This Is How I Got My Phillips Frisbee

I'm an old man. Not in age. I don't look old. But my tolerance for disrespect is low. I was minding my business and these kids caused me to transform into a grumpy old man. I told them to get off my lawn, and I kept their remote control airplane!

This was less than a year ago, in New Paltz, New York.

I was in the gym after working out (yeah, I like to bench like 350...), taking a shower. Out of nowhere, this blue Frisbee shoots into the shower area, bounces off a wall, and hits me in the back.

I let out a "Owe!" I hear footsteps echoing off the tile. A high school kid on an orientation tour comes running in, appologizing, and explaining that his "idiot" friend grabbed his Frisbee and threw it in the general direction. They "didn't mean to hit me."

I was standing there, naked, with suds in my hair. In good humor, I handed him back the Frisbee. "It's alright," I said. "No harm done."

He took the Frisbee, trying to keep from laughing, and said, "Thank you, sir."

I didn't like this kid. He called me sir.

I finished my shower.

I walked out of the shower room, towel around my waist, towards the lockers. I was looking down at my feet and when I looked up to see where I was going, I was struck in the forehead by as fast moving blue plastic disk.

It hurt. There was a red mark above my eye for the next few hours.

The two pubescents were standing there, clutching their stomachs, suppressing laughter and apologizing all at once. The one I had talk to minutes before was shaking his head, as if wanting to say something, but afraid he would laugh out loud. He walks forward, arm reached out as if expecting that I would again place this weapon in his hands.

I would not.

I waved the blue disk in front of his face and said, "I'm keeping this."

He started in protest.

"Thanks for the Frisbee."

I walked back to my locker. I was lucky they didn't try to gang up on me. They were not happy. I felt their stares followed me, but they did not. Besides the locker room growing quieter (because we were the only three present), there was no reaction. I walked to my locker, opened it, and put my booty in my backpack.

I got dressed as usual, packed my things, and made my exit. Five feet from the door, I heard a whizzing in the air, a sound that was not natural. Reflexes at their best, I shot around, my hand somehow lifted with perfect accuracy to the right position, and without flinching I caught a second Frisbee, this one deliberately aimed at the back of me head.

"I'm keeping this one too!"

I walked out.

That would be a way cooler story if it were accurate. I made up the last part, but I thought it would be a nice touch. Plus, it also helps to explain why I have two Phillips Frisbees, and not the one I confiscated from the teens.

Where did that second Frisbee come from anyway?










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The Sponge. A Contraceptive Review

I remember a Seinfeld episode, where Elaine is distraught over the discontinuance of her contraceptive of choice: the sponge. A few months ago, I heard on the radio that the sponge is making a comeback. I saw my wife's eyebrows rise, sitting in the passenger's seat. She seemed pleased my this. I remember her saying once that the sponge was great, but a bitch to remove after the fact.
Hmm. I've never used the sponge. It was sort of... before my time. But if my math is right, the sponge means no more condoms for me. I like the way that sounds...
So I went shopping.
The sponge was expensive: $16.99. I don't know how many sponges are in that box, but I've lived in New York and I hear $16.99 buys a lot of sexual satisfaction in Spanish Harlem. I'm married. I shouldn't have to pay that much for sex.

I'm an industrious guy. Someday, I might even get a PhD. Maybe.

I though, "It's just a sponge. I can make one of those way cheaper."
So, I got to work.

(Here's a picture of me with my sponge and sea monkey village. If you like sea monkeys, see my blog on How To Make a Bowl Full of Friends For Under $10)

It's important to understand the fundamentals of this brand of contraceptive before attempting a project like this. By careful research (i.e. Seinfeld), I've reasoned that the sponge works by a physical and chemical barrier, preventing sperm from reaching their destination: the egg. All I had to do was saturate the sponge fibers with the spermicide and rub it in.



Now, there is still the issue of why the sponge was taken off the shelves all those years ago. It frequently got stuck in the woman. It's back on the market because they found a solution. Look at the picture of the sponge at the top of this page. If you look carefully, you'll see a band that is used to grab onto the sponge and pull it out. So, I added a little innovation of my own.


I rushed to my wife. I was thrilled with myself for my inventiveness, frugal instincts, and the fact that I came up with a full proof excuse to have sex for which she could not possibly deny me.

I was wrong.

She had a headache, and was not very excited over my creation. Quite the opposite. She seemed a bit disturbed.

It turns out that we wont be trying my sponge. All of a sudden my wife is unusually attached to the condoms.