Are you a commitment-phobe? A psychotic? A Libra?

No daily Omari, but this Omari-lite was begging for a mocking.

Neurotics build castles in the sky, but psychotics live in them. And psychiatrists collect the rent. If I were a rich man, they’d call me that crazy rich guy, but instead I’ll need to settle for that poor crazy guy. What does this mean? I’m broke.

First off, I think WAY too much. I like to philosophize, like on how many pennies would it take to reach the moon, both end-to-end and stacked like pancakes. I like pancakes. I hate the words topping and any variation of the word moist, including moisture. Plain old wet is fine by me.

I have an active lifestyle, whereby I sometimes shift from one end of the couch to the other while I am watching television. And I like to read, but mostly porn. I am very fond of Penthouse letters and write them often. For example, I never believed these letters until something happened to me. I was in my apartment, watching television, shifting from one end to the other and there’s this knock on my door. My neighbor asks me seductively if she can have “a cup of flour.” I mean we all know what she was really after so I invite her in to my apartment…you get the picture.

I long for a normal, sane woman, but I have never had one interested in me. Generally commitment-phobes are attracted to me. And psychotics. And Libras. All three are great in the sack, so I guess, screw it. I’m game.

QUESTIONS FOR LADIES! I need feed back please

Thanks to Incognito Sweetie, who pointed out this great post.

please ladies answer me w/ honestiness.
is it true what whoever girl shave their vagina is liking to have sex with a man who has buffalo shirt?
is it true that they be kinky with guy in buffalo shirt?

i would love to hear from you
thank you very muchx

"Men's Needs" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily OMARI...and for the record, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis is actually the longest word in modern english.

Honorifcabilituninitatibus. Clocking in at 27 letters, honorifcabilituninitatibus is one of the longest words in the English language. It means “honorableness.” The word first appeared in English in 1599, and in 1721 was listed by Bailey's Dictionary as the longest word in English. It was used by Shakespeare in Love's Labor's Lost:

"O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words.
I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word;
for thou art not so long by the head as
honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier
swallowed than a flap-dragon."

Love’s Labor’s Lost starts in the court of King Ferdinand where explains to Berowne, Longaville, and Dumaine that they can stay at the court to study and contemplate for three years, but that they must: 1) never see, speak to, or be with a woman during those three years, 2) fast once per week, and 3) sleep only three hours per night, all in order to be most fit for concentrating.

Now I could probably deal with the fasting, but I am certainly not able to concentrate on three hours of sleep. And if I were to concentrate, the only thing I’d probably be thinking about is getting some hot man on woman love action. You see, because men have needs, although there is some debate as to what those needs actually are.

On his blog, Steve Danforth says our needs are thus: “We liked women who take care of themselves and can do things on there own…let us know your (sic) into us, I hate to say it but we like you to feed our ego's. Also don't play games.” Others say that our needs are evolutionary in nature, that men are not monogamous, and a man will happily have children with many women, as this spreads his seed around and increases the chances of successful propagation of his genes. And Web MD says that men need more protein than women.

As for fasting once a week, Philip Goglia, PhD, a nutritionist and founder of Performance Fitness Concepts says that we too often we turn to carbohydrate-heavy meals in the evening and that men are better off eating the majority of their protein at dinner, which helps their bodies rebuild muscle tissues overnight. I suppose fasting would impede that “rebuilding” process.

So. Wanna have sex?

Girls with Bazongas...

In spite of what Ann would have you believe, I am not as boobie-obsessed as this guy.

Girls....you know if you got’em....and if you do, chances are I'm attracted to you. I likey rib cushions, from nippers to double whammies. Doesn’t matter. I never thought I was a love bubble guy until my personal relationship with Jesus Christ® convinced me I was. Of course that's not all I'm looking for in a girl, I also like the fluttering love wallet, but marangos are usually the first thing that I see. Im single, brown-haired, 6’0, brown eyes, athletic, and about 171. I have pics if pics are sent to me. Not exactly sure what im looking for, but if I meet the right girl, I think i'd know. Are u the one? Do u have a nice set of wongas?

"Italian Cuisine" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily OMARI...brought to you by Pop-Tarts®: “Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts, you can freeze them, then eat them.”

I was just now having a conversation with a friend about disembodied penises. She had just put up a CL ad and had mentioned some “dick pics” that she had received. I have never sent a single “dick pic” to anyone and don’t understand the motivation some men feel to do so. It must be some sort of compulsion as it seems, at least to me, beyond the normal bounds of civilized society. But for some reason it got me to thinking about one of my fantasies.

Ok, so my fantasy. I come home from the office and girlfriend is wearing nothing but an apron around her waist. She brings me a drink and then, bending over, goes to check out how supper is doing in the oven. OK, so it is not such a pro-feminist fantasy, but considering I do almost all of the cooking, it is nice that she does it once for a change. And I can relax and have my drink and watch a mostly naked woman prepare dinner.

Yes, I am one of those types. In any relationship I've ever been in I own the kitchen and do most of the cooking. Generally I’m telling someone to “get the fuck out of MY kitchen.” Probably just like your mom used to tell your dad. I’ve always enjoyed cooking and my specialty is Italian or Mediterranean cuisine. I make my sauces from scratch and make a rather mean raw tomato pasta sauce with olive oil, garlic, and kalamata olives. I also can throw together a mean dish of breaded and fried chicken breast that is then marinated in vinegar, onions, zucchini, cinnamon, and other secret spices. I like to cook.

