Wednesday, April 30, 2014

My Virtual Social Existence.........Plenty of WTF...


 
I took a stab at online dating – it was not pretty.  My options for meeting someone are fairly limited – I work for a really small company (no interesting candidates there) and I volunteer with an agency that is 98% women, unless I’m considering making a major lifestyle change.........I don’t do the bar scene or casinos……come to think of it, this is beginning to sound a little pathetic. 

So, I took the plunge into online dating, what's the worst that can happen?  I'm sure most of the online sites are the same so I won't point any fingers....but there may have been some 'fishing' involved.

1st nibble:  Message from a guy who is looking for a fun, fit, classy lady.  Has he actually read my profile?  I tried to discourage him politely, I'm new at this.  I responded: "Thanks for your interest but, having read your profile, I'm not sure we are on the same page, good luck in your search”.
His response - he thinks I should spend a day on his boat.  Let’s review the clues -  I don’t know him, we’ve never spoken, never met but he wants me to spend the day on his boat.  I’m not sure about my swimming skills but I’m thinking being a captive audience on a boat with a stranger is not in my best interests.  Call me skittish.
So, I took it up a notch:  You are looking for a fun, fit, classy lady - allow me to clarify.  I can have fun doing just about anything and stuff others would not find nearly so amusing.  I am physically active and working on the fit part, but I am not there yet (a 'work in progress' at best).  As for classy – the voices of everyone I have ever known are laughing in the back of my head.  It’s not the first word that comes to mind when describing myself (it’s not the second or third either).  I can pull off classy only under duress and for really, really short periods of time but it’s not a regular feature and it will come unraveled without warning.
Incredibly, he still thinks we should do coffee. Against my better judgement, I decide to make this a practise meet - dip my toe in the water.  He knows only my first name, does not know where I live and we are going to meet there …..safe enough.  Public place, I’ve got my car.  No pressure 'cause I'm predicting this will fall flat.  There is a line in my profile that reads "I am not impressed by shiny cars, boats, motorcycles, etc.”  Buddy spends an hour and a half talking about his boat.  This is not my soul mate.  His interests include fiddle head greens and trout.  I kid you not.  Next.

2nd nibble:  Long haired, hippy character from the Beaches in downtown Toronto.  We message back and forth for several days.  He is intelligent with a quiet sense of humor, well read.  Describes himself as a better listener than a talker (remember this; it’s going to be important in a minute).  We spoke on the phone a couple of times, decide to meet at a park on Lake Ontario and go hiking the trails for the afternoon.  Maybe, in person, he will be a little more talkative.  We hiked for 3 and a half hours over every single inch of trails in the area with a grand total of maybe, maybe 15 minutes of conversation.  That's a generous estimate and it wasn't all in a row.  I, because I know me, made a point of not filling all the silences; I don’t want to be single handedly responsible for all the conversation.   After one particularly long stretch of silence, I turned to him and said "Are you always this talkative?"  He smiled shyly and said "Ya, I get that a lot, want I should shut up and let you get a word in?".  I e-mailed him back the next day and told him I thought he was sweet but that my life would swallow him whole. 

3rd nibble:  Earl from Orangeville – way too involved with his cat.

4th nibble:  George – Newfie#1 – some blinky issue that, I’m sorry, but really distracting and his answer to everything was “well … there you go” – a little shy of stimulating conversation.  George, there you go.....just go......seriously go.  Next.

5th nibble: 53 yr old Newfie #2 spewing psychological, metaphysical, quantum physics, parapsychological, spiritual "stuff", quite convinced that if he could just get a few minutes with the Dalai Lama, he could make his argument that somehow he personally holds the key to the universe and would be more than willing to release these truths and the photographic evidence contained in a picture of his dearly departed quadriplegic friend thereof to the Dalai himself, lives temporarily with his sister, has just discovered that the insurance was cancelled on his pick up and his current dilemma is when to quit working and head for NFLD to stay with his mother (have I mentioned 53??) and time that with the interruption in his income while the annual EI kicks in.  Conversation will revolve around topics such as synchronicity, numerology, duality and his intertwined opinions on matters that will make absolutely no fkg sense whatsoever.

