ALL NATURAL:

You know he probably does that like three times a week.

But Sir Samuel L. Jackson has the right idea. (He's not really a knight, he just makes motherf@%kers call him Sir.)

"Siri… write a blog post for me today."

"Siri? Hello?"

Well, so much for my attempt to phone it in this week. (My God… that was awful.) But with technology as amazing as it seems to be these days can you blame me for trying to take the easy way out this time around? Trying to get Apple's wondrous interactive personal assistant software to put my thoughts out there for the masses — all 19 of you — seemed like a fine idea in theory. In reality, not so much, didn't work at all. Guess the app can't do everything you ask of it… or her. I guess referring to Siri as a female is fine seeing as they gave her that sultry, slightly condescending bitch-like tone of voice. (Sooooo hot.)

Yeah, as if anyone needs a reminder for that.

Perhaps writing blog posts goes a bit outside of the program parameters. Still some things that require a man to just roll up his sleeves and do for himself rather than let some automaton do for him. Or maybe Siri can actually handle creative writing chores and I wouldn't have any way to know since instead of talking to the real deal like my man Sam up there… sorry… like SIR Samuel, I was just standing in the middle of my living room barking orders into a half-eaten Little Debbie snack cake that I found between the sofa cusions. Don't even own a damn iPhone. I'm just a sad shell of a human being pretending to be tech-savy and cool with a stale old fudge brownie square, an over-active imagination and a healthy dose of self-delusion.

And yes… I'm totally gonna eat this brownie because I really have no shame.

Speaking of shameless acts, let's talk about nudists. I don't know what that word makes you think of, but for me that word conjures up NSFW images (consider that a warning) from old 1950s era magazines masquerading their archaic form of pornography under the guise of lifestyle publications. Dusty tomes with titles like Sunshine & Health or Bare Essentials Monthly or Living Free & Easy, every one of them a collection of grainy black and white pics of happy naked people doing everyday shit, just like clothed people of the era did all the time. They walked hand-in-hand with one another, smiled and laughed, rode bikes, attended barbecues, went fishing and hiking, even had polite conversations with their equally naked neighbors.

"Gee Ms. Fleming, this isn't really what I meant about wanting
to touch your…  never mind. I guess this is nice too."

And they played volleyball… lots of volleyball. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find one such mag that didn't feature at least one photo of nude volleyball. It's pretty much the sport of choice for those people. Probably because it's one of the few that doesn't require you to wear a cup which would get in the way of the nudity and all. I'm just guessing really, I don't know anything about nudism. What with that law that requires me to keep my clothes on at all times. And by 'law' of course I mean wife.

It's always fun until Betty jumps up and spikes her own tit.

But that was then. Those nudists were all young and healthy and toned and not so horrible to look at… through the hole in the fence. Unfortunately it seems that today's nudists are still the same people from back then, just a lot older… and grayer… and lumpier. But still playing volleyball.

"Let's get a game going! Everyone pick a side. It's Wrinkles vs. Stretch Marks."

However, in all the images that come to mind when I hear the word nudists, there's one constant. They're always at a camp somewhere, isolated, bucolic and green. I never think of nudists in the city, in public, in restaurants. Yet apparently, this is a thing now, naked people getting together in big cities like Manhattan, taking over eateries for Clothing Optional Dinners or CODINNERS as they're known.

Imagine if you will, you're a server at some fancy upscale mid-town bistro. You've just started your shift, the manager informs you that the place has been rented out for a private party and then this walks in the door.

CHECK PLEASE? 

Of course it's not really THAT bad — at first. They do walk in fully clothed, can't just go traipsing through the city with your bumps and fuzzies catching breeze. Well I mean, you can, there are people who do, but good luck getting a cab like that. Once they arrive at the venue though it all comes off and the coat-check girl earns her money for the evening by having to watch them undress and then keep track of every stitch and article of clothing they toss at her. (Hope she wears gloves.) After that the server gets to spend the evening maintaining the strictest eye contact and being extra careful not to spill the soup. And hopefully any stray hairs found in the food are simply treated as unavoidable happenstance. At the very least, naked dining saves the server from having to witness that embarrassing moment when guys open their pants after a big meal. Because that's always pretty awkward. So yeah, get to avoid all that. Yay.

The thing I take away from all of this is that now any time I go out to eat, I'll have to make sure to find out if the place I have in mind has ever played host to such events. Because there is just no way of knowing what's been left on those chairs and I seriously doubt most restaurants are gonna spring for proper steam cleaning. Best you could really hope for is a shot with a decent stain remover and a sponge. And even that's probably asking for more than they're willing to give.

"Oh my God, I usually try to avoid laughing so hard because…
you know. But these aren't MY chairs, so f@%k it."

I'd ask Siri to find such places so I could properly avoid them in the future but I ate my brownie phone. And I think 'brownie' might have been an erroneous assumption on my part because that didn't taste like chocolate… or cake… or even food for that matter.

Am I gonna die?

By the way, since I've got you here, I just want to say I absolutely love doing this blog. It's great fun for me. Even if no one read it, I'd still be doing it. (Not sure if that's admirable or sad.) But there are those of you who do read it and I'm grateful. In the past what I've done is to post on average once a week and that's usually some long-form type of rambling nonsense. (Like what's going on just a few paragraphs up for instance.) Then I post notice to Facebook and Twitter to let you know to drop by. Still going to be doing that, but also going to try posting shorter bits and quicker hits on a more regular basis. I feel true blogs should do that. So basically I'm saying you should stop by unannounced every so often and see what's happening.

Starting next week sometime. Today's Thursday, tomorrow's Friday. That means it's almost the weekend. Plus it's a holiday weekend so now is definitely not the time to start new things like frequent blogging or new diets, bathing or any other such major life changing shit. What am I, a socialite?

So with that I'll say, Happy Memorial Day to you all. Shout out and much love to all those who have served and given their lives in service to this great country as well as to those who continue to serve today. Thank you all.

PEACE!