Anyway, it also got me to thinking that it wouldn’t be such a sexy thing for me to return the favor. I work out but I could stand to tone up a little. And don’t think me bending over to check on supper would be such a pretty picture either, my skinny and hairy ass sticking out, testicles in plain view. Eek. The mental image gives me shivers. Although whatever it was I cooked for you would taste fantastic. I just don’t know if you’d retain your appetite.

So, wanna come over for dinner?

Are You Ready?

This guy tries so very hard. Thanks Kelvin for the excellent photo. I posted on craigslist without the text below Kelvin's awesome photoshopping, only because it mentioned my first name.

Well I am....ready to get to know someone sincere and trustworthy...holla back with some pictures please.



He gets letters (Rants & Raves):

"OMG! That is too funny!"

"Dodging Stuff" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your nearly daily OMARI...

Way back when I was in elementary school we used to play this game called dodgeball. At recess you’d have this reddish rubber ball, the kind we also used to play kickball with, and throw it at the other kids running and screaming around the playground. I think they called the ball a utility ball.

Several years ago dodgeball, and other recess games like tag were banned or discouraged in some school systems. The reason? Children apparently are unusually fragile. This belief has manifested itself in a number of ways. For example, the physical education chairman at an Illinois high school has said that coaches who permit kids to play dodgeball "should be fired immediately." Even “tag” was not immune. A 1998 anti-bullying curriculum guide, "Quit It!," paid for with tax dollars, gave this advice to kindergarten and elementary school teachers: "Before going outside to play, talk about how students feel when playing a game of tag. Do they like to be chased? Do they like to do the chasing? How does it feel to be tagged out?" How does it feel to be tagged out? Stressful I guess. I have a very fragile ego right? If students feel apprehensive about this apparently stressful game, never fear: teachers may introduce them to a tag alternative called Circle of Friends where nobody is ever out. Now that sounds like one heck of a good time. And my self-esteem will remain intact since nobody is throwing a utility ball at my head? I don’t get it.

Dodgeball was re-popularized by a recent movie called “Dodgeball” starring Ben Stiller who was hilarious in “Zero Effect” and Vince Vaughn who was hilarious in “The Wedding Crashers.” I didn’t see “Dodgeball.” Not because I thought it would unearth some latent childhood trauma, like playing dodgeball. It just didn’t seem worth the $10 price of admission.

My sister, who is a bit crazy, used to throw stuff at me. Harmless stuff, like shoes and stuffed animals, and not-so-harmless stuff, like forks and sharp knives. So naturally I got good at dodging stuff. And looking back it was probably just in good fun. As the saying goes, “all’s fun and games until someone loses an eye.” And I would thank her for helping me with practicing dodging stuff by including her in games like “assassin,” where I would be the assassin with my BB gun and she would be my unwitting target. I also turned her Barbie Dream House into something that looked like a swingers’ convention.

I wonder what psychologists would say about that?

Everything you need to know about me

Everything you need to know about this guy? He's hung like a horse. Everything you need to know about me?

I eat stuff.

Enough said.



He gets letters:

"looks like good eats"

"...the onion rings look good..."

"Trapped in the Closet" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not R. Kelly)

I am at home today. Cleaning and watching "Trapped in the Closet" by R. Kelly, episodes 1-5. This has got to be one of the singularly worst set of songs I've ever heard. And yes, I own a copy of DC Star's "Rockin' in the Classroom" and many Gordon Lightfoot CDs. What is real bad is that I am singing a narrative of my cleaning and motivating myself to "go to the dry clea-ners, yea baby, the dry clea-ners." Ugh.

[singing soulfully]

I'm at home today. At home today. Been taken the day off today. I'm watching MTV. R. Kelly's Trapped in the Clo-set. It's a half hour long show long show of parts one thru five. Oooone thru five. Of the Trapped in the Clo-set videos. R-Kelly's cheatin' on his girl. The girl he's cheatin' on ain't a teen. Weheheheird.

Parts one through fiiive. One through five detail a tang-led web of sexual relations outside of marriage. Outside of marriage. Along the way guys on the down low, gun vi-o-lence, the moral standing of cler-gy, and ohhhther issuse are fea-tured. Gotta get me one of them Benz.

It seems to me. It seems to me, all of this inanity foi-sted on me. On me ya, baaby, was a result of his own bitches “ex-haling.” While I understand fidel-ity fidel-ity is important in a re-la-shunship, this predictable predictable predictable and corn-y ghetto nah-rra-tive don't do it fo-oor me, ba-by. Ohhh yea baaaaaby..

Chapters 6-10 are allegedly forthcoming. Fo-oh-oh-orthcoming. God help us all. Ooooh yea, Star Trek is on Spike.

He gets letters:

"I am laughing out loud at your post. And I am wondering which is more absurd, you watching R Kelly and composing that CL yarn or me listening to 80s vintage Moby techno and reading your post in the middle of the day. But it was good."

"you really got to quit with these postings. you've gotta to have something better to do than report your life on cl."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for entertaining me daily. I've started to look forward to your prose. Todays installment "Trapped in the Closet" was great. I've been secretly making fun of that video since I watched it a couple of weeks ago."

"Omari" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Not Omari does Omari doing Omari. Confused yet?

Roughly translated, schadenfraude means "taking joy in another's misery.” Lately this seems to be the one of the only ways I am able to enjoy myself. Yesterday morning I was commuting to work on the red line and some foreign tourist leans his head out the door and starts shouting something in some foreign language to a friend who was still on the platform. As the doors are closing. For all of us who have seem some idiot stick his briefcase in the door and the door not open after it has closed on the briefcase, well you get the picture. Made my morning. Thanks foreign tourist guy! Reading Omari’s blog also gave me some joy as well.

