What's the big deal?

What's the big deal?

Strauss Home / Humor Channel / Bullz-Eye Home


So there I was on the stair machine at the gym the other day when I looked up to watch Headline News.

I was sweating like a pig. 

I was white-knuckled hanging on to the machine. 

My knees were killing me. 

And still, all I wanted to do was watch TV.

Mr. Universe, I ain't.

At any rate, I saw that the Closed Captioned for the Hearing Impaired wasn't working on the TV, which I found quite upsetting.

Because while most people look at Closed Captioned for the Hearing Impaired and think, "What a great service," I look at Closed Captioning and think, "Excellent. I'm going to get a little light reading in today."

I mean, words are words, right? To me, it doesn't matter if they're in the New York Times, in a Hemingway novel, or typed in a black box over Chiefs/Vikings Super Bowl IV highlights on ESPN Classic.

If I read them, then I've read them. Period.

Unfortunately, since the Closed Captioned for the Hearing Impaired wasn't working, the best literary work I could find at the moment was the headlines at the bottom of Headline News.

First I read:

*Fighting Escalates in the Middle East. 

Then I read:

*Protests Mark One Year Anniversary of Riots in Cincinnati.

Then I read:

*Parents Arrested for Locking Son in Doghouse.

At that point, I stopped reading.

*Parents Arrested for Locking Son in Doghouse.

While I didn't hear any more about this story, I can only guess it went something like this: 

The parents probably told their son not to do something, or he was going to be "in the doghouse." He obviously ignored their warning and did what he shouldn't have, and he wound up "in the doghouse." 

My first reaction to this story was, "Where's the news here? Things like this happen to me all the time."

My second reaction was, "Y'know, I never knew that doghouses came with locks."

The truth is, for years I've had people yelling at me, threatening me, and warning me with comments just like this.

I've been told that I'm in deep shit. That I'd better wipe that shit-eating grin off my face. That I'm going to get the shit beat out of me. That I should eat shit and die. And that the shit just hit the fan. 

I've been told that my ass is grass. That somebody wants my ass in a sling. That I was going to get my ass kicked from here until tomorrow. And that I don't know my ass from a hole in the ground.

Which is total BS, by the way. I do too know my ass from a hole in the ground.

A hole in the ground is round and has a big space in the middle. My ass is round and has a big space in the middle. A hole in the ground is dirty and nasty. My ass is dirty and nasty. People put all sorts of things in holes. Other than that one time in college, nobody's ever put anything in my ass. At least, not that I can remember.

Parents Arrested for Locking Son in Doghouse?

Christ, if that's all it takes to get on the news these days, I should have my own series.


While trying to figure out how to put a gas grill together, my wife threw her hands up in the air and said, "You're dumb as a rock."

I had never really though about a rock being smart or dumb. But then again, I guess not knowing that a rock can be smart or dumb is probably the sign of someone who's not very smart, I guess.

So I went outside and found a rock in the backyard. I brought it in the house and I put it on the table next to me. Then I had my wife ask us both a question. 

"Any question you want," I said.

"Okay," she said to me, "what did DJ Alan Freed invent?" 

I just stared at her because I had no clue.

"I have no clue," I said.

Then she looked at the rock and asked, "What did DJ Alan Freed invent?"

The rock stared at her. Just like I did. And I could tell that it didn't have a clue, either.

"That's correct," she said. "Alan Freed invented rock."

Jesus. What a lucky goddamn guess.

Rock 1, Lane 0.

"What's pie times zero?" she asked me.

I just stared at her because I had no clue.

"I have no clue," I said.

Then she looked at the rock and asked, "What's pie times zero?"

The rock stared at her. Just like I did. And I could tell that it didn't have a clue.

"That's correct," she said. "Pie times zero is nothing."

Rock 2, Lane 0.

"I was wrong," said my wife. "I want to apologize for saying that you were as dumb as a rock. That was an insult."

"I accept your apology," I said.

"I was talking to the rock," she said.


As I backed my car out of the parking lot at Wal-Mart, I bumped into another car. The guy got out and he was huge. Like football player huge. And he had three buddies with him. And they were big, too. They looked at the dent on their car, then the one guy turned to me and said, "Your ass is mine."

The funny thing was, until then, I didn't even think about him being gay. I mean, he was very good looking and all, but I was more worried about his car and my well-being.

The last thing I wanted to do was get beat up in the parking lot at Wal-Mart. In fact, I remember thinking, "My God, I would so rather have gay sex with this guy than get beat up by this guy."