Seriously.  I shit you not.  Nuttier than a fruit cake stuffed full of squirrel poo.

He asked me what the chances were of seeing me again.......uuummm.  I bolted (I'm not proud of that....well, maybe a little).  I rushed home and sent him a quick note explaining that while I found him interesting (okay, that's a stretch), he's a man clearly on a mission which I would never share with him.  The faster he gets back to the mother ship, the better.  


Of course, those are just the ones I’ve met.  There have been a few other characters along the way who didn’t make it past an IM or two.  There has been a recurring theme of height – most of the exchanges have been with tall men (insert your own vertically challenged joke here since 5’3” qualifies as taller than me, but seriously, 6’+).  I was going to post a picture of myself beside an amusement park sign that read “you must be this tall for this ride”.  One character emailed me a few times, we IM’d a couple of times, 6’4” tradesman.  He asks for my cell#, I’m thinking that’s reasonably safe.  2 min later, he sends a picture to my cell while we are msn’ing with webcam.  Imagine my surprise …. a very erect penis.  How na├»ve am I?  Never saw it coming.  Wait, just reread that.  Technically, he did ask if I'd like to watch him self amuse to the inevitable climax.  Geez thanks.....I appreciate the offer but count me out.  Hey, wait a minute, that's what you've been working on while we were IM'ng.......explains the slow response.....one handed typing slows a man down.  Impressive, I’ll give him that but there had been no conversation around nude pics.  He asked for a pussy pic in return.  The next day he got one - a spread eagle pussy shot.  Apparently, that was not was he was looking for …… who knew?  The cat had posed perfectly - laid back, legs spread.  He was fishing for a shaved pussy shot but I’m reasonably sure that Tigger was not up for that without some serious blood shed (mine).  I will give him credit for a massive penis, in fact it was a little terrifying – settled the age old question about proportionality.  Opted not to meet him.  Next.
     



 World's Best Ever Spread Eagle Pussy Shot - thanks Tigger!!

One of the guys who contacted me was a nudist …..gotta check my profile, what made him think we’d be compatible.  I was bored, so we chatted online for a few min, he asks if we can go on web cam (note to self: how bored do you have to be to let this happen?).  Told him I was not going to turn on my webcam, he opted to turn his on.  You see where I am going with this??  He had mentioned he was a nudist, so maybe a shot of him sitting at his desk sans shirt.  Nope, camera comes up and he’s standing there stark naked – full frontal, then does a full 360 and asks me what I think.  I think he’s nuts, seriously, certifiably nuts.  I'm not a prude, but a little warning would have gone a long way to prevent that little incident.  Next.

At this point, I've spent enough time perusing dating profiles that I've decided to offer my "expert" opinion on self marketing in the world of online dating.  First stop - the picture.  What not to do: 


Nice fish, we get it, you like to fish.  That being said, women don't give a rat's ass about your fish.  Fishing is what you do with your buddies, fishing is what you do in lieu of a relationship, fishing is a guys weekend.  If you are marketing yourself to women in a visual medium, you might want to rethink your profile picture.  (Would have liked to arrange these pictures nicely but you don't want to know how long it took to accomplish this random arrangement).  Note to dude in the red shirt - the error is compounded by posing with a fish and a woman.....I don't care if she's your friend, your sister, your neighbor (ex wife or girlfriend)....no women in your profile picture, we don't like it.

If your profile picture includes something you've killed, we don't like that either.  Look at me, speaking for the entire female gender - I've taken an informal poll and we concur, no carcasses.  You think I'm kidding......