The Germans have great descriptive words like that. Another one, Weltschmertz, roughly translates as “world pain” or sorrow or sadness over the present or future evils or woes of the world in general; basically sentimental pessimism. It’s hard to feel like that when you have air conditioning. At Omari’s suggestion, last night I was trying to “giv[e] it some love while it [was] hard at work, keeping [me] nice and cool.” Or at least I tried. Failing, I figured that self-love was a more “workable” option.

Interestingly, Omari happened along my blog the other day. He encouraged me to peruse his blog which I did. In one post in particular he ponders the grey area of rape and posits the question of whether or not it is rape if a person in power in a corporation abuses said power by having intercourse with a low-ranking employee. I could not figure out if it was a philosophical meandering or he was searching for legal advice.

Feminist Andrea Dworkin was once attributed erroneously as saying that "all sex is rape" or "all men are rapists." What she really said was that "penetrative intercourse is, by its nature, violent.” However, the Maoist International Movement does indeed equate all sex with rape, owing largely to the language of rape law in imperialist countries and the very definition of “consent” which is described in such a way that is "usual" with "bourgeois" law that “the rulers write and interpret the law in such a way as to be able to catch almost anyone.”

So, any imperialist bourgeois ladies care to get violent with me?



He gets letters:

"I am not interested in getting violent with you as I'm already in a relationship (not a violent one.) Regardless your posts are interesting, if too disconnected for me. The German language thread you had going was snipped rather quickly, and I wanted more of that. Pretty sure that the mere mention of rape is going to thwart your Craigslist advances, regardless of your commentary on the subject. If you are actually trying to find one; I've no idea."

My version of man on woman sensuality just got rawer

Continuing adventures of character inspired by Mark Leyner.

When is this heat and humidity going to let up? This morning I’m waiting for the bus to Dupont Circle. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Armani frames with blue tinted lenses to better stalk my prey. And the leather is sticking mightily to my banana hammock and chaffing my thighs. I subtly grab a hold and readjust myself as the bus arrives. To my surprise there many lovelies on board and more on the way as we head for the Circle.

It’s not too crowded as has been of late, so there is plenty of room for me to give the ladies a Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Chest, Back Double Biceps, and signature Back Lat Spread. Sorry men. You shouldn’t be jealous of something you could never hope to obtain—muscle mass, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, dignity, flair. As I finish, I flex, wink, and point with a trigger finger to some of the nearby lovelies, my head bobbing in rhythm to music only I can hear. Today I’ve got my iPod. Tom Jones is singing “Help Yourself” and I’m thinking, “My love is like candy on a shelf, ladies, and if you want a taste help yourself.”

At least that is what I was thinking when the lovelies jump me en masse. I’ve got lovelies hanging off my arms and legs as I make my way off the bus. Outside, I shake them off one at a time and head for the Red Line. I really need to try to cut back on the raw animal sensuality I exude, especially on these warmer days when my body is pumping out massive quantities of the scent of Eros, pheromones.

Me you ask? Tom Jones. High fashion. Ripped definition. Stalking my prey on public transportation. That is what I am about. And if you are tired of the metrosexual milquetoast denizens of craigslist, and are ready to try out my raw and animalistic version of man on woman sensuality, you know where to find me.

"Girl Fights" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Yum. Omari AND girl fights...

“Total Recall,” “The Mummy Returns,” “One Million Years B.C.,” “Black Momma, White Momma,” Undercover Brother,” “Wild Things II.” All great movies. What do they all share in common? Great girl fights. Who can forget Raquel Welch against Martine Beswick in those infamous fur bikinis? Or Denise Richards fighting Neve Campbell, and as they struggle in a swimming pool, finally ending up in a hot smoochy embrace? Or Denise Richards fighting Aunganue Ellis, tearing at each others clothes, and winding its way to a hot shower scene? The guys, of course pull up chairs to watch.

Social workers, teachers, parents, and school administrators are increasingly asking themselves-“Are girls getting more violent?” There has been a 70% increase in U.S. arrests for assaults by adolescent girls, which offers some support for the claim of increasing violence within this population. However, most recent literature and research on this topic has linked the use of physical violence solely to at-risk populations, for example, low income and minority children and those parented by single mothers. Others feel that physical aggression is possibly a symptom of changing gender roles; that violence is becoming normative for females across class, race and ethnicity and that culture of increased aggression may be emerging in adolescent females as the meaning of being a good girl/woman is in flux.

An author named Jay Dubya once wrote that girl fights are quite dangerous because they involve pulling hair and scratching and clawing with long “talons.” He reports an incident that ended in the death of a colleague and friend of his, Charlie Southard. He writes that “two big girls were pummeling and mauling each other as if they were vicious alley cats…it took a full five minutes to finally restore order amidst an overzealous audience of a hundred or so "student" spectators.” Three weeks later his friend Charlie Southard died of a massive coronary. The connection seemed obvious to Mr. Dubya, who, his biography reports, was not only a teacher for 34 years but also enjoys listening to music by the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles and John Fogarty. I guess that makes him an expert both in medicine and psychology.

I was having a conversation with a couple of female friends the other week at the Evens Ft. Reno show about girl fights. I find them hot. I don’t think I’m singularly unique on this topic. They don’t have to be fighting over me, just fighting over something. Tearing off clothes and eventually ending up wet, either naked or see through. The boyfriend of one of my friends, while not saying anything, gave me the impression of tacit agreement but feared actually saying so out loud for fear of not getting any hot man on woman action. Or maybe he feared her bend-over-boyfriend. I’ll never know as they are no longer together.

