Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny ::clarification::

I have received concerned emails from readers.  Females, hopefully… who are aghast at the fact that there may be a part of nakedEric that smells “funny”. 

Here’s the rub (pun intended) – Does something funny (usually) make you smile?  Well, then say it this way as you listen to my hit single ‘Kiss Me Where it Smells Funny” – Think “Kiss Me Where it ‘makes you smile'”

By “funny” I didn’t mean “bad”.  Guys know what I mean.  Silly girls…

-NE

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Criss Angel – Magic For Dummies

Now that it’s Halloween, it’s time to expose myself to children when their yuppie parents are on their cell phones talking to their hairdressers about which color would most bring out the fading color of their eyes and disguise the fact that their face is looking more and more like a catcher’s mitt due to tanning daily at full radiation. Small children can then use my tushy as a standard that helps us all. “Hey, I have a tushy too!” There is no better feeling than to know that others share your most intimate traits. Remember the first time you saw another penis or vagina? When you were a kid and played games with them. Creepy stuff indeed, but all in all, it made us realize that we were not alone in what lurked beneath our clothes. Now, ironcally, I LOVe being alone with what’s under my clothes! How wild is that.

Segue: Criss Angel

Does anyone know why this guy isn’t passed over as just another David Copperfield / Blaine rip – off? Have’t we seen this before? Are we this desperate for more skater-looking guys for teenage girls to plaster all over their walls? He looks like a ferret with a tried-so-hard-to-look-like-I-didn’t-try-so-hard look. We’re blurring the line between men and women here friends. Don’t let this happen! Demand that men look like men. All men should look like they belong in either ZZ Top or AC/DC. If not, they should have a good reason why. A job is a good one. A knock-off of past magicians’ mojo isn’t a job, it’s a niche created by our pop poop petri dish infecting airwaves and brain cells. Final note: The dude lives in Vegas. I thought that what happened in Vegas STAYED in Vegas!!! STAY IN VEGAS you corporate Mr.Potato Head. They build you to be the new “Master of Illusion”. You just look silly man. Please reduce the primping and preening. Leave it for the ladies. Your show is cool though. I never saw it. Have you read my blog? Prob. not. So until you read my blog I won’t watch your show. AND if you read my blog, let’s do an interview so that NakedEric and his readers can understand the man behind the makeup.

I once saw him make a matchstick disappear. He then made it reappear somewhere else. That inspired me to head to the throne to drop some kids off at the pool.

To prove that I’m not the only one here, here’s a ditty from a site about the femme magic man.. Check out the site. I’m not making this up.


Hey Criss Angel….

The ball-less wonder, Criss Angel. Not only did he let everyone know that he was dating
Cameron Diaz by giving a ‘cryptic’ shout out mentioning the Shrek tour, which was tacky in it’s
own right, but turns out, he already had a WIFE at home. Turns out he left her for star-fuc*ing.

Man, grow some nuts, doode!.I’m Not The Only One With Something To Say About C.A.

-NE

Eric’s European Elimination Edventure

Don’t you think that, with all of the incredible miniaturization and high-tech evolution our consumer products have seen recently that the bulky, injury prone excrement receptacle would have been replaced by something better?

The toilet is ugly and uninviting, It seems stuck in the past.  I want a vaccuum-like device to snag my poo and then clean my yahoo.  But Europe has beaten us to this type of innovation.

 The pblic facilities in many countries on that stupendous continent are lit on the inside with blue bulbs.  Upon entering for my first deuce (number 2) in a European WATER CLOSET (?), I was tokd by the man who was employed by the elimination franchise that it makes it impossible for junkies to shoot up because they can’t find their veins in the blue light – AWESOME – That’s what I’m talking about AMERICA!  Elimination Evolution.  Here they really WATCH your performance and ofer you goodies during and immediately after your donation.  The THEY ask for a donation.  They prefer currency though.  Very confusing.

 Here’s the cooly cool part.  The stalls.  You go in and there is no toilet.  Nope.  Just a cube that looks (in the blue light) like the dressing room in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory with a hole on the floor.  The cubicle is sealed shut to prevent any strange exit routes (as in underneath the divider and into the next stall).  I finally got the gist (or so I thought)  and squatted like my fan Squanto and dropped off my African children from my anal caravan near, and sometimes in, the hole.  It was crazy, but the craziest thing was when I heard a beep and the door locked.  Panic ensued and I re panted my bottom and began pulling at the door.  I couldn’t get out.  Then, as if the holding cell I was in became one big shower, water began to fire at me from all angles.  I was getting drenched with a mystery fluid bathed in blue light in a country where I couldn’t understand ANY of the now frantic yelling at me after I had just shit on the floor.  What was the fluid?  It certainly was no Evian…  It smelled like pool water and a girl fart.

The soaking ceased, my doody disappeared, and the door disengaged its lock.  I emerged to a hysterical group of friends and natives as I was soaked in girl fart liquid.  I felt the desire to shoot some heroin but I knew that it would be impossible.  I mulled over the irony of this for a moment then, exasperated, left the facility without paying the toilet caddy.   My only saving grace was that it was raining that day and I blamed my wetness on the weather.  The smell, well, I just told everyone who asked that I was into kinky sex.  Looking back now, as I write this, that wasn’t that funny.  I had thought it was.  I guess that’s why I kept getting such venomous looks from those who I hit with my witty one-liner.

