SomaCow

 

 252: Kickstart My Heart [1:06:49m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

SomaCow Media is proud to present SomaCow brought to you by Pepto Bismol.

Seriously, whose idea was it to have SomaCow’s finest hour go up on Fridays? That means that the blog has to be written on Thursday which means it has to be written every Thanksgiving night which means that Geoff is full and sleepy, I’m full and sleepy, Mickey is probably full and sleepy, unless he is back on the Atkins, which means that this blog will be short and sweet.

The third hour this week, their finest, they discussed Rock Band. Mickey has it, we play it, we now live and sleep it. Seriously, we were driving home from Clearwater and Geoff was playing the bass to Green Day and System of a Down (the Rock Band bass) and I was moving my fingers along like they would look on the screen for the lead singer. Rowan was doing the driving.

It’s an awesome game even if my 20 year-old nephew thinks it’s lame because he plays the actual drums. Eh, kids these days. They need to learn to let go man, learn to fly. It’s the hardest thing.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

 

 251: Thanks, Given. [57:57m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

SomaCow Media is proud to present SomaCow, brought to you in this hour by Mom’s cooking, Grandma’s Potato Salad, J’s Martinis, and The Redboy Podcast. I know, weird, right?

In this hour, we gave thanks, mocked Twilight, and chatted up a good friend of the show, even if he is a Ginger.

I would prattle on here about family, and friends, and all that jazz, but the fact of the matter is I am in Fatty Free Fall, and feel that only through confession can I stop, or even staunch, my constant hunger.

In the last 4 days, I have eaten 3 ribeye steaks, 2 lbs of potato salad, a giant order of the new buttload of nacho nachos from Taco Bell, a giant plate of Scallopene Piccata, 6 Eggs, 4 slices of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, 4 sausages, 2 orders of hashbrowns, 4 more slices of bacon(seconds, bitch), 3 Ommegang beers, a massive order of double beef medium pad thai, at LEAST 4 dozen shrimp, a bag of cape cod potato chips, 2 packages of Ritter Sport candy, a bowl of cocoa puffs (and I don’t even LIKE cocoa puffs) 4 handfuls of chili con carne popcorn, half a pound cake (that’s half a pound of butter, half a pound of sugar, and half a pound of flour), 90+ cashews, heavily salted, 2 gallons of milk, 4 coronas, an order of potstickers, an order of ribs, a chicken sandwich (there must, always, be a chicken sandwich), 2 champ burgers, lemon scallops with brown rice, 5 budweisers, 2 double decker tacos, 1 seven layer burrito, half a pint of ice cream, a gallon of tea, a doughnut, 4 pots worth of coffee…

Round here… It’s just called “gettin’ ready for Thanksgiving”.

Or, you know, a myocardial infarction.

That gingerbread house looks delicious… be back later. Food Diary, my ass.

Before we go eat massive amounts of food, let us leave you with the true meaning of Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown… a story from a wonderful lady we call Franni the Lunchlady:

I was the child of very old parents, Mom being 48 and Daddy being 53 when I was born. I can remember being rustled out of bed in what seemed like the middle of the night. Wrapped in blankets my sister and I were put in the back of the Rambler stationwagon. When I woke up it was daylight and we were at my brother Bob’s house. Bob was born when my folks first got married, 28 years before me. I ran around with his 5 kids, all of us in our jammies, watching the Macy’s parade on TV when an interesting float or balloon came on. Other cousins, aunts & uncles were also there, it was quite the full house.

Then we got our faces washed and our Sunday clothes on and we sang for our supper. Each of us had to sing or recite some kind of Thanksgiving thing. The last year both my folks were alive, I was in 1st grade. Daddy came up with a song for me to sing that year. He and I practiced it for weeks, it was going to be the showstopper, he said. So when the day came and then my turn came, I stood up on the foot stool and belted this out (to the tune of “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-aye”)

Happy Thanksgiving Time,
the family’s looking fine.
There’s lots of food to eat, And lots of folks to greet.

We’re really thankful that,
We’re getting nice and fat.
We cannot eat no more, Please roll us out the door!

I was a super star; best Thanksgiving ever!

Thankfully, you can read on…

• Macy’s Holiday Traditions
• The Friday Flashback: Chicago Christmas Caravan
• Recipes for Health :-))
• Music for Thanksgiving
• Family traditions.

You might think that because I am a “comedy writer” and a co-host of “The Greatest Internet Radio Show,  EVER!” that my gift of gab would extend into the bedroom.

Well, don’t YOU look foolish now.

For some reason, I could never quite get the hang of talking dirty during sex. While some guys can be quite comfortable ordering their sexual partners to “Take it like a dirty whore! I’m gonna rip you to shreds!”, the nastiest thing I have ever managed to say to the Mrs. was “I hope this is equally unpleasant for YOU!”.

Once, when she was out of town on business, we decided to try having cyber-sex chat on our computers. I sucked at it, because of my tendency to always crack jokes at exactly the wrong moments:

[SomaCowJ]: Oh, baby…yes, baby…do it just like that…a Priest and a Rabbi walk into a bar…
[MrsSomaCowJ]: gah

So, I turned to my good, good friends Geoff and Mickey for some guidance on this topic, and asked them for their best dirty-talk lines.

(You know how, in cheesy horror movies, everybody in the WORLD except for the stupid person on-screen knows that it would be a terrible idea to open that closet door, because there will undoubtedly be an axe-weilding homicidal maniac inside? I was like that stupid person.)

Geoff, having control issues, is very demanding in his budoir babble: “You dirty girl, I’m going to f…why is there no coffee ready?! I’m risking a heart attack to give you mediocre sex, and you can’t even have a pot of WaWa brewing for afterward? Put a dollar in the jar! UHHNNNGH! Whew! Ok, I’m done. That was GREAT!”

Mickey was little help, since the only time he talks to people is while we’re recording the show: “Oh, baby, you are like a cascading style sheet that functions perfectly across multiple websites without debugging”. Yeah, I wish I could help him.

On a related note, I was recently researching my family tree, and was quite surprised to discover that several of my great-great grandparents had been porn stars in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I was able to track down some of the “dialog” from these early attempts at silent moving-pictures which CLEARLY demonstrate that my dirty-talk deficiency is genetic. Keep in mind that the language in these films was considered a vile and filthy obscenity in its day:

Yeah. That explains THAT.

If you have any ideas to help me improve my pillow talk, please let me know.

Until then I’ll be boning up on my Priest and Rabbi jokes, as it were.