I don’t know where I was going with this other than I find girl fights hot. But only if they are tearing off each others clothes. And somehow water is involved.



He gets letters:

"I would really love to suck you cock ...."

Ladies beware of this ad

Beware.

Ladies beware of this ad. This guy is single but a total horndog and posted under different profile now. His name is Mr. Banana Hammock. Don't go to his place. Using merely the power of his mind he will take off your clothes instantly for sex. It will be toe curling sex and it will last a couple of hours. I barely got any sleep.

---------

Well, it is Saturday evening. I’m sitting here with no plans for tonight. Really, I reserved the entire weekend to watch movies on demand. Intentionally didn’t make any plans. Just sorta hanging out. I’m thinking I may do something after all. Maybe slip on my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Walk down to Columbia Heights to 18th Street. Maybe hang out for something to drink or eat in Adams Morgan. Me: 36, white, muscular, very clean cut. Heading out to the gym soon for my SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos but will be back later. Looking for someone small, cute and reasonably nice to hang out with for the evening. If we like each other we could walk back to my place and put a movie on. I love old movies and just hanging out. And mind control and sex. Maybe even pick up a small bottle of wine. I’ve got Gatorade and plenty of lube. Nice, casual, no drama night. Pic for pic.

"Tom Jones" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari, I do hope Leno discovers you...

went to the Tom Jones concert the other night with a friend and he began to make me feel not so bad turning 36 this year – sans birthday sex and all. The way I figure it, if a sixty-something Welsh guy can be a sex-bomb, why not me? I’m in reasonably good shape, have all my hair and teeth, can dance funky, etc. I cannot sing worth a lick and women don’t throw their panties at me, but I wouldn’t mind if they did. Heck, I wouldn’t mind if they thought I was straight, which I am.

Last November my father flew into town to attend the 9th Annual Oyster Riot at the Old Ebbitt Grill. There were plenty of different kinds of oysters and wine to taste and the there was live music. Some blues act named Chickenhead. A group of girls from NOVA approached our table and we were all chatting. Me being not much of a wine guy I went to the beer tent and grabbed a beer. Upon returning I noticed the ladies had moved on and my dad, funny guy that he is, leans over and says that the girls had asked him if I was his son or “partner.” He still to this day will not tell me what he told them. Thanks, Dad!

Now while my father has gotten better in recent years, it is not beyond him to pull some seriously embarrassing shit. Maybe a little too much to drink at Christmas dinner and he’s pawing at mom’s boobs. Maybe a little upset on the day after Christmas about not getting a blowjob and complaining about it at the mall, in front of me and my then girlfriend. Or maybe the one-eared elephant gag.

I don’t think he is the creator of the one-eared elephant, but it was his favorite gag for a while years ago. I think it left me sufficiently scarred as I still remember the incident. First, the gag requires that you be a man. Also, it requires a pair of pants where you can turn the one of the front pockets inside-out. Last, it requires a pair of pants with a zipper or button fly. I think you all get the picture. Nobody was safe from the one-eared elephant unless you said yes you’ve seen one before.

In addition to lifting his shirt to show his remarkable sixty-something abs, Tom Jones also danced his signature dance which emphasizes pelvic thrusting and other sexually suggestive moves. Kind of makes you see Reverend Shaw Moore’s point when he was not supportive of Ren McCormack’s idea for a dance in Bomon. Anyway, I don’t think I could pull that sort of crap on the 42 or Red Line and get panties thrown at me, so I probably have to come up with another shtick.

Ever seen a one-eared elephant?

"Menstruation" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari fix. Regards.

Menstruation as a cultural text can be read as a symbol and signifier of what a culture says for and about women. The Roman author, Pliny, in his Natural History wrote that a menstruating woman can turn wine sour, cause seeds to be sterile, wither grafts, cause garden plants to become parched and fruit to fall from a tree she sits under. Aspects of this are echoed in Hindu socio-cultural practices, where a Hindu woman abstains from worship and cooking and stays away from her family as her touch is considered impure during this period. And under Islamic law, a menstruating woman is not allowed to pray, fast or have sex.

Unlike many other people and cultures, I have a relatively positive attitude toward menstruation. Oh, I know there are many many men out there who are made extraordinarily uncomfortable by this monthly miracle of biology. But not me. No, I welcome it enthusiastically, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that you are not pregnant. And while you are cramping and feeling bloated and icky, I’d be happy to rub your feet, cook dinner, and fetch your Midol ®. I won’t even ask for a blowjob.

In the US, while PMS has been empowering in that it puts a name to and legitimizes the symptoms women have "always already" suffered silently, PMS is problematic because it has contributed to further stigmatization of the menstrual cycle as dirty, disgusting, and despicable. And I hate being yelled at for some irrational reason.

Anyway, while I do indeed have a positive attitude toward menstruation, one thing I would like to know is, “Lisa, why in god’s name didn’t you tell me you were on your period before I went down on you for crissakes.”



He gets letters:
"You are verbose I am not. But you are pretty with your thumb on your nose. Just thought I'd let you know."

My hot crotch will make your wings melt

The saga of our hero, inspired by author Mark Leyner, continues...

I’m sitting here at my keyboard digesting my lunch. Panda-burger with swiss. No bun. Listening to Jill Sobule. Her voice is salve for my general ennui. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. My thick gold bracelet clanging on the keyboard as I type, my head bobbing in rhythm to the sound of music only I can hear. I’m replaying my morning commute in my mind’s eye.

