Male Enhancement and You.

I see all of these pills, creams and torture-device looking things that people sell to poor bastards who dream of having a bigger wiener. I think to myself that of course they don't work, and deep down everyone knows this. If any of this actually worked, and someone really had solved the riddle of how to eat something  and make your dick permanently and safely bigger, it would change the world.

For one thing, it would be bigger (hehe) than Viagra. Probably about 108% of men would consider buying it, or get a prescription for it if that is necessary. If this was sold as a prescription, what would be the required symptoms, and who would decide? I'd love to see that conversation at the doctor's office:

Doctor

What seems to be the problem?

 

Poor Bastard

Well Doc, I have a tiny dick.

 

Doctor

Ok, let's take a look.

 

(Poor bastard drops drawers)
 

Doctor

Oh my, that IS a problem. I'm writing you a prescription for self-confidence. Take only two of these a day, or the side-effects will be considerable.

Three days later the guy walks back into the doctor's office carrying his colossal dick like a newborn baby.

If one did show self-restraint when it came time to take your "prescription" your new big dick would probably still be small by comparison. It is all relative really. If everyone has a big dick, then the guys who had the original big dicks would have to start taking trips to Mexico to buy the magic pill as well. I mean, having a big dick was probably all that they had going for them to begin with, because most guys with giant schlongs don't feel the need to compensate in other areas.

So, the original big dicks would become the big dicks once more. But, they would never get laid again because now their penises are of such enormous proportion that women would risk post-coital surgery by putting it anywhere near them. In fact, very few guys would be able to show enough restraint to stop when their dick reached an enjoyable size, because then they would have a small dick again. And lets face it, it is more important to have the status of having a big dick than to give females pleasure with it. At least that is the way it was explained to me in 5th grade sex education.

World-production would be down since, as I have mentioned, everyone with a big dick (everyone) wouldn't feel the need to make a lot of money or better themselves in any other way. Unless you worked tourism in Mexico, or making underwear for enormous packages, you're probably going to lose your job you big-dick bastard.



The industry that would especially suffer is anything known to help men compensate for their minuscule members- i.e. sports cars, jet-skis, motorcycles, Rottweilers, etc.

If any of these mediums to big-dickery actually worked, the guy that invented it would be the richest man in a world with a declining world market, a steep decline in sports car sales, men stalking women like animals (more so than now even), and horribly sore vaginas all around the world.

Despite the fact that we don't live in a world like the one described, men still look at pills and creams called something like "Thor's Hammer Cock" with ambiguous "proprietary blends" and think to themselves, "But, maybe this is the one that will finally work. Just, maybe." And for only $4.95 a pill, who can blame them?

I certainly hope cancer gets cured before we see 3 Billion giant wangs being dragged across creation, because that would be disgusting (the wangs, not the cancer). 

Student Teaching: Part III (Fin)

This will be the last blog about student-teaching, and then I'm going to start blogging strictly about exotic cheeses.

 

My experience at SHS could be summed up in the following facts and figures...

I parked everyday in the small, ten space lot directly in front of the school. It is reserved for visitors only. Even the principal walks her ass from the large lot in the back, all the way to her office in the front. I was certainly not supposed to be parking there, but it was just so damned convenient. I decided I would park there until someone noticed, and then told me to park where I was supposed to. I feigned ignorance like this for 6 weeks. It took SHS administration that long to notice my truck parked twenty feet from the entrance, every day. This should give you an idea of how well the institution has its act together. It finally got back to me when one of my co-operating teachers asked if that was where I was parking. I probably could have denied it, and gotten away with parking there for another week. At least.

 

The SHS vending machines had space for about 60 different junk food options. About 12 of these were reserved for Flaming Hot Cheetos, and the rest for either candy or other salty snacks that contained the words/phrases "Jalepeno" "Extra Hot" and "Buffalo" in their descriptions. These vendors know that they're doing, because a lot of students would eat four or five bags of the above sodium-bombs for breakfast and lunch, everyday. I have even witnessed Flamin' Hot Cheetos used in courtship, with a student garnering attention from a desirable young lady by giving her his "extra bag" every day. May they have a long and fruitful relationship. This epidemic is not an SHS exclusive phenomenon though, especially in other working-class schools. A friend of mine working in Peoria Public Schools has even graded papers that were covered in the signature bright red residue of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. I guess the snack sometimes makes it into the dinner meal rotation as well. 

 

On a very important day of class, I stood and faced the flag while the school mumbled through the pledge of allegiance to start the day. I mouthed the words to the pledge, but was actually saying: "Hail Mary, full of grace..."

 

On a culminating research paper that I admit I could have taught better, one student wrote an opus entitled: "ILLEGAL IMIGANTION". You can imagine the masterful writing that followed.

