Last month's Journal of Scientific Medicine featured three articles asserting that bicyclists who use racing seats -- you know, fat in back and skinny between the legs -- are more prone to impotence than those who use broader supports with more padding. It seems the seat's design places undue pressure on the equipment that pumps blood to the penis.
"That's the rumor," confirms Mike Weiss, owner of Big Shark Bicycle Company on Delmar Boulevard. "They say that if you ride long, you don't go long." Not that he's having any problems in that area. "I'm fertile," Weiss says confidently. "We've certainly heard from people who say they go numb. I'm not sure I know exactly what they mean. They don't start describing the shaft of their penis to us."
"Comfort on the saddle is an issue," says Russ Murphy of Mesa Cycles in Richmond Heights. He groups scientists who perform such studies under the collective heading of "some knucklehead" but concedes that, sure, "blood flow to one's extended regions is always a concern."
Unreal is skeptical that men would spontaneously cop to being impotent, but Murphy says frank discussion is the norm around his store: "A bike shop is often like a bar. We have relatively in-depth and personal discussions with many of our customers a lot of the time."
Weiss, meanwhile, initiates an impromptu poll of his employees. Good news: "We're ten for ten," he says proudly. "We're all fully erect here."
He's a Beast
Earlier this year Kenneth "Supreme" McGriff put in a call to Christopher "Chris Gotti" Lorenzo from federal lockup in Brooklyn, New York. McGriff, thought by prosecutors to be the muscle behind hip-hop label The Inc., is awaiting trial on homicide, racketeering and narcotics charges. He wanted to talk with Lorenzo, an exec at The Inc., about getting "Jay and Puff" to pony up cash for his defense.
During the March 21 conversation, which was recorded by the U.S. Bureau of Prisons and filed in a motion last week by Lorenzo's attorney, the two found time to reflect upon the worth and love life of their friend (and Unreal's favorite St. Lunatic), Nelly.
Kenneth McGriff: Nelly's incredible.
Christopher Lorenzo: Huh?
Nelly does it with no hype, no gimmicks, no nothing.
Yeah, he's a beast, he's a beast.
The second [album] did what? Four, five, or six [million dollars]?
I think seven, almost seven.
Yeah, seven, right? The first [album] did what?
The first one did five and change.
Nah! The first one did eight, nine.
I mean, you right. No, seven, it did seven. He came back fat, man. The nigger's serious. [...] And that's just in the States. He probably did more, even that. He probably did more, he probably did like three, four overseas.
Yeah, 'cause, 'cause, 'cause when the buckteeth nigger, when the big teeth nigger's talking about his eleven [million dollars], he talking about all over the world.
Yeah, the nigger's a beast, man. He's not to be fucked with, you know what I'm saying? Nigger, Irv [Gotti] be having the illest enemies. [Laughing]
Yeah. Ain't that something.
Irv and Nelly ain't even an enemy. It's just that 'cause all of the bullshit with him and Ashanti, he, he made to believe like he's the enemy, but he's not.
Every time Nelly see me, it's nothing but love, man. It's all good. That nigger holler at me crazy.
No, he's a real good dude.
He's a good dude, you know what I'm saying? But it's because all of that bullshit between him and Ashanti, and then with him and Irv and Ashanti, and shit. So he think he might be, you know, a little nervous about everything.
So, so, is, is Ashanti still fucking with him?
Nigger, I don't know! Yo, if I knew -- I would say she's probably still fucking the nigger, but, you know, who cares.
At the end of the day, it is what it is. I meant that's a grown woman. She can do what the fuck she want to do.
LOCAL BLOG O' THE WEEK
"The Underpants Project"
About the blogger: SayUnderpants enjoys York peppermint patties, microwave burritos and reading. She recently took a Caribbean cruise with her mother and sister.
Recent Highlight (September 30, 2005): Getting through security and obtaining our cruise cards was a breeze and before we knew it we were on the Lido Deck and once again enjoying rum drinks while waiting for the boat to leave the dock. When the ship started moving, the music got turned up, people began to dance, and that's when I first saw him...
Kenny Rogers. No -- not the real one, silly! Only a reasonable facsimile thereof. But still -- are they everywhere? No matter where you go, and especially at vacation destinations, you can count on running into Kenny Rogers. I saw this particular Kenny Rogers at least 3 times a day, always walking by on the Lido Deck and never anywhere else on the ship. He was like a phantom...and maybe he actually was. Perhaps he's been damned to haunt the Lido Deck of the Carnival Imagination cruise ship for all eternity. So I guess who I was really seeing every day was the ghost of a Kenny Rogers impersonator...
After all the passengers partying on the Lido Deck were good and drunk the crew made us do a practice drill in case the ship got torpedoed or something and began to sink. 1,500 intoxicated people set about finding their way to their rooms in order to get life jackets. The cabin stewards looked like they wanted to shoot everyone. Finally, with life vests firmly secured over our heads we all went back up to the Lido Deck and stood in our assigned areas to listen to the equivalent of the Standard Airplane Seatbelt Speech -- except this was the Standard Cruiseship Dinghy Speech. I was scolded by a crew member for not paying attention...
Know of an Unreal-worthy local blog? Send the URL to firstname.lastname@example.org.
According to popular mythology, bacon cheeseburgers, cocaine and phoning your ex drunk at 3 a.m. are the three things in life most likely to kill you. To hell with bluenose standards, says computer technician Brad Henson. Four days a week, the 30-year-old Henson makes the westward commute from Soulard to O'Fallon, arriving at his office by 6:30 a.m. But come quitting time Thursday, the Texas transplant commences a 72-hour bender.
"It's 3 a.m. all the way, every night," says Henson, who includes a prep race before Hump Day in his weekly regimen. ("I'm always in by midnight on Tuesdays," he swears.) And after Henson gets hammered, he and his pals revel in the age-old pastime of drunk dialing.
So it was that last month he and Washington, D.C.-based pal Scott Crosby launched www.drunk-dialed.com, a Web site chock-full of taped voicemails, wino manifestos and merchandise that features slogans like "Why Talk Sober?" and "# Your X."
Henson says the site averages a few hundred visitors per day. "It's taking off," he reports. "We've sold a lot of '# Me' thongs."
While most of the calls -- accessible as sound files and bearing titles like "I have a fucking wig on and I don't know where I am" -- have been culled from his vast and tipsy local social network, Crosby's D.C. cronies provide a dash of Potomac flavor, and Henson recently brought aboard a Lexington, Kentucky-based coed to file dispatches from the nation's bourbon and Thoroughbred capital.
"We also have some unnamed writers who work in Jeff City," the Webmeister adds. "But they've got political careers ahead of them."
If Henson has his druthers, he'll make a career of letting his drunken fingers do the walking. "It's a slow process," he concedes. "But we have many nights to sit back, drink heavily, make dumb calls and wait until the site takes off."