This morning I’m riding the red line from Dupont Circle to Judiciary Square. It’s about 8:30 AM. The women are all over me. I cannot even get into my New Yorker. One lovely wants a charcoal rubbing of my abs. Another wants me to bend a piece of iron rebar she brought along with her this morning into an origami animal shape. Using my glutes. “Leaping Stag,” she says. I oblige. A third drops to her knees ands starts clawing at my crotch, muttering something about buffing my banana hammock. I pick her up, hand her a glass of water and a fistful of Valium. I tell her I am commando this morning and remind her of what happened to Icarus.

I finally make it into work, grab a double-cap-frap-half-caf-mocha-PowerBar from the cafeteria, and head down to the gym. I slip out of my Carla Behrle leather pants and into my lime green banana hammock, securing it in place with some bikini bite. I’m preparing for my competition in the Bali Jute Mill Bodybuilding Invitational in Bangladesh coming up soon. Day 69 of Mr. Banana Hammock's SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos. It has a nice ring I think, don’t you? It only takes 45 minutes. I shower. Air drying, I pose in the mirror and take it all in -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, endurance, dignity, flair. I slip back into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I head back to the office where I am now typing this missive.

Me you ask? Eating rare and exotic animals. Extreme bodybuilding. South Beach dieting. Culturally aware. Dispenser of pharmaceuticals to the needy. That is what I am about. And if you feel the need to claw at my crotch, remember Daedalus’ warning about flying too close to something so hot. Your pic gets mine.

He gets letters:

"Har, you are a kick-ass hilarious motherfucker, you. I worship your abs!!!!"

"Conspiracies" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Even more Omari for your consumption...

I recently finished a book by Jim Marrs called "Rule by Secrecy: The Hidden History That Connects the Trilateral Commission, the Freemasons, and the Great Pyramids." Apparently,the world's richest and most powerful individuals wield excessive influence over governments and news media through their control of multinational corporations and secret societies such as the Council on Foreign Relations, the international Trilateral Commission and the Bilderberg group. Their aim is one-world government and centralized social control and the ideas come from Freemasonry and the Illuminati. He also sets forth an argument that extraterrestrials founded the earth's earliest civilizations.

Another important scholar, David Icke, who spins a tale of a conspiracy as old as time itself, leading us to a rather disturbing hypothesis found in the Book of Genisis, that brother Cain was indeed the offspring of the Serpent and Eve, and that his twin brother Able, was the offspring of Adam and Eve. From there we jump to the truth of a reptilian-like race of people, still living on the earth and controling mankinds agenda. They look very much like humans, but are only disguised as such. Queen of England? Lizard. George W. Bush? Lizard.

It reminds me of that TV show from my youth, "V.""V" tells the story of a race of aliens who visit Earth with the promise of technology and cures for disease in exchange for our aid in producing a chemical needed on their planet. Again, another conspiracy. Their true intent is to steal Earth's water, and people...for food. Their peaceful facade slowly disolves to expose their facist mentality. Scientists, who are viewed as a threat by the aliens for their potential to uncover the truth, are persecuted, not only by the aliens, but by the humans who follow the aliens like sheep. And the aliens are aren't really human looking, but giant lizard-humanoids, much like David Icke describes.

"V" starred Marc Singer of "Beastmaster" fame as Mike Donovan, who helps lead the resistance and Robert Englund or "Freddy" plays Willie, a good natured alien who doesn't seem to know what is going on. Former Ms. New Hampshire and Melinda Cramer Janssen #2 from "One Life to Live," Jane Badler, plays evil alien Diana.

I was never a big fan of "One Life to Live" but instead followed pretty religiously "Days of Our Lives," even to the point where my mother, while I was in Europe, would send me synopses of the soap that would appear in our local paper. I even remember with fondness the Summer of 1996 where Stefano kidnaps Marlena for like the second or third time, takes her to Paris, and keeps her in a giant gilded birdcage.

I admired Stephano's tenacity as well as the tenacity of the alien/lizard's visitors from "V," but these are just fictions. As for David Icke, he is clearly nuts. However, I would like to cover all of my bases and say "all hail our alien-humanoid overlords."

"Gaydar" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Over the weekend Omari posted on "the month of summer." Blah.

Last week, or in Omari-speak day 8 of “the month of summer,” the New York Times ran a story suggesting bisexuals are “liars." In it Benedict Carey reported that an upcoming study "casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists.” The article relied heavily on a single study whose senior researcher has a career marked by ethics controversies and eugenics proposals. Why do care about this topic? That revelation would cast doubt on the enthusiasm displayed by women actresses in girl-on-girl porn. I’m probably not the only guy that would find that disturbing.

I’m sure that is not much of a revelation to most of you. Any girl who knows a guy knows that his ultimate fantasy is to participate in a three-way with two other women. Or at least be allowed to run the camera. My two biggest fantasies involve either having Penelope Cruz scream at me in Portuguese and then we drop right there and have hot and sweaty sex or Penelope Cruz and Winona Ryder have a girl fight, scratch and claw at each other, ripping off clothes, potentially maybe getting all wet (in a sprinkler or fountain), and while I try to break it up after getting a good look, the three of us drop right there and have hot and sweaty sex. Or they have hot and sweaty sex but let me run the camera.

Let me also say that I have pretty good gaydar. When I look in the mirror, my gaydar doesn’t go off. I developed my gaydar over the years hanging out with gay friends, many who insisted that every good looking guy they came across was definitely gay. Even if they weren’t. They just didn’t know it yet.

