SomaCow

If you’re a regular listener to the show, you know that Geoff, Mickey and I interact like a well-oiled machine to entertain you.

Off-air, we have developed our own lexicon to describe the various aspects of our on-air performances. See how many you were already familiar with, then feel free to use them in your comments on this blog. Maybe you even have a few SomaCowlianisms of your own!

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Geofficacious: jeff-i-KAY-shus
When Geoff is particularly engaging and amusing.

Mickeyllaneous: mik-ee-LAY-nee-us
The hodge-podge of obtuse references that Mickey confounds us with regularly.

Jalienate: JAY-lee-uh-nate
This is what J did to Geoff and Mickey when he said that he would eat Salma Hayek’s placenta.

Geofflatulate: je-FLAT-choo-late
The fake fart noises that Geoff can make under his man-boobs.

Mickeyster: mi-KEY-ster
Where we want to kick Mickey after each meandering Navy story.

Javiation: jay-vee-AY-shun
When J makes a joke that flies over Mickey’s head, and Mickey doesn’t realize how funny it was until later when he’s editing the episode.

Geofferinarian: jeff-er-in-AIR-ee-un
Tending to the needs of the pack of feral dogs who roam the halls of the SomaCow studios looking for partially eaten Slim-Jims.

Mickeymistry: mi-KEY-mis-tree
That undefinable quality that Mickey has that makes twang flock to him.

J-string: JAY-string
What Geoff and Mickey call J’s swimming trunks that go from just under his man-boobs to just above his ankles.

And, finally, one for our producer:
Jensing: JEN-sing
An audio atrocity that we have, so far, prevented from going out over the air.

In this episode, we enjoy a good long jaw about Mickey getting pantsed by his cell phone guy. He was used. In fact, he was abused. He was so abused that Ursula Sunshine’s ghost rose from the ground, pointed her decomposing finger at him, and said, “abused.”

DAMNIT!

I must not Dane Cook. I must not Dane Cook. I must not Dane Cook. I must not Dane Cook. I must not Dane Cook.

So, we discussed the finer points of Mickey’s shiny new phone, its latent features safely tucked away where he can never access them. It’s a pretty sweet looking phone, I have to agree, and gets good reception, so J and I will have to think of a new joke now to replace the ol’ tried and true, “Sorry, Mic- We seem t- sing conn-tion :click:”

So, naturally, we moved from cell phones to dual oral sex etiquette. I pose this question to you, loyal members of The Heard – Can the man be on top? Isn’t this just another form of abuse? It’s sort of like staying on the alley side of a European hotel. Tightly cramped, sort of a shitty view, and faintly smelling of the guy before you.

Wait, what?

Okay. Seriously. Someone needs to wash my keyboard with soap. Cause the dried gravy and cheese residue is making everything I type sound gay. Not that there is anything wrong with gravy.

We also discussed my least favorite topic: circumcision. See also BARBARISM. See also HORRIFIC AND UNNECESSARY BODY MODIFICATIONS. See also The Kingdom. No, really… I hear it’s good. And let me know, cause I want to take in a movie this weekend.

Impromptu quiz: How many people have been inside you? 2? 10? How about 90,000? Now imagine if you DIDN’T have drinking fountains installed inside of you. Thankfully, my wife was a gracious enough host to provide each visitor with their own personal bottle of water, unlike SOME Sports Recreation Establishments I could mention.

Hey! Hot enough for you? We cool down with the following liquid lyrical lynchpins:

The Frauds – Days Go By
The Causey Way – Compound Lessons
Gargamel! – Eat out of my Butt
NOFX – American Errorist

All this, and much, much more, await you, dear listener, in this, our finest… CommaCow.

It is with trembling fingers that I type this blog entry, having recently been shaken to my core by those three little words that strike terror in the hearts of all men: The Baby Gap.

Why a woman would drag a man on a baby-accessory shopping expedition is beyond all reasoning. We don’t ask them to traipse around the auto parts store with us. There are similarities in both cases, of course, as we each go up and down the aisles holding up bizarre apparatus for our spouse’s inspection, exclaiming “What in the world does THIS thing do?!”. I have learned through this method that everything at The Baby Gap that is not clearly a rattle or clothing is mostly likely to be a breast pump. But, unlike at the auto parts store, you will hardly ever overhear a customer at The Baby Gap speaking to a sales associate saying “I blew a gasket on this pump. Can we grease her up and pressurize her to see where the leak is?”.

I will attempt to describe The Baby Gap in terms that men can understand.

In area it is somewhat larger than Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears, but with much more available parking and way fewer beer vendors.

It is generally packed with pregnant women, many of whom are buying two of everything in sight, because they haven’t even found out the sex of their baby yet. One woman was merely browsing because she was comtemplating going out on a date in the near future.

FYI, you would be better advised to shove your scrotum into a box fan (turned up to 3) than to attempt to smoke a cigarette within four miles of the entrance to this store. The female customers don’t even bother lecturing you in the parking lot, or giving you disapproving glances. They just pull the rip cord on one side of their nursing bra and squirt your cigarette out from distances of up to 30 feet.

At least I was already familiar with my role on this shopping trip, which was, as always, that of “complaining pack mule”. In this capacity, I get to determine when it’s time for us to leave the store, based on the time at which I can no longer see over the top of the boxes and bags that I am carrying.

The only point of interest for me was the vaporizer aisle. The modern industrial revolution has led humanity to develop an astounding 1.2 million varieties of devices for adding moisture to dry air. To me, this is in stark contrast to the mere three devices we have invented for adding moisture to a dry beer mug. All of the vaporizers were turned on and spewing various aromatic fragrances into my face, ranging from “Medicinal Mentholated” to “Calming Forest Essence” to “Baby Oil with a little bit of Vomit Mixed In”.

IMPORTANT NOTE: When the bib steward approaches and asks what customized message you would like on your bib du jour, she, and the surrounding shoppers will not be amused when you suggest “Show Your Tits!”.

Near the exit is a suggestion box. On my visit, the box had been left open, so I took the liberty of examining a few of the entries, in order to distract myself from the beep-booboop-beep sounds of my bank account being depleted. Every one of the suggestions was written by a pack mule such as myself, since women consider The Baby Gap to already be the perfect store. One of my comrades-at-tired-arms had suggested weekly wet t-shirt contests in the vaporizer aisle. But the last one I read was by far the most moving, and I could genuinely empathize with its overwhelmed author, who had scrawled simply: HELP!