Throughout the course of my student-teaching, I witnessed four or five fights (one of which included a deaf boy surprise-jumping on the back of a good-sized Hispanic tough and attacking his face; another included four Hispanic girls in a free-for-all that made it difficult for a spectator to figure out who, if anyone, was on who's side). There were also two fire-alarms pulled. Now, most schools have fire-alarms pulled as a prank. These were pulled due to fires being started in bathroom garbage cans; part of a rash of these incidents stretching back to the beginning of the school year.

Part of me feels like a sell-out who wants to chalk-up Illinois public education as a waste of time, and no fun at all. Part of me feels like I would be giving up on the all of the students that clearly need help. Yet, a bigger part of me feels that If I were to do anything I wasn't 100% sure of, would be a mistake. An even bigger still part of me wants a glass of wine, and then tell you all about it...

Student Teaching: Part II

Teenagers are animals. I am so sick of teenagers that I will need to see serious maturity levels from my own children to keep from sending them to boarding school at age 13. I am more and more disgusted by their behavior, language, motivations and priorities. I am so sick of seeing them lick each other's faces, and hearing their mindless, disrespectful conversations, that by the end of my time at SHS, I wanted to walk the halls with a cattle prod.

It makes sense to me; I know why they are the way that they are, but I still can't stand the vast majority of them. Individually each student can be great to know, and converse with. But, when as a pack in general, they are intolerable.

I know I too was once a teenager, but I could not have been nearly as bad as these teens. Yes, I drank. Yes, I smoked a cig here and there. Yes, I broke rules. But the main difference between myself and teens today lies in one word: Respect. Not to say that there were not disrespectful shithead teens that I grew up with, indeed there were. The rampant level of disrespect today is absurd though. Teens have respect for nothing: Rules, authority, property, relationships, friendships, or even themselves. When I was a teenager, I might have had angst, but I still had respect. There were teachers that I did not like, but I did not curse in their faces, and charge out of rooms. When adults working in a high school are afraid to tell students what kind of car that they drive, for fear of it being vandalized, there is a problem with the student populous. The students file into school in the morning, with their empty heads hung low. They are not 3,000 eager and willing minds, but inmates.

Part of me wants to kick every student with the cancerous attitude described out of school. Let them take their disrespectful attitudes and see where it will get them in life. I would like to see some of these students fail miserably. However, as an adult and and educator you have to act on the, "forgive them, for they know not what they do" mentality. Though some days I want to simply scream, "You're an ignorant f#%&*ng loser with no future!" into their faces, I don't. Being an educator doesn't just mean teaching young students facts and theories, but how to be a useful member of society. That starts with Respect. 

Student Teaching: The Final Product (Part 1)

Wow, I haven't blogged in ages. That is because I was impossibly busy with student teaching at Streamwood High School. Don't worry, I didn't get to enjoy the following things as well: Exercising, watching TV, sleeping, being outside, anything. The following is my first of a series of blogs that will be relating to my student teaching experience. Some will be funny, others reflective, and still others just no bullshit ranting. Enjoy.

It's funny; most people get into teaching because they hate or fail at what they thought their dream was. I on the other hand have only further realized my dream after hating/failing at teaching.

Before we go any further however, I should explain that I did not fail at student teaching. I did fail to enjoy it as much as I thought I would though, which is all that really matters. It came to the point where I would seriously feel ill walking the steps of Streamwood high school at 7am every morning. It got to the point where I, Sam Wrobel, would lose my appetite for entire days. Most importantly, it got to the point where I would be writing lesson plans and think, "I have to fill another 10 minutes with some activity," whereas a teacher should say, "I only have 50 minutes with these kids today." It wasn't that I didn't like the kids- well that isn't entirely true, there were a few that I wasn't too fond of- I just enjoyed teaching them what I wanted to teach them, and not what the state of Illinois and the backwards U-46 school district wanted me to.

During my ten weeks of student teaching (and many more weeks of observing prior to) and working at Lynfred Winery (Woot!) I began to realize that finding a fulfilling career in educating does not have to mean forcing 16 year old students reading at a third grade level to sit somewhere they don't want to be, and hate you for making them. I found much more fulfillment sharing and educating on the joys of the fermented grape to adults than I did in for former scenario. 35 students packed into a small classroom with only a blackboard and a VCR (yes, a VCR) because the district can't afford to pay teachers is fucked up. The horse shit, bullshit and dog shit that teachers have to put up with from administrators and the district bureaucracy is fucked up. The fact that no child is left behind, and they are continually passed up along the food chain to become someone else's problem is fucked up. The fact that we have a young generation of "functioning illiterates" is fucked up.

