This stuff is just fun.  Reminds me of home.

YouTube - No Pants Subway Ride (2010).

Thanks Musak!!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

In an effort to sweep the standings for Biggest Douche in the Universe, our good buddy Billionaire and Virgin MegaEverything owner, Richard Branson, has done the seemingly impossible…

He plans to pop Outerspace’s Commercial Flight Cherry, with Virgin Galactic.

So there it is folks. Space is no longer that innocent little girl that Madonna sang about… nope, she’s all grown up, and ready to get her “Brittney” on.

And although, for the sake of this blog, I will enter said “competition” (read: interplanetary struggle) in order to pass on the Galactic Maiden Voyage into the dark nethers of the abyss to you, dear reader… I’m not happy about it.

Actually, I pretty nervous. I mean, think about it.

Things I’m Nervous About, When Popping The Cosmic Cherry:

1. Dick Branson is crazy. There, I said it. Yes, he’s a personal friend of mine, (sends me letters* and such) you can Google his exploits yourself… I don’t have the time to rehash them all here. He’s just plain nuts, and if there’s an inappropriate time for shenanigans (like bungie jumping off Uranus, or mooning the… er… Moon,) well, it’s 10,000 miles from the nearest hospital.

2. Protection. It’s that simple. I’m not going to Rocket into space without wearing some sort of protection… and this is not what I had in mind:

Richie B. can wear that.

Give me one of these comfy numbers:

I plan on slipping safely into the stratosphere in style, baby. One of these suits… and I’ll think about it.

[Ooow... those booties are fab!]

3. And the third thing that makes my Asteroid pucker is the fact that there could be terrorists (amoung other things.) Has no one thought of this? I mean does World Trade Center, ring a bell?! What if Osama set his sights on the MOON?! Or the North Star? Or Richard Branson’s gigantic head?!!

What am I trying to say?!

We are flirting with the decenceny of the Universe people. And the Milky Way ain’t no way to treat a lady.

But I’ll let this blog fade out with a few wise words from a lady that I think knows it best:

“I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
Didn’t know how lost I was
Until I found you
I was beat incomplete
I’d been had,
I was sad and blue
But you made me feel
Yeah, you made me feel
Shiny and new

Like a virgin
Touched for the very first time
Like a virgin
When your heart beats
Next to mine”

Sing it, Space.

Sing it.

One. Last. Time.

Punvert, OUT!

I said, Dreams, readers.

That’s what I’m blogging about today.

Duh-reams.

Not your stupid, 4 year old, “I want to be a fireman” type dreams, or the ridiculous and lofty, “One day I’ll own my very own bacon wrapped hot dog stand” dream [Mmm], or even the dream of being featured in this blog… [read: dream on]

I mean the kind of dream you dream when you sleep. The subconscious vacation from reality, that is equal parts imagination, desire, and double-yew. tee. eff.

Dreams that happen in your sleep aren’t necessarily tied to “well-wishing” or unrealistic expectations… but instead offer up a white trash casserole of visceral input from your world… the “throw it in and mix it up” jello pudding orgy of abstract thought. Just like grandma used to make.

We all have them. Some we remember, some we wish to forget.

I have some that I’d like to forget…

Like the “running from the ‘Boogie Man’ in slow motion” dream.

Like the “falling from great heights” dream.

OR like the time my ex-girlfriend decided to “dream a little dream.” A little dream you and I have all had at one time or another… Just not while sharing a bed with someone…

You know what I’m talking about, right?

Nothing.

Nothing, dear reader, can prepare you for the test of your love…

…like waking in your partner’s piss.

(Not even if it’s warm. [read: it usually is] )

So, you wee see, dear reader, there is no way to explain it, or empathize with the cold-sweating beauty lying next to you who says in a very distinctive tone of voice…

“Uh, honey?… uh, Baaaaby… DON’T. MOVE.”

I moved.

Aaaaaaaand; I’m traumatized.

My hand, is traumatized.

My arm, traumatized.

My skin, my sense of feeling, …wet noise… does not compute…, and then… my nostrils.

TRAUMATIZED.

I look at her in disbelief, “could it be?” Chased with a “how could you?” But I didn’t want answers… I wanted a warm towel. And an exit strategy.

But as if her only defense, she looks down at her wet lap and shrugs, as if her most trusted organ cried “MUTINY!”

But that’s no excuse.

My bed, flooded.

My sleep, flooded.

My trust,… effed.

One can only wish they made mini sand bags for this type of catastrophy. Mini National Guardsmen coming to my rescue and pulling me from the rushing yellow waters with a mini helicopter while wind rushes around me, chopper blades howling, I’m spinning upward and I’m yelling back down to her, “We’ll be back for you!” But what I mean is, “You did this! Save yourself, Peebody!”

But there was no Helicopter. No FEMA.

Only FEMAle.

I’m a flood victim.

And still, years later, a victim. I may never recover.

Nowadays, don’t “uh, honey” me. Cause then I think I need to grab a towel.

For every, “Baaaby?” A sponge.

“Bambi Eyes” say, “better get a mop.” [read: Or a gun]

And you think that’s all, dear reader? Do ya? The end of my trauma?

It’s not.

Nothing can explain why this would happen to me twice… Yeah. I said it. With 2 different girlfriends! Less than pleased, over here. I’d tell you their names, but I can’t afford to lose any more karma. [Obvi.]