I know it can be challenging to take a decent "selfie", I get it.  If you can't manage with a camera, web cam or phone - you must have one friend who can assist.  I know this because a friend's profile pics were crap and I helped him (the new girlfriend is a bit of a bitch but I'm not responsible for that, I just polished up the bait.....catch and release my friend, catch and release).  And if, by some chance you manage a suitable picture, would it be asking too much for you to rotate it......





Fully aware of the irony of me criticizing anyone for pics they are posting while I can't figure out how to tidy this up.....but this is my blog, not a dating profile, deal with it.

     I'll wrap this up with some random wtf......

   You, sir, have a mullet.  That is never, never good form.


Excuse me, what's the nature of your relationship with your dog?  Just asking....

A shoe.  Just a shoe.  Maybe it's a fetish thing....

You appear to have underwear on your head.  Frilly pink underwear that may or may not be yours.....not judging, not even curious.

For the record - if you refer to yourself as "witty and cleaver", you're not......same goes for "intelagent".  If your profile includes the line "looking for a woman who can be sane, rational and logical - at least most days of the month"....we took a poll on that one too and you are never getting laid again.



If you have ever taken a foray into the world of online dating, you know what I mean.  If you haven't, consider yourself warned.  I'm told the women are as bad as the men - yay for gender equality.  Good luck to anyone who's navigating the world of online dating, let me know how it turns out (and always, always be prepared with a good pussy picture).

~~~~the nasty wench~~~~


PS - this just in....





   


Sunday, April 13, 2014

Ode To a Walmart Greeter





All due respect to Wal Mart Greeters around the world but if you ever walk into a Wal Mart and I’m there greeting you, take me out to the parking lot and back over me.  Assume that I’m being held hostage and I’m being made to sing that freaking Wal Mart rah rah cheer song in the morning.  I thought that was a rumor when I first heard about it but I got into a Wal Mart early one morning and they actually make their staff sing that asinine song.  I cannot believe that it does not breach some human rights legislation. 

Greeters don’t actually greet customers any more…….it’s their entire job description -  it’s right in the title, it’s their only task – greet the customers.  They might notice you, they might glance in your direction but rarely do they actually acknowledge you.  If you are bringing in a returned item, they are apparently obliged to tag the bag and instruct you to go directly to customer service.  That’s it – a really short list of responsibilities.  I guess Wal Mart “I might notice if you come in the store” person doesn’t carry the same cachet as Wal Mart Greeter so it’s just easier to refer to them as greeters.  I was in Wal Mart yesterday trying to free one of the shopping carts from the herd that was apparently welded together within about 4 feet of a handy dandy Wal Mart Greeter.  As I struggled and the greeter watched, I was thinking wouldn’t it be handy if you were a Wal Mart Cart Separator ….but that probably requires training and skills you just don’t have so you just sit there while I pry these apart.  And…….. she did.  In her defence, I guess someone has to carefully guard that pocket full of return stickers for people who bought the wrong crap and need to return it for other crap. 

One of the saddest things I think I’ve ever seen was a severely handicapped Wal Mart Greeter - a young man curled up in the fetal position in his wheelchair and parked near the door.  Now, before you get all offended about this particular observation, I am all for people with serious physical challenges making their contribution to society.  But there was something inherently wrong with slapping a vest on this individual, rolling him over and parking him near the door first thing in the morning and then retrieving him at the end of the day.  If I have a return, am I supposed to reach into his pocket for a sticker?  I just want to be clear on this; I don’t want to be explaining this particular maneuver to management…..think maybe I’ll just keep the crap I bought and avoid a fiasco.  I worried about him, what happens if they forget him there – he can’t roll away, he can’t call for help.  I hope someone’s checklist of responsibilities includes retrieving the Greeter or he’s screwed. 

In the grand scheme of things, I’m adding “if you ever find me greeting customers at Wal Mart” to the list of things for which I want to be euthanized.  It’s probably going to require something more legally substantial than a blog post to make this happen, but this is a start.

There are 4 more situations on the list so far:

If I utter the phrase “let’s go to bingo”.
Sitting on a bench in the mall discussing bowel movements.
If I start drawing my eyebrows on with a thick black marker a good half inch above their natural location.
Talking incessantly about cats. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love cats but I sat down at a meeting the other night and a board member seated beside me who I’d never met before rambled on about her cats for a good half hour.  This is an educated, professional woman …….a lawyer if I’m not mistaken …………..and on an evening out, the best she can come up with for conversation is an intensely detailed account of her cats that included impersonations and psychoanalytical play by plays.  Behind closed doors you are welcome to enjoy whatever relationship with your cats the law allows ……….but leave it at home - no one will ever love, appreciate or understand your cats the way you do and that’s just the way the world works.

But, I digress……..where was I? Ah, yes………Wal Mart Greeter…….I think my work here is done.