So, fuck it. I'm gonna have a glass bottle of wine and salute those that are content to be teachers. If you'd like to join me, I can be found relaxing in a sedentary position at a small number of locations. One way or another, stay tuned...

Blizz-og

I have been meaning to write this since the blizzard, but i'm confident the memory won't fade any time soon.

Holy shoes what a blizzard. Without speaking on how unforgiving the storm itself was, I'd just like to reflect on it some.

For one thing, I had never seen so few cars on the roads than the night of February 1st. In the twenty minutes it took me to make the normally five minute drive to Jessica's house, I saw only one other vehicle that was not plowing snow. I was terrified while making the trip to "rescue" her, as my truck has been stuck in more favorable conditions than I was attempting to drive through. Visibility was zero, and I imagined that I would be stuck somewhere, and have to return home on foot absent two of the most important things in my life (Jessica being first, of course ;) Miraculously, I managed to make it to her, and even get us both back to my house.

The next immediate thing one thinks of when snowed-in for who-knows-how long, is this: How much booze do I have? Will I have enough alcohol to stay drunk for days, even weeks? (yes)... Who knows how long such conditions outside could last.

The blizzard raged outside, while we drank in front of a fire, and enjoyed the perfect storm that had us both free of responsibility for at least a day.

The next day, I woke up at the crack of noon to begin shoveling the driveway. Yikes. I exited my house through the garage, and stood for a moment, dejected, as I starred down a four foot wall of snow left when the door opened. The ensuing three hours of lifting with my back had my mind wandering. Where the F#$% were those brat kids that always beg to shovel your driveway for a dollar whenever we get a light dusting? I imagined they were somewhere warm, sitting in front of some electronic entertainment. Next, I wish I really did have some of the warm, spiced christmas wine I use the line "this is my driveway shoveling wine" to sell. Truthfully, I've never shoveled under the influence. Next, what happens when mail-carriers call in sick? Today, I would be one of those mail-carriers, but I'll still complain if my Playboy comes late.

Eventually my dad came out to help, and I began to get sentimental. Though few words were exchanged during the all-business style session of shoveling, It did dawn on me that this could very likely be the last time the two of us ever shovel any driveway together again. Moving out this summer, I would never get to suffer through this type of thing with my father again. It is always the odd little things that get me nostalgic. I began to think about the earliest memories I've had during winters at my parent's Bartlett home. There is something to be said for having a driveway of your own and a son to shovel it. I only wish to be so lucky.

How to Be Successful and Lose Friends Part: II

DINING

  Refer to all male waitstaff as "my maaaaan (insert friendly variation of name on their tag)."

Refer to all female waitstaff as "dollface, legs, lovely" etc. If you can, try to make uncomfortable references to how you wouldn't mind sleeping with them.

Position yourself at either the head of the table, or at the very least facing the door, but do not sit yet. Always be the last one to sit down at the table, even helping people into their seats. This will show people that you control the tempo; dinner doesn't start until you say it does.

 Always order any kind of drink "neat" (i.e. Maker's Mark "neat"). You don't have to know what it means, because most other people, including servers, don't. It works especially well if you say it with a bit of a pause, then emphasis: "Maker's Mark. Neat!" Try ordering a beer this way, and scream in the face of anyone that tells you it doesn't make sense.

When the waitress comes around to take food orders, insist on another round of drinks before anyone can even open their mouth to ask about the specials.  Shoo away the waitress before anyone can protest.

When ordering wine, always order the second or third most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, and say something like, "______________ at this price? I wonder how they make a dime!"

At this point, order the souffle. If whatever restaurant you are dining at does not offer souffle, that is your first mistake. After you order, wonder aloud if it will be as good as the ones you used to have in Paris.

Order any cooked piece of cow medium-rare. It shows that you are a risk taker, but that you appreciate good meat enough to know it should not be under OR over done.

If you can, order for at least one other person at the table, against their will.
"Jimmy and I here will both have the porterhouse, medium-rare. Won't we Jimmy?"


LIFESTYLE

Always have an impeccable car, lawn and home. Your hot wife should keep up a rose garden. All your neighbors will understand how much better you are then them, with logic mentioned before: "If he takes care of his lawn this well, he must take care of __________ also as well."

Take a lot of vacations, even, and especially when you do not deserve them. Come back to work tan, even if you just sat around at home watching Golden Girls re-runs. When co-workers ask how your vacation was, simply say: "Ohhh I needed it! I just don't get down there enough." Before they can ask anymore questions (like where you actually went) brush them off as you busily get to work on the things you put off to go on vacation, like you couldn't wait to get back.

