DJ Comic: Valentine’s Day


Rich really doesn’t need a special day or silly holiday to offer me his dick in a box, he tries to offer it to me every day.  Every.  Single.  Day.

We honestly don’t really do anything for Valentine’s day, or most holidays for that matter.  We don’t do gifts to each other unless there is something we want or need, and once again don’t really need a holiday for that.  And we try to stay home, too; because everyone else goes out and everything is usually super crowded. Everything from restaurants to the grocery store can be ridiculously packed.  So we just try to spend time together, but that’s the norm for us anyway, so it works out well.


Did I Get Hit On? Part Deux!

It’s no secret that I’m not all that great at telling when people are flirting with me.  Lady Police Officers or Gay Male Cashiers.

Back when the wife and I were still early in our relationship we were going out to eat and decided on Olive Garden for some dinner.


Olive Garden: Obama Approved!

This wasn’t exactly an uncommon thing, but it was the first time we had gone to this particular Olive Garden.  We usually went to the one on the other side of town.

As usual the food was delicious, especially the desserts.  However there was one strange facet to this particular visit:

The Waitress!

Who, me? Tee-hee!

Who, me? Tee-hee!


She was everything I was looking for in a waitress.  She was good-looking, she was friendly, and most importantly…she brought me food.  However there was just one problem with her.  While she looked me in the eye with a pleasant smile and listened intently while I ordered my food, she would then turn at the hip and give Mimi a disinterested look while she scribbled down whatever the wife said.  And here’s the kicker; once Mimi would order, the waitress would turn her head back to me and stare at me as if asking for permission.  Once I nodded, then she would dash away to get our drinks, food, etc.

She would cheerily chat with me as she sat my food down, and then always as an afterthought she would drop the wife’s food in front of her with a curt, “Careful, plate’s hot.”

So basically we had this going the whole meal…

What I saw…



What the Wife Saw…



But if you think that’s a kicker, wait until we hit dessert.  I ordered my dessert and then she started to walk away, only for Mimi to stop her with a polite ‘Ooo, wait‘.  The waitress turned her hips as Mimi ordered a piece of cheesecake.  She then turned her whole body to face me and silently gave me this look…


She stared at me for about 30 full seconds before I nodded.  Then she calmly wheeled about and went to get our desserts.  Once everything was said and done we paid and were preparing to leave.  I calculated the tip out, and if I recall it was about $8 at 20%.

I asked the wife how much she wanted to leave for the tip and got a similar reaction as the waitress gave me.



I explained very calmly that I had received fantastic service, myself.


"But I suddenly see your point. Very well."

“But I suddenly see your point. Very well.”

In the end we compromised.  I only left a $1 tip and Mimi didn’t divorce me.  We also didn’t go back to that Olive Garden for almost a year.


7 Years of Happiness (For Me, At Least)

I just felt like pointing out that today is the 7th Anniversary of the Wife and I getting together.  It’s kind of funny because we had so many dates to choose for our anniversary date.

There is July 31st when we actually started dating and transcended just being friends to actually become a romantic couple.

There’s some random day in February (the 13th, maybe?) when I proposed to her.

There’s August, I dunno, 23rd-ish when we announced we were actually getting married and had our witnesses sign our marriage license forms.

There’s also September 11th, the date we actually put on the marriage license because if we signed it on the 23rd we would have received a $50 fine (Pennsylvania has some weird laws).

But we decided a long time ago that the most important day wasn’t the day we signed some papers, it was the day we declared our adoration for each other and joined our lives together as one; July 31st.  So here’s to 7 happy years together.  And, who knows, 93 more?

Oh god...what have I said 'yes' to?

Oh god…what have I said ‘yes’ to?


Drive To The Blood Drive!

The Tekko panel videos coming out along the next two weeks (How To Avoid Bad Writing Part 6 comes out tomorrow and the next day we have the full hour long panel if you don’t want to watch it in parts).


So with all that going on, I figured we could talk about something else. Let’s talk about the life saving art of giving blood. Now I’m a little ashamed of the fact that I am unable to donate blood because of Enetophobia.

Yeah, a fear of pins and needles. Also could be called Trypanophobia, Belenophobia, etc. depending on the particular type. Either way it equates to a fear of needles. I don’t fear many things, but spiders and needles are two things I do fear.

Maybe this, too…y’know, if I woke up to it in my face.

Maybe this, too…y’know, if I woke up to it in my face.

But my wonderful wife enjoys giving blood. Once she donates she almost can’t wait for the next chance to donate. Well she hasn’t really had the opportunity to give blood because of our schedules in the past year or so.

But at work there was a donation run and we went in and she dropped a pint or two in their hands. They told her the next time she would be eligible to donate was February 14th. We opened our schedule for the next day off after that date and scheduled her an appointment at one of the local hospitals, 2:30pm.

Well, unfortunately my wife came down with an infection a week before the donation period and she called to reschedule it. It was now the end of March, plenty of time to heal.

Also plenty of time to catch a cold, two days before the donation time. They told her they’d just have to pitch her blood anyway, so let’s shoot for April, instead.

And there we were at Tekko. The Tuesday after Tekkoshocon we were scheduled to head to the hospital at 2:30pm so the wife can donate blood.

Tekko’s over, we get Monday to rest, and Tuesday afternoon we go into the Hospital.