~~~ the nasty wench~~~

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Coffee Enemas.......how do you take your coffee?


Coffee Enemas.........how do you take your coffee?


(for the record, orally...........I take mine orally)


Coffee enema……this is a thing??  Color me surprised.  My son was watching an episode of My Strange Addiction and shares this little gem with me.  Not only is a coffee enema a thing, it’s a thing that can become addictive.  Oh, do tell.

Gotta google that one, where else would one find a wealth of information on strange shit that people do?  Sure enough, I get as far as “coffee e” and google knows exactly that I’m looking for – quite frankly, that’s a little disturbing.  (note to self:  remember to eradicate the browsing history on the computer when I’m done or no one is ever going to offer me a coffee again without giggling).

The first website gets directly to the question at hand - “Why in the world would someone take coffee in an enema?”  Or as the voices in my head are demanding – WTF??  Among a long list of the benefits of said method of consuming caffeine, it claims to “Help with depression, confusion and general nervous tension”.  Ummmm……..I’m not sure at what point in a depressive episode it would occur to someone to fire up a coffee enema.  As for confusion, the concept of a coffee enema confuses the crap out of me and nervous tension………I’d be some nervous about lubing up my rectum for my morning cup of joe.

It goes on to list increased mental clarity, improved energy levels, increased joy and happiness and reduction in anger amongst the virtues of the practise.  Hey, guess what……….it has the exact same effect if you consume it orally and it’s pretty tasty, too. 
It refers to the procedure as “somewhat inconvenient”……..ya think……enema bag vs coffee mug, you do the math on that one.  Better yet “able to be done in the privacy of your home”.  Okay, I’m on board with that particular piece of advice; in fact, I highly recommend you consume your coffee anally in the privacy of your own home.  Of all the things that will get you banned from your neighborhood coffee shop, I’m willing to bet a coffee enema would do it every single time. 

The list of apparatus required includes an enema bag or bucket.....I had no idea there was such a thing as an enema bucket - that sounds like a lot of coffee (perhaps I've led a sheltered life).  While most practitioners recommend inserting a lubed up enema tip in the rectum, for a more thorough procedure it is suggested to first insert a 30” colon tube and then attach the enema tip.  Ummm………as if the whole procedure is not weirdly invasive enough ………..yikes. 

I’m still pretty confused about this practise, sounds like a drunken party dare to me.  The therapeutic recommendations for this procedure are that it be “repeated at least daily and up to three times daily for at least several years”.  The doctor who pioneered the use of coffee enemas for cancer patients insisted on a schedule of 6 times a day, every 4 hours, for at least 2 years.  Who the hell has got that kind of time?  Six times a day, every 4 hours?  If you hate being woken in the middle of the night in the hospital by a nurse checking your vitals, you are really not going to like this particular sleep disruption.