While I’m not gay or bisexual or even a lesbian, I am comfortable enough in my heterosexuality to hang out with gay friends in gay bars while they gaily do their business. Why? No competition for the women who hang out there also. And their guard is down. They feel safe among these same-sex lovin’ fellas. Safe enough for me to approach them to ask if they want to come over to my place and, I don’t know, see my motorcycle helmet collection.

So, wanna come over and see it?



He gets letters:

"U ONE OF THOSE BROTHERS ON THE DOWNLOW, RIGHT?"

"I would like to get a good look at your helmet collection."

"I'm a guy" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily Omari...

While I’ve got some great friends, I think some of them might be conspiring to turn me into a metrosexual. While I probably have some metrosexual proclivities, I certainly won’t appear to you on the street as one. You’ll see me bopping around on my morning commute, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, plugged into my iPod. Hardly metrosexual. And I only use hair gel because I’ve got 3, count them, 3 cowlicks on my head. Anyway, back to the conspiracy.

I think some of my friends might be conspiring to turn me into a full-on metrosexual. For instance, in years past as birthday gifts I’ve received Lab Series for Men facial scrubs, some peel off masks, and this year: an Earth Therapeutics herbal gel mask. You can chill it in the fridge, wear it, and it relieves eye puffiness. I’m not sure why I would even care. I’m a guy.

I actually enjoy the peel off mask. I sort of feel like Christian Bale playing proto-metrosexual Patrick Bateman in “American Psycho.” Here I am standing in front of my bathroom mirror peeling off my mask, with a soulless, modern-day monster look on my face. The only difference probably being that his apartment is a lot nicer than mine. Oh, I also don’t kill people.

Anyway, in the grand old tradition of crack dealers, my Earth Therapeutics herbal gel mask came with a free bonus Hydrogel under-eye recovery patch. A sample. Of course not enough for my under-eye area to completely recover, but just enough to get me hooked. And how much is this habit? The patches suggested retail is $8 a patch. Granted, a lot cheaper than crack, but still I find it offensive that these corporations try to sink their hooks into you and get you addicted to their product.

You know what though? The mask actually does relieve eye puffiness. Not that I care. I’m a guy.

MY REVIEWS

Yesterday a poster responded to another poster who posted flattering reviews of himself accusing of him plaziarism. He plageriarized the reviews but changed the names. A third person stepped in and wondered if he was worried that someone will look like a bigger jackass than him. I plagairized the names but not the reviews.

"You’re gross." Debra Smith

"Total package? Hardly. And he exuded an unpleasant smell." Janice Parker

“I am going kill Janice for setting me up with you." Holly McBride

"What are you doing down there. Ouch!" Jenny Thompson

"Get. Away. From. Me. Stop touching me. Stop it." Jackie Slater

"He touched me and I felt this weird icky shiver down the back of my spine.” Rachel Jones

"I've got six words. I’VE NEVER SEEN ONE SO SMAILL!" Sybil Watson

"Feministic Views" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

My daily Omari...

I couldn’t decide what I wanted for lunch today so I took a healthy approach toward eating and decided to graze at the salad bar. I’ve included a picture below. Before anybody writes to say, “hey buddy, why not try some salad with your dressing” bear in mind that the dressing is blue cheese dressing. And when you close the lid and shake it vigorously, the dressing more or less evenly coats the vegetable involved, and I guess, eventually my arteries.

I like all cheese, but blue cheese especially. The National Dairy Council also reports that 3 servings of dairy a day in a reduced-calorie diet supports weight loss. Also a new study among active women using oral contraceptives found bone loss was prevented for those who got their calcium from 3-A-Day of dairy. Getting enough calcium can play a major role in the prevention of osteoporosis later in life, which can be a problem for the ladies. Milk is probably another important source of calcium, but I am a bit lactose intolerant.

A few years back we had a temp named after a famous president. First and last name. And I think he understood the importance of dairy in your daily diet. Anyway, every morning when he came into work I’d stand up and say, “Good morning, Mr. President.” He was at some point offered a job and went up to human resources to fill out paperwork for the job. He never returned. Apparently he complimented the receptionist’s “rack” perhaps even calling it "nice." I don’t know for sure what was actually said. I wasn’t there. But he never came back. I was struck by his enthusiasm for dairy after noticing his that his computer desktop was a big picture of Naomi Campbell sporting a milk mustache.

I’m not sure where I am going with this but all this talk of milk, and our former temp’s love of milk and I guess breasts, reminds me of, well, breasts. Ironically, I was having an email conversation with a friend who grew up in the same town as I did. She wrote me last night to mention that A&E was showing a 2 hour long documentary called “Cleavage." A Hooters waitress named Nicki reportedly said that, "Believe it or not, I'm a feminist. I have a lot of feministic views." Unfortunately I missed the email and the documentary. In addition to Nicki, I was told that other commentators on the documentary were apparently actresses, a journalist who once went "undercover" in a giant padded bra, and a professional clown.

I told my friend that while I also held feministic views, I personally preferred smaller breasts and that she should praise me for reaching out to those less fortunate, breast-wise.

I’m still waiting for that praise to come through email. Any minute now.



He gets letters:

"Seriously, I know I've written before, but I can not tell you enough how much you make my day when you write that stuff. :) PS - here's your email thanking you for liking smaller boobs. :)"

To my silent fan you cannot see my apple in your eye

WTF? Could it get any worse. Probably...

Stubborn but open minded, endeavors rest upon the possibilities nature displays before us, a palimpsest of skin, muscle and bone. This time, though, the princess has golden locks flowing from castle high, waiting for his prince to climb the luxurious tresses, like swimming through a sea of stringy vanilla pudding. She can’t work backward, she with that look. The horny look a woman has when she hasn’t had sex in a while.