I’ve tried to explain it to myself! Tried desparately to rationalize! Tried to make myself feel “better” with the following “rational explanations”:

Rational Explanations:

- “It’s because you make people feel so comfortable, self. Even the bladder is at ease.”

Fail. Not feeling better about it.

- “Well, she thought she was at the toilet, so it’s not like she isn’t house-broken.”

Fail. Still can’t shake the feeling of waking in a wet bed. [chills]

- Would you prefer she wear a diaper?

$#@*&!!, CACK! [read: throwup in mouth]

Critical Fail.

… ok. I’m good.

So who knows? Maybe this is a common dream experience? Anyone? No?

“That will never happen to me, Punvert” you say.

Famous last words.

“Did you piss them off?” you ask.

Huh. Hardly.

“Will I have to experience that? Is there a ‘trickle down effect?’”

Very funny, reader. But, don’t worry. You’re in luck, reader. There is a bright side. Hope cresting over the bright yellow rainbow.

At the very least, you will have one of the best laughs you’ve ever shared. I mean, laugh-out-loud, “this could break us up” funny. Haha. See, doesn’t that feel better? (Albiet, left smelling like a restroom at Applebee’s.)

So now, its a fond memory, or so my therapist says.

Geez… all this talk of water has made me…

uh…

damn.

“Uh, honey?”

-Punvert, OUT!

p.s. Somebody grab their Dream Book, and help a brotha out.

We’ve all seen it, actually.

Not long ago you were doing Pilates/Step Aerobics/[insert New Year's Resolution exersize here], Bose Noise Cancelling headphones ablast’n, and you wondered, “The election is coming… What am I going to do with all this junk? My lovely lady lumps need a good candidate, damn it!”

And then it happened. On the TV, above the bitch with the headphone mic.

“Ah.” You thought. “That’s what I’m going to do with all this junk. My humps are voting for Obama.”

And that’s how it works.

Long, long ago, the Elite Political Strategists atop the foggy Bureaucratic Mountain turned over their Magic Eight Ball of Votation and the answer was clear…

“To win an election, you must be endorsed.”

And what are the most efficacious endorsements to the modern day voter?

Musicians/Actors/Celebrities, of course.

I mean, who hasn’t watched “The Shining” on the 3″ screen of their Zune and wondered, “Jack Nicholson scares the shit out of me,” and then, minutes later while cleaning your trousers, “But not as much as Terrorists… I wonder who he’s voting for?”

You see, reader, we’ve been there. We’ve pumped our iTunes influences into our limbic system, but we don’t really know how the other half lives, or more importantly, votes, because they don’t include that in the ID3 tag of their latest “iTunes exclusive track.”

Influence and in depth political knowledge are the boutique luxuries of the Privileged, dear reader. And the scraps falling from the table of the haute monde, in the form of voting endorsements, should fill into our gratuitous constitutional bellies. Or should they?

Obama, as we have seen, is endorsed by Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas… but big deal. He hasn’t had a hit this year. He’s not making the “waves” as they say in the “biz.” He isn’t the most current, hottest, or the most influential endorsement… there are better. Much better.

Who, you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you.

Here’s short list of Celebs that somehow slipped through the cracks of “Political Strategy Endorsementabation”, but not The Attentive Social Antennae of The Punvert. (thankyouverymuch)

To YOU, oh, Influence Peddlers… it’s time to put the “Peddle to the Metal!”

1. Bono – I mean, duh. This man is all over the political planet, rockin his message of… Peace… and… Darfur Awareness Concerts. I mean, what the eff?! Where is his endorsement deal? Who is he voting for? People would love to know that! (And when can we get some damn concerts in Darfur? Those people are starving for good music over there, for effs sake! Jeez.)

2. Feist – Another “One Namer.” I mean, hello? Any marketing monkey will tell you, “One Namers” are totally good for business. You save, like, hella ink in printing materials. And she was just on a zillion TV sets all over the world for the latest iPod Commercials. Yeah, that’s right. ALL OVER THE WORLD. I said it. Voters from other countries would even vote for her candidate. I can see it now… Feist is all dancing in her spandex, looking all Feisty for the camera, singing, “1, 2, 3, 4, who the eff will stop the war? 5, 6, 7, 8, here’s my effin candidate.” I know. I’m a marketing genius.

3. Radiohead – Biggest band in the world, people. Biggest band. OK, Computer? Brilliant. (If you don’t have a copy of that record you’re probably reading this from Darfur. Or, Manteca.) And if Thom “thumbs-up” a candidate, they would win. I would bet my burned copy of In/Rainbows on that.

4. Michael Jackson – Sweet Jebus. The King of Pop? Does the sound of “Tee Hee” [insert crotch grab] mean anything to you? Well it does to the voters. Lots of voters! If he endorsed a candidate, forget about it. Election over. No hanging chads to worry about. (Just make sure that if he hangs with Chad, that Chad is over the age of say, 13, and we’re cool.)

I mean, must I go on? You get the point. And these are just a few musicians. Think of the influence of knowing who Gandhi’s gonna vote for? Yeah, I know. HUGE. That’s called thinking outside the box, people.

So there you have it. You want your candidate to win?

Get some eff’n huge endorsements, already.

Punvert, OUT!