There are historical references to the practise of enemas, dating back to biblical times in the Dead Sea Scrolls…….according to whose translation?   Enemas as one of the healing miracles of Jesus……seriously?  Something about seeking a large trailing gourd having a stalk the length of a man……suffering the end of the stalk to enter your hinder parts……nope.  Not even if Jesus thinks it’s a good idea.  Jamming a gourd stalk the length of a man up my butt is far more suffering than I’d be willing to consider.  It does go on to say that, to the best of the author’s knowledge, Jesus did not recommend adding coffee to the cleansing water.  Thanks for the clarification.  Praise be. 
For all the miraculous claims of the proponents of the coffee enema, I can’t help but wonder under what circumstances the first coffee enema happened.  One account claims that a nurse in WWI accidentally dumped coffee in an enema bag for a soldier who was constipated as a result of anesthesia drugs and he reported being in less pain……thus, the coffee enema was born.  Guessing it was a pot of cold coffee….I’ve had a scorched tongue from hot coffee, thinking a coffee scorched rectum would be considerably worse.

There’s been some research done with mice……that must be a shock to the poor little mouse.  Of all the unnatural circumstances these rodents are exposed to in the name of science, this would be pretty bizarre (and where do you get a mouse size enema kit?).  As for the research done on human subjects, I wonder how that project was presented.  I’ve gone to university and was required, as part of my psychology credits, to partake in some research projects.  I hope anyone opting to show up for this particular gem read the fine print ahead of time….if they signed up for the opportunity to participate in research examining the effects of caffeine consumption….the method of intake would have come as an unpleasant surprise. 

There are some helpful suggestions like – do not get up and walk around while holding the enema in your bowels………no shit Sherlock.  Use plenty of petroleum jelly (or shaving cream?) to lubricate the enema tip….check.  A darker roast is somewhat more difficult to retain than a light roast…..I don’t even want to know why.  Using a little blackstrap molasses in the enema to help retain it, adding crushed garlic as a chemical mechanism to help dislodge yeast organisms…..this all adds up to the world’s worse smoothie…..no wonder you’d have to shove it up your ass, you sure as hell couldn’t stomach drinking it.  Coffee, black strap molasses and crushed garlic…..mmmmmm.

It goes on about the benefits of hydration and describes most people as quite dehydrated today.  Not to be repetitive but I cannot stress this enough…..water and coffee consumed orally have the same effect…….providing hydration and increasing mental alertness…with the added benefit of being a much simpler and more pleasing way to consume both. 

I know some coffee places offer discounts and customer loyalty rewards for bringing in your own cup to fill up in the interest of reducing the use of disposable cups.  Pretty sure the helpful little barista at the local coffee shop is going to be more than a little horrified if a customer offers up his or her enema bag/bucket for a refill.  I doubt they have a button on the till for that option and I guarantee you they don't pay her enough to touch enema paraphernalia. 