The event was a disaster, but it inevitably compelled me to ask locals about this mechanism.  The skinny is that The stalls lock after a certain amount of time and essentially behave like a car wash for 30 seconds or so to sanitize the area and redirect any misplaced feces.  GENIUS!  Now THAT’S WHAT I MEAN!  Elimination evolution at its finest.  Here in America we’re still dancing behind closed doors trying to trigger, or to NOT trigger the laser device that flushed the bowl automatically.  We have to catch up to those Europeans (You’re a-peein’).  Despite hosing me down with non-potable water and shearing a few yeatrs off of my life, they taught me a lesson:  The toilet CAN improve!  There is a future for Elimination Evolution!

Names of the cities have been withheld because I forgot where I was when this happened. 

Naked Eric’s Goat Haiku

I think that it is important to learn stuff. Stuff is a word so rife with contextual bending, it is pure bliss. Stuff the verb, stuff the general, multipurpose noun, Stuff the scurrilous term for those things best left unsaid. “He did STUFF to her then got STUFF all over her face. He’s into that STUFF.”

Enter the Haiku. Haiku is stuff and I am a fan. Hence, I wrote a ‘ku to commemorate the beauty of nature and the sleek, understated vessel that it can be conveyed with. 5 syllables, 7 syllables, then another 5’er. My ‘ku is called:

The Mountain Goat

Oh brave, furry goat

Stands alone, cold like the air

Here is warm penis.

What do you think? I can and will write some more. This one is special and means a lot to me. i hope that is warms you up as it does to me each time I ponder its image.

-NEThe Mountain Goat

“Kiss Me Honey, Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny”

I want to make a commercial.  Man, woman, picnic, sun, dog, tag, you’re it, and all of the other parts of an idyllic Summer’s day.  Laughing.  Food being inserted into cranial orifice.  Chewing, rolling on green fluffy grass and not a stain or meadow muffin to dampen the glorious horizontal pirouette.  Now with woman a distance away from rolling with such zeal, he turns to the camera and says,

“This may look like a picnic.  But when my doctor told me I had Penile Excrement Evanescence , there were to be no more picnics.

I was always wondering, ‘can they see?’  ‘does my wife worry when I am at work?’ or “Does my Chad smell like a hammer?”  It was not easy.

That is until my doctor told me about a new pill called Peninoscos.  Peninoscos lets me live the life I’ve always missed due to PEE (Penile Excrement Evanescence).   Now, in a wide range of flavors and potencies, Peninoscos had redefined our sex life.  No longer will my wife vomit on my nipples and tell the dog to lick it off.  She will not have to dig up a doody from the toilet in order to kill the smell of my penis.  Neighbors will stop calling the police to report a dead body only to find me and my wife naked holding a shit with the dog licking vomit off my nipples.  That can be quite embarrassing.

(wife finds a pogo stick and pogos into the dirt beside them, getting it stuck, falling off, and falling on the bottle of wine, smashing it and slicing her face, filling a wine glass with blood from her eviscerated noggin.  Man turns his head back to face the scene and excuses himself from the “interview sequence”.

Couple Scene Resumes)

Man dabs at her bloody wound with the picnic blanket when the wife says:

“Mark, I smell it again.  Did you –

(man cuts her off)

“No honey, I did not take my peninoscos.”

“Well take it so our picnic can be magical again!”

(man takes the pill and passionately kisses his wife)

“Kiss me honey, Kiss me where it smells funny”

Now a chorus sings the tag line as the commercial ends.  A passionate chorus repeats:

“Kiss me Honey, Kiss me where it smells funny.”

(Fade Out)

Voiceover: “Use only as directed”

Kill me. Now.

singingbee1.jpgI am looking at my television. This is what I see:

Joey Fatone of the Boy Band era has just popped up on my screen, opened his bloated mouth and indicated that I was welcomed to his show, “The Singing Bee”! No insects were to be found anywhere. Then he announces that a special guest is here and had some Asian lady scream out “Here are THE VILLAGE PEOPLE!!!” Yeah, the damn YMCA folk.

Now camera pans to stage and the VP are dancing around doing YMCA as FATONE dances with the Asian Lady/Screamer in a way that makes ME look like Elvis. The first contestant comes out, starts dancing and falls down. FATONE laughs and explains that the rules are the game are to sing the missing line of a song played by the recently YMCA’d stage speakers. The fallen contestant gets up and stares at the camera. CROWD GOES WILD. They sing as in church to the VP. The scene is basically impossible to describe with any justice. It’s a bunch of bouncing, bloated fools with a neon bee on the wall. Joey Fatone is Satan in this particular ring of Hell. Take the worst thing you’ve ever watched and marinate. Then stab yourself. Then stab me. Kill me. Or kill the NBC Exec. who greenlighted this piece of fecal matter.

FATONE just corrected a contestant who sang the wrong lyrics to a Journey ballad. I really do think it’s time for the Aliens who left me here to come pick me up now.