Try to be seen reading the newspaper as much as possible. Pick it up when someone is on their way over, or walking to your office. When they enter, act like you're finishing a sentence, then shake your head slowly and say something like: "those goddamn beaurocrats are gonna ruin this country." Then, put down the paper and engage your visitor. It is important for people to at least assume that you have an opinion about world issues.

Smoke cigars, especially in obviously non-smoking areas like hospitals and schools. This will give you that "I do what I want" look, and when approached to put it out, make some quip about you being the last fun person alive. You can also save a lot of cigars this way. If you only take five puffs of a cigar before putting it out, it will last you through many a child birth or parent/teacher conference.

Talk on the phone, or even better BlueTooth, a lot. The conversations can be faked, but should seem incredibly important. When you do make a friendly call, immediately make light-hearted insults: "Brian, you old coose hound, how are ya? I can't believe you're even taking calls after how badly your Knicks lost last night." etc.

Show up about 3 minutes late for everything. This will ensure that everyone is watching you as you enter the room, but you won't be late to the point that people are upset. Most things don't get going until 3 minutes after the start time anyway, minus the obvious (Shuttle launches, solar eclipses, Airplane flights).

Finally, when your hot wife births you an heir, name him something impressive, but always with a "the third" attached to it, even if it doesn't apply. The more successful your family is, the more of you with the same name there will be. So, skip right over the Jr. and go right for III.

There, now your successful life can repeat itself in your offspring, and your legay will never die.

How to Be Successful and Lose Friends Part: I

Success. What is it? How can we measure it?

Is it happiness? Maybe, but I know (of) plenty of lunatic homeless people that are quite happy with their urine-soaked lives. Is it wealth? (refer to same homeless people). Is it when everyone admits that you are better than them? Probably.

I might not be able to make you rich (except for any young ladies I promised I would make a star. You're gonna be a star I tell ya!) And I certainly can't make anyone happy, but If you follow these simple steps, It will definitely let people know who has, and IS, the biggest dick in the room.


FASHION

Always over-dress, unless expected to. Going to a Superbowl party? Tuxedo. Your daughter's wedding? Hawaiian T-Shirt. When questioned about the former say: "I'm sorry you don't own a tuxedo, but that's a problem for over-worked child slaves in Indonesia, not me." When questioned about the latter: "I'm sorry that my comfort makes you uncomfortable. Would you like the number of a good shrink?"

Whenever possible, carry a pocket watch. This will let people know what time it is (literally), and people will be so surprised at your donning of one, that they will assume that you own at least a few railroads, maybe even a utility.

Tie your necktie into the biggest knot imaginable. See how big those retired football players on TV have their knots? They just scream success. Ever see someone sportin' some weak-ass half Windsor knot stickin' his head out the top of a stretch limo full of high-class tail? Even politicians prone to this kind of behavior have at least a single Windsor to go with their miniature American flag lapel pin.

Try to get a haircut every week. You want people to view you as an unchanging pillar of success. You are a robot whose perfect hair doesn't grow because you are too god-damn-busy to allow it to. When getting these haircuts, first of all, refuse to wait. Losers hangout at barber shops all day, and you don't want successful people to smell loser on you, or they won't take you back into the nest. It is best to just have a young, naive girl that doesn't speak English just come to the house. When your hair begins to fall out? Easy; just Bic your head a la Bruce Willis, grow out a beard, and work out your abs. You'll look like Jeff Bridges from Iron Man, (but with better abs) and who's gonna tell me that guy isn't successful? (but with better abs).

HEALTH

Health is very important to being successful. Health, or more accurately, the illusion of health. If people think you take care of yourself arduously, then they have a better chance of believing that you will take care of their money, property, and daughter(s).

Be seen eating a light lunch, all the while spilling little word gems like, "Antioxidants", "Omega 3", "Amino acids", "Riboflavin" and "Isotopes". People will be discouraged from asking you questions about it, and just assume that you are on some super "path to success" type of diet.

Spend as much time in the gym as possible. Get there early, and stay there late, but by no means no much exercising. Instead, just hangout in the locker room all day so people see you there and assume you just finished your Spartan workout. Go to the gym around 7am to shower, shave, and dress before work. The poor bastards that haven't read this blog and are showing up to workout will think you've been there since the crack of dawn, and will know that you are better than them.

Play one of the following sports reasonably well, with the knowledge that some of these are better than others. You need to play at least one of these sports enough to bring it up in conversation. Also, you played Lacrosse in college.

Golf > Jai Alai > Fencing* > Tennis > Racquetball > Polo*

* Fencing and Polo get a special mention here because they are so obscure that no one will ever ask to play with you. Golf on the other hand, you actually have to know your shit about.




Still to come: Dining, Lifestyle, and Miscellaneous.