Now let me take a moment to tell you a little story about this hospital.

Please, don't?

Please, don’t?

A few years ago I shredded my ankle in a fight. It was a bloody fracas, a bar room brawl with knives and clubs and baseball bats covered in nails. Actually it was a sparring match in a dojo, but that’s beside the point.

Point is I went to this Hospital, we’ll call it…screw it we’ll call it what it is: St. Clair Hospital. Apparently their banners say it is rated #2 hospital in the country or some crap like that.

Well I went in there using an old cane to support myself because I only had one functioning leg. I checked in and they told me to hobble to the end of the hall and wait in the waiting room.

Yeah…hobble. They didn’t offer me a wheelchair and just kind of glared at me until I stood up and hopped out of the room. So I hobbled to the end of the hall and found an empty seat in the packed waiting room.

Three hours later a nurse finally comes out and says my name. Now it’s back down the hall. After I hobble to the door he looks at me and says, “Do you…need a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, that’s be nice, actually.”

“Okay…go sit back down and I’ll get you one.”

…seriously. At least he actually came over to my seat and helped me get in the chair when he brought it out.

So he takes me back into the radiology department, and they tell me to climb onto this high table and brace my leg on it. They take a few x-rays and tell me they’ll be out once the x-rays are developed.

Now I’m no expert on x-rays, but it was another three hours before anyone came out. They gave me a pair of crutches and some kind of plastic thing that they called an air-cast. They told me to suck it up and sleep it off, it wasn’t broken so I should be able to walk fine in a day or two.

Wouldn’t even give me a work excuse for Monday (I had hurt it on Friday and gone to the Hospital on Saturday when I realized it was more serious than the sprained ankle I had thought it was).

Sunday evening I get a call telling me they were wrong, someone reviewed the x-rays and said the ankle was totally shredded. I need to make an immediate appointment with an orthopedic if I ever wanted to walk again.

Skip ahead seven years and I’m back at this terrible hospital so my wife can donate blood. We pull up to the parking lot and see a fancy sign…


Parking Rates: 
0 - 2 hours:  $2.00
2 - 4 hours:  $3.00
Greater than 4 hours: $4.00
Lost tickets will be charged the full $4.00 rate.

Yeah…I know of some places that pay people to donate blood. Not St. Clair Hospital, though. You want to save someone’s life? Better bring your pocket book, bitches!

So we go in and walk up to the front counter. The wife had talked to three different people from Central Blood Bank to schedule this appoint. She was finally healthy enough to donate blood, again!

We had been told to just go to the hospital and that ‘we would be able to find it once we got there’. Unnecessarily vague, but okay. We walked up to the information desk and told them my wife had a 2:30 appointment to donate blood.

This was the look I was given.

This was the look I was given.

Yeah, apparently the blood bank only operates there on Saturdays and like one Friday a month, maybe two. They called around and nobody had any idea what we were talking about. No blood drive today. No idea why three employees of the blood bank told us to go there at 2:30pm on a Tuesday; there had never been a blood donation drive on a Tuesday as long as any of the four people at the front desk had worked there.

Now I’m perturbed. I’m going to get charged $2.00 to be told that blood bank employees are idiots? Great! I love this hospital even more than before.

Now, to their credit they told me that you don’t get charged for parking less than 20 minutes. And when we pulled up to the gate to leave the guard just hit the switch to let us out.

I should have known the blood bank employees were off their rockers when the nurse in charge of the blood donation drive that we did manage to be part of remarked that she couldn’t tell the difference between a pigeon and a goose, “I don’t know anything about birds, I just know they’re scary.”

Lives depend on these people? Yeah…check please, I’m done!


Guest Post: Read This!!

Hi everyone!  I’m Mimi, Rich’s wife.

She was *very* convincing.

You may remember me….

I’m trying my hand at this blog thingy since Rich will be working on a game (maybe two) for a contest most of this month.  So I’m going to at least try to help.  This will be just a short, little post about a manga I just read.  I just wanted to let everyone know about it.


It’s called Legal Drug.  It’s pretty awesome.  It has a little bit of everything in it, comedy, drama, romance, some supernatural, and to top it off it has some Yaoi!  Yaoi makes everything better in my opinion.  The Yaoi is mostly implied, but it still counts; I’ll take what I can get.

That’s kind of it.  So, if you’re looking for something good to read that isn’t super long…

That's 29 out of...69.

That’s 29 out of…69.


…give Legal Drug a try.




Yay for reading!

Yay for reading!

South Park: Hot Karl

Oh my…the conversations that old episodes of South Park will create.  My fiancée was watching an episode of South Park on Netflix and they used the term: Hot Karl.  She sent me a text asking what it was.  This is a word for word transcript…

Her: What’s a hot karl?  It was on South Park.

Me: A sexual act wherein one partner shits on the other partner’s face.

Her: Oh, that’s an odd name for it.  We do that a lot.  Why do they call it that?

Me: What?

Her: What do you mean what?

Me: What do you mean, “We do that a lot”?  Who’s pooping on your face?

Her: Oh, oops.  Thought shit was sit.  Sorry.

Me: Yeah, not a typo that time, sicko.

Some women cheat on their spouses by having sex with other men.  Mine led me to believe she let other guys shit on her.  And she tells me a blow job is cheating; hmph!


And yes…I actually use the word wherein.