I was so happy that he said "Your ass is mine," and that he didn't say, "I'm going to beat you up," that I happily unbuckled my jeans and bent over the hood of my car. 

The next thing I knew, I heard a lot of, "Oh my god, that dude's a freak!" Then I heard tires squealing. When I turned around, I was the only one there.

Well, me and the old lady in the wheelchair.

I guess he must have been embarrassed with all his friends around. 

It was weird. He said that my ass was his. And when I was willing to give it to him, he ran away. 

Go figure. 

I did get the little old lady's number, by the way.


When I told my bookie that I didn't exactly have all the money I owed him, he said to me, "I need the money by Thursday or you're up shit's creek."

Well, I knew that I wasn't going to get the money, so I figured I'd save some time by trying to find Shit's Creek and head up it on my own.

First I called the operator, but she couldn't find a listing for any sort of creek named Shit's. 

Nothing for Shit's Pond, Shit's River, Shit's Lake or Shit's Stream, either. 

I figured that maybe it was unlisted. Or the operator didn't want to tell me because she didn't like Jews or something.

Then I went to the outdoor store and rented a canoe just in case I found the creek. The woman asked me if I wanted to rent some oars, too. 

"No thank you," I said. "I'd like to go up Shit's Creek without a paddle."


I asked a cute woman at work if she wanted to go to lunch. She laughed and said, "Bite me."

Until then, I had never actually tasted flesh. But from the looks of the blood, and the sound of her scream, I remembered thinking, "Now why did she ask me to do this? This appears to hurt."

Later that day, her brother called me and said, "When you get off work today asshole, I'm gonna hit you so hard, your mother's going to feel it."

After he hung up, I called home and told my mom to hide in the basement and not to answer the door under any circumstances.

Especially if she saw a guy who looked pissed. And a woman with a dripping, bloody arm.


I got into a fight with my wife. She was so mad, she threw her ring at my face and ran toward the door. 

Just before she left, she turned and said to me, "Go fuck yourself."

As she left I thought, "Well, okay. If you say so."

I mean, sure, I'd taken of myself. Three times that day, in fact. But I'd never thought about actually having intercourse with myself.

I wondered if it would work. I wondered if it was even possible. I wondered if I would cuddle me after I was done doing me.

I had to try though. I mean, she told me to. 

The first thing I did was try to make myself feel comfortable about the whole thing. I didn't want to force me to do it. So I told myself a couple a jokes to loosen myself up. I poured myself a glass of wine to give to me. I held my hand. I asked me what kind of music I'd like to listen to. 

It turned out I liked the same kind of music I liked.

Then I told me that I'd be right back, because I wanted to slip into something more comfortable for me. And even though I asked me to relax on the couch, I came with me. 

I went into the bedroom and I put on a nice terrycloth robe. I asked me if I liked it. I did. Then I tried to look into the bathroom mirror at my eyes and I said to myself, "You have nice eyes." Then I said back to me, "So do you." 

I found myself being very attracted to me. And I wanted to kiss me badly. But I couldn't. 

I said to me, "You know that I want to kiss you." And I looked at myself and said, "Me, too." 

Shortly after, as things between me and me heated up, my wife returned. She walked in and saw me trying to put my body parts in my other body parts. 

I said, "Hi honey. Any interest in a menage a trois?"

She screamed, and left again. But I still don't know why.

Sunday (con't)

As I got off the stair machine, I grabbed a spray bottle and a cloth to wipe my sweat off the machine.

I squirted some cleaner on the front of the machine and wiped it off. I squirted some cleaner on the sides of the machine and wiped it off. And when I squirted some cleaner on the handgrips, I accidentally squirted some cleaner on the woman on the treadmill next to me. It was a good shot, too. Right in her eye.

"You're such a dick," she said as she wiped her eyes.

I said I was sorry. Even though that dick comment was total BS.

I mean, sure I have a head and my dick has a head. 

And sure, I have hair all over me and my dick has hair all over it.

But the thing is, I'm way taller than 2 ¾ inches.

If you're trying to reach men in their 20s and 30s, or you're trying to reach male readers who have a great sense of humor, Bullz-Eye.com's Humor Channel can be an excellent resource. We offer text link ads and banners of all sizes. Our traffic has grown to more than 60 million page views and 4.5 million unique visitors per month! Contact us and we'll help you meet your advertising needs.
Web Bullz-Eye.com