There's another door to which she can run, free of delay and inhibition, a place where she could allow herself to be as easy as Madlibs for she has carved the framework herself. Her artistic temperament was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from Parkay soft margarine spread. Every scratch, every doodle, every mark she's still yet to pays homage to her passions much like a groupie at a Nickelback concert.

This is what some call a "first-class transition." Sure, I'm laced with metaphors and similes and the night is young in the most figurative of ways, but the story is simple, like my sister. But unlike sister, this plan just might work. You know, that touching or breathing that starts and stops and starts again just because you want it to, or continues to move back and forth and back and forth, much like an oscillating fan, can engender the greatest of excitements both high and low. Yeah, I'm filled with subliminal meanings and want you to dissect everything I scrawl until you have a difference between the beer and the can that holds the beer, but take it as you will; I always say what I mean....and what i mean is i want to free you from your guilt and pain. and good writing.

He gets letters (from the clearly insane):

"delightful ad. are you familar with pablo neruda? such fun with words! I love to be amused."

"Garfleck" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Omari two-fer...

I was reading “People” magazine the other day and they had a nice photo and short story about newlywed couple Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, affectionately called Garfleck. As you might recall, Affleck and pop diva Jennifer Lopez, who were dubbed "Bennifer" by celeb watchers, called off their September 2003 wedding after an intensely publicized romance. Was it because of the amazingly bad film “Gigli”? Or was it because of Affleck’s reported gambling addiction? Who knows?

The ICD-10 Classification of Mental and Behavioural Disorders describes pathological gambling as an addiction in the sense that the person can't stop, is done to the exclusion of friends, and feels obligatory. Those that are addicted to gambling continue despite knowing that they cannot afford it, and that they will lose overall. And according to Gam-Anon or Gambler’s Anonymous, its purpose is threefold: "To Learn acceptance and understanding of the gambling illness; to use the program and its problem solving suggestions as aides in rebuilding our lives and to give appropriate aid to the gambler; and, upon our recovery, then to give assistance to others like ourselves. The symptoms and treatment seem very similar to other forms of addiction like shopping, alcoholism, and drug dependency.

One of my fonder memories of television was this campy made for TV movie starring Helen Hunt, who did a nude scene in the film “The Waterdance” and later went on to play Jaime in the TV hit “Mad About You,” co-staring with Paul Riser. The movie, “Angel Dusted,” was an early 80’s anti-drug propaganda piece. In it, Helen Hunt smokes a PCP laced marijuana cigarette, screams, and jumps through a plate glass window. Truly a memorable experience.

This reminds me of an incident long ago. We had this motivational speaker come into High School one day. His name was Otto Molton. He had a thick Boston accent. He came to talk to us about the dangers of drugs, which he did all over the country after his son died taking drugs. A very sad situation indeed. He drew this thing on the chalkboard that looked like a football helmet and throughout the talk would point to it and say things like:

“These ah ya smats” and “This is wea ya smats lie.”

It was very amusing, me and my friends being stoned and all.



He gets letters:

"I must admit, I am a fan. I search for your blog everyday to enjoy and smile at your observations. What's a girl to do except just say thanks!"

"Virginity" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Your daily Omari...

According to CNN this morning, a leading group of pediatricians says that teenagers need access to birth control and emergency contraception, not the abstinence-only approach to sex education favored by religious groups and President Bush. Apparently, there is evidence that “does not support abstinence-only interventions as the best way to keep young people from unintended pregnancy." No shit.

When I was in High School, our sex education class was taught along side driver’s education. It was taught by a man, I cannot remember his name, who gave women in the class this sage advice which I remember to this day: “Ladies. Keep a dime pressed between your knees during the date and no monkey business can occur.” Of course being the smartass that I am, I raise my hand. He calls on me. I say, “Nah. You can always ‘flip’em over and go in from behind.’” I somehow still got my driver’s permit.

Curiously, when I made that rather astute observation I was a virgin. Yep, even Mr. Banana Hammock was a virgin once. While I didn’t have access to real women, what I did have access to was a friend whose father had a vast collection of Playboy magazines, so I was at least familiar enough with the female anatomy to get figure out how things worked. That and my father was an OB/GYN. Not only did I know at a very early age how babies were made, I also was the neighborhood kid who told all the other kids where babies really came from. I was much loved by their parents.

In High School women scared the shit out of me, and to a certain extent, they still do. When I did lose my virginity I had this great plan for the evening. Friend’s parents were going out of town. Girlfriend and I were going to smoke some weed, drink a little beer, and then go at it like the raging hormonal teenagers that we were. Which we did. Unfortunately my mother caught wind of the fact that the friend’s folks were going to be out of town and said I had to come home by curfew. I was an hour late. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I turn the knob to the door in garage leading into the house. As soon as I quietly close said door, the lights go on, and my mother is standing at the end of the hallway. She doesn’t look very happy. With disdain she said, “you smell like sex” before turning around and slamming the door to her bedroom.

Scarred for life? Probably.



He gets letters:

"You are hilarious. That is all I have to say."

"hello, I like you. You are funny. We should talk!!!!"

IM me to chat

Bored at work indeed.

Bored but rich. I gotta finske. IM me. Or email me.

Curves? Still looking for single thin athletic white girl with curves?

This guy from Nova seems to post essentially the same post three times or so a day. Is he fooling anyone? Dunno.

Are you a single, thin, athletic white girl with curves? If so hit me up we can chat and see where things go. Attractive guy here looking for a female with a few extra pounds on her. In the right places. No belly fat. No ass fat. No thigh fat. No cankles. Just skinny and athletic with big boobs.

