betide to you who is not on her hit list and happens to get in the way. She will toss you to the curb like a sub-human on her mission to score.

Invisible Rock Star

Age: 21-40

Blood Alcohol Level: (varies)

Annoying Factor: 5

The Invisible Rock Star or IRS, he loves him some music! He’s always rocking out to whats on the box and when there’s nothing on he complains loudly. He doesn’t actually select or put on the music, just enjoys it to the max when its on (see “JukeBox Nazi”) mainly when it comes to classic rock. He knows every Zepplin, Rush, AC/DC and Styx song and silently jams along with every single song when it comes on. He’s usually very quiet otherwise, but his love of 80’s classics knows no bounds, so that he transforms into an off-key air-guitar-hero on the drop of a dime. When other kinds of music is on he simply bobs his head. He usually doesn’t fraternize with anyone unless he’s trying to lead a sing-along of “American Pie”.

Overly Friendly

Age: 25-35

Blood Alcohol Level: 50%

Annoying Factor: 8

The Overly friendly guy, is a guy who doesn’t get out much. He’s usually tanked out of his brain and he’s realized everything that’s wrong with his life/work/job/marriage/hair/etc. and he’s determined to set it all right, TONIGHT. So he’ll come and hang companionably on your arm even though you don’t know him. He’s set to at least 50 decibels higher than the jukebox speaker and he’s got a huge shit-eating grin on his face. You know this guy, don’t you? He jumps into your group and gets everyone jazzed up and excited for about 30 seconds before everyone feels uncomfortable and realizes they don’t really want to get into a joyous screaming match or express themselves through slam-dancing. Then he becomes a high-volume piece of furniture to be carefully ignored.

The Shark

Age: 28-48

Blood Alcohol Level: A calculated .08%

Annoying Factor: 7

The shark swims the teeming waters of drunk college kids interested in playing a game of pool. Kids that don’t want a serious game mind you, not even a semi-serious one, just a game. But he’s very serious. He’s constantly challenging everyone to a game, he’s a stickler for the rules and will call you on every minute fault. He becomes gay as a castro harpie when he wins, but glowers like you fucked his mother when he loses. He’s not a good sport, he’s not very charming, and he’s usually dressed like a fifties gothic reject. He goes on and on about other pool matches and basically can only communicate through the game of billiards and badly at that. The real weird freaky catch of the Shark, isn’t that they’re great at pool, its that they’re so often NOT great at it, they’re just overly serious about it.

The Cougar

Age: 30-45

Blood Alcohol Level: .08%-.20%

Annoying Factor: 7

The cougar is a lady who’s obviously about 10 years older than everyone else there. She might be there with a friend or two that’s her age but she’s happy to mingle, flirt or play a game of pool with all the young kids. Speaking of kids, she’s probably got a few at home. However, she wants to reclaim what she considers the “glory days” of her youth, which consisted of her getting plowed in every viable sense of the word. So she’ll get drunk and schlep into your conversations and pool games, giggling like she’s 14 years younger than she is. Some find it charming and some just ignore her. But beware. Should you get dragged home by the Cougar she will maul you with several dozen years of sexual frustration and will mostly likely “break-your-shit-off” to coin the phrase. If this is what you’re looking for… great, but beware the morning after, when your back doesn’t bend anymore and you’re trying to slip out the back door while her kids are eating breakfast and getting ready for school.

Jukebox Nazi

Age: 21-28

Blood Alcohol Level: .04%

Annoying Factor: 5

The JukeBox Nazi, is just what it sounds like. A whiny guy or girl who just wants to OWN the music that night. They pump several thousands quarters into the jukebox and attempt to make the perfect mix tape over the following hours. He wants to wow everyone with his range and taste in music, however his taste usually ranges outside that of normal human beings, so you’ll end up with “Gotta Keep em Seperated” followed by “Love upon the Sea” in the same set. No one else gets to pick any music that night and if they come near they’re met with a steely glare that says in no uncertain terms, that you don’t take this jukebox seriously enough. (Warning: Sometimes becomes Invisible Rock Star)

Now you know,

And Knowing is Half the Bottle…

My friends, I have a confession. I love boobs. Tits, fun-bags, TaTa’s. I love the shape, the feel the texture. I love them big and small, from the tiniest mosquito bites to the worlds most gigantic Big boppers.  My love of Sweater Puppets didn’t spring up overnight, No-siree bob. It took a lifetime of staring at every type of muffins, squeeze bags and milk makers to decided that breasts were for me. I mean not FOR me, but you know, my thing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fetishist. The mere sight of bazooms doesn’t get me to the finish line. But they are a great start. I remember being a young lad of about 10 or 11 staring at a ripped out page from a porn magazine that was probably printed in 1982, and seeing bosoms of epic and unheard of proportions. Up to that point of course, I’d lived a mostly sheltered life with visual access to only the occasional teat or melon of normal size. But man oh man, seeing this Triple-D-Delight (Fake as hell of course, but at that point, I had no idea that fake breasts even existed.) sent me to the stratosphere.

Suddenly my every waking moment was filled with visions of Rib Cushions from the wildest corners of my fantastic imagination. I would imagine girls in locker rooms soaping each other’s love bubbles and giggling like every day was a re-run of the porkies movies. As I got older the fantasy faded, but then came the internet, porn, self-discovery and well, the internet.

The Internet was a source of yaya’s and zingers that the world had never known. No collection in a dusty basement or garage could compare with the sheer diversity of female front flesh fins available to me then. I like regular porn too, sure. But the loblollies online were the stuff of legend. Bra Buddies from the famous stars of the time, like Dixie-Dynamite, flat chested women, big roundies, snoobs, boobs, scoobs, kajoobies and pink nosed puppies to dark silver dollar nipples.  I had it all. But I noticed that the women around me didn’t really have this same sense of scale (because, I didn’t live on a porn-set despite my most fervent wishes). So for a while I was disappointed with real life.

And then I realized throughout the journey of my sexual career, that there was so much more than extreme examples. There was a world of subtlety for the fabled twin towers. Girls with ski-slopes, bee-stings, flapjacks, and the creepy “Fried-egg-on-a-nail” effect *shudder* Not all breasts are good, some have stretch marks, scars, size differences ranging from tiny to severe, the game was back on. There was so much to discover. I ended up at Mardi-Gras in 2005 and there was the motherload. We’ve probably all seen a lot of breasts in our day, but this really upped my mental index.

I’ve sort of waxed rhetorical thus far, and to tell you the truth, its really an experiment to see how many euphemisms for  wobblers/humdingers/nubbins I can use naturally in writing. I realize its a bit forced so without further ado, here’s a list of other terms for the fabled sweater meat.

•  Junk in the Front
• The Twins
• Udder
• Suck Toys
• MuMus
• Cannon Balls
• Peepers
• Dueling Banjos
• Howitzers
• HooHas
• Blouse Bunnies
• Shmeebs
• Volcanos of Love
• Hindenburgs
• Jubblies
• Floatation Devices
• Mams
• MushMelons
• Nancies
• Bigguns
• Niblets
• Mangos