Where are all the young sassy, thin athletic chicks with big boobs? Cute faces are more aesthetically pleasing, and love to have fun and just relax after a long day at work. While at work I post variations of the same ad all day long.

If this sounds like you we should chat. Attach your photo to your first reply and I will send mine back. If we click maybe we can meet and have some fun. If you are tlaking to another guy and you think it might get serious please do not reply to this ad. I’m very jealous and tlaking to other guys makes me angry. And please have personalty. That is important to me as well. Loads of personalty.

"May/December" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

More Omari. Yum.

Some of you might have noticed that Tom Cruise is off his rocker, as of late, promoting his latest beard: Katie Holmes. A bit ago I mentioned a desire to see Katie Holmes nude and requested pictures be sent. Sadly no pictures arrived, but someone mentioned a movie called “The Gift” where she appears topless. So I googled her yesterday and I must say nicely done Mr. and Mrs. Holmes! My search also came back with several photos of Ms. Holmes’ head pasted on the body of a young woman who was doing something I remember doing not too long ago and it looked like fun. And wouldn't mind doing it again. Sometime soon.

On “Oprah” a few weeks back, Tom acted like he probably could use a handful of Valiums, but Scientologists don’t believe in medicine and psychotherapy. On the “Today Show” he got in a dust-up with Matt Lauer over psychotherapy and medication before taking on Brooke Shields and her use of medication to help her through her bout with post-partum depression. So, as you can see, Scientologists really really don’t believe in medication and psychotherapy.

Although clearly Tom could use some. If not to deal with his latent homosexuality at least to figure out what attracts him to much younger women. I mean I wouldn’t kick Nicole Kidman out of bed or anything. Fear of commitment? Tom and Katie are getting married supposedly. Peter Pan complex? Possibly. Katie’s nice rack? That would do it for me.

While Scientologists don’t believe in psychotherapy what Scientologists do believe in is that Xenu, a galactic ruler who, 75 million years ago, brought billions of people to Earth, stacked them around volcanoes, and blew them up with hydrogen bombs. Their souls then clustered together and stuck to the bodies of the living, and continue to cause people problems today. These events are known to Scientologists as "Incident II," and the traumatic memories associated with them as "The Wall of Fire." Flu? You’ve got clusters of souls sticking to you called Thetans. Post-partum depression? Thetans. Acting like a nutter on “Oprah”? I guess Thetans.

Wild huh?



He gets letters:

"Love the specs, love your posts. So funny, so sharp. Absolutely great."

"You make me laugh with all your ramblings...I"ve read two so far. Now, if only I can try and decide what you are doing in that picture!"

"Harassment" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

OMARI posts again. On the break-up. Me wistful about missing out on blowjob parties. I get there eventually.

Fourth of July. This mighty Nation's birthday. Although July 4th is celebrated as America's official split from Britain's rule and the beginning of the American Revolution, the actual series of events show that the process took far longer than a single day. The original resolution was introduced by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia on June 7, 1776, and called for the Continental Congress to declare the United States free from British rule. Three days later a committee headed by Thomas Jefferson was appointed to prepare an appropriate writing for the occasion.

I was in the shower while CNN was broadcasting the President's "4th of July" speech, so obviously I missed it. What I didn't miss was his great stump speach on the topic of medical malpractice that "too many OB-GYNs aren’t able to practice their love with women all across this country.” And while I might not be a real OB-GYN, my father was, and I too have been somewhat hampered in practicing my love with women at least in the DC area. I guess this is the downside to being single.

Being single, I was bemused by Omari's latest posts on breakups. The face-to-face, the phone call, the cold shoulder, the email? What about the e-card? How about "I gave, you took, good-bye!" Or, "Leave me alone, please!" Or even, "Waking up to your face every morning makes bile rise from my stomach leaving me with an unpleasant gastric taste in the back of my mouth. I cannot take it anymore!" Definitely much less messier than the face-to-face. And not as awkward.

Speaking of awkward, several months ago I was at this dinner held prior to a meeting. Let me preface by saying I had just taken our company's mandatory sex harassment training, and our companies policy extends not only to staff, but also to outside members of the association. My session was excrutiatingly long because one staff member insisted on having an ongoing dialogue about backrubs, under what situations they would be appropriate, not appropriate, etc. The consultant basically said that it would be best to stay away from backrubs alltogether.

The dinner was nice. It was held in a private room at Galileo. I had fish. Sitting next to me was a female member, a venture capitalist, having a conversation with another member, a much older venture capitalist on the subject of blowjob parties. Her daughter apparently knows people who go to blowjob parties (not her), where the girls give the boys blowjobs. The much older guy, in his 80s, I suspected didn't really know what the hell she was talking about. And me? I felt a bit awkward. Not sexually harassed or anything. Just a bit awkward. And a bit sad that I wasn't in Jr. High School.



He gets letters:

"Thanks for the story about the blow job parties. What does a girl wear to such an event?"

He gets posts in m4w

Goddammit Mr. Bananahammock - WHERE ARE YOU?

Baby baby baby.
I need something to fantasize about this long weekend.
Wet... ice cubes... not wet... something like that.

------------------------------------------

re: Goddammit Mr. Bananahammock - WHERE ARE YOU?

Hey!! You read my mind! I was missing him all day and was hoping to see something from him today. I'm totally bummed!!!

One more thing...My friends have to tell me all the time that God's last name isn't Damnit. I can't wait to tell them that it's not his last name but part of his first name. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!