In research for this blog post, I’ve come across references to urine enemas, absinthe enemas, yogurt enemas……apparently there’s no limit to the list of things someone, somewhere has opted to intake anally. 
I’m fairly adventurous and usually quite open to new experiences but it has to be said……not once, when asked how I take my coffee, have I ever answered “up my ass………please”.  For the record, I take my coffee with milk…….in a mug………… always, always, always in a mug……….orally…….always orally.  If I’m going to jazz up my coffee experience, I’ll throw in some Bailey’s or Kahlua.  


~~~~~  the nasty wench ~~~~~

 




Sunday, January 27, 2013

Hooligan Penguin Sex


                          ********Spoiler Alert*******
if you love penguins, turn back now before it's too late................

I loooooooove penguins.  What’s not to love?  There is something uniquely charming about these wondrous, waddling creatures - whether it’s the reality of March of the Penguins or the animated world of Happy Feet.  I used to have a poster up in my office of a dishevelled penguin with the notation “Fuck it, I’m going home”.  Even he had his charms (my boss did not share that opinion). 

However, I’ve come across some penguin information that is nothing short of devastating.  Research notes for a 1915 publication by Dr. George Levick have been discovered in the London Natural History Museum, including notations that describe my lovable penguins as depraved hooligans.  Say it isn’t so, George! 

He goes on to describe thousands of “hooligan” male penguins copulating with each other or dead females, gang-raping injured females and molesting young chicks.  What the fk Happy Feet??  Traumatized by his observations, the good doctor stamped his notes on the sexual habits of the penguins as “Not for publication” and cut them from his final book.  It was after all 1915, the public was not ready for these revelations. 

In a short and frenzied breeding season that lasts only days, frantic single males mate with anything that looks vaguely like a female assuming the position – be it a dead penguin or a rock . Yes, sometimes even a rock becomes the recipient of some loving.  Apparently the sex of the target – dead or alive (cue Bon Jovi) - is a bit of a crap shoot, male and female penguins are hard to tell apart, even for penguins.  It’s not like the males are in the traditional tux and tails and the females in formal gowns, maybe I’ll give them a pass on that one, who am I to judge?

As for the whole necrophilia thing – given their environment, the bodies of deceased penguins are preserved in good condition, several years passing before they lose their “fresh appearance”.  The assumption is that they are not attracted to the dead but rather the position.  “A dead penguin lying with its eyes half open is very similar in appearance to a compliant female”.  Nothing like that come hither frozen death stare.  The bar is set pretty low for this amorous pursuit.  There’s clearly not a lot of sexual response expected from the female of the species, her participation would be the same if she was living or several years deceased.  Not bad enough to die and have your corpse lay on the frozen landscape for years, your carcass is then at the mercy of a bunch of sex crazed males humping everything in sight in perpetuity.  Men of the world, pay attention, for all your complaining about partners who aren’t very responsive in bed, it could be worse, you could be a penguin.  If your partner has a pulse, advantage you.  If she’s conscious, bonus.  Maybe penguins were the inspiration for the term “dead fuck”.    

As for the chicks, the males are given the benefit of the doubt on this one – they may simply be collateral damage in the sexual frenzy.  Maybe that’s easier than adding pedophile to their list of deviant behaviors.  In their blind lust to fornicate the crap out of everything in sight, molesting the chicks is merely a faux pas.  What a bunch of assholes. 

This information lay dormant in the museum archives for a century, Dr. Levick having opted to protect Edwardian British society at the time from penguin depravity.  My penguin illusions have been shattered.  I can’t unring this bell.  Visions of Happy Feet now tainted with the imagery of packs of marauding testosterone driven male penguins, blinded by the drive to mate, mounting all things mountable.  I’m crushed.  Hey, Morgan Freeman, narrate the creep factor out of this penguin story line.   

Maybe what happens in the Antarctic should stay in the Antarctic. 
 


                                                            ~ the nasty wench ~
 

Sunday, June 10, 2012

The Great Ben Wa Extraction Dilemma


Now that I have your attention, let me tell you about my Friday night.  I am an independent woman with many interests and endeavors ………which explains why I am spending my Friday night painting the ceiling in the spare bedroom.  And no, before you ask, I am not using ben wa balls to spice up my Friday night painting experience………..merely setting the scene.  Just when you think that painting a ceiling on a Friday night is about as bad as it can get……..the extension handle snaps on a fully loaded extra thick roller above my head.  I take a direct hit…….hair, ear, face full of paint ......leaving me looking very tribal - prepared for clan warfare or a maybe voodoo ritual. 

Skip ahead past the clean up.

I roll the last of the ceiling and have about 5 seconds to admire my work when I get the following text “have you ever used ben wa balls?”  The award for most unique question I’ve been asked in ages goes to ……… a good friend with an intimate personal dilemma.  She explains that she bought a set of purple ben wa balls, she includes the color 'cause I love purple (let me point out that I am in no way personally invested in the color of her ben wa balls).  But, I digress ……….back to the matter at hand, or perhaps more accurately located in a more personal anatomical location. 

Apparently, she’s lost one.  Explains that the first time she used them, they kept falling out…………too much information………I don’t have a clue how big these things are and I’m thinking kegels girl, kegels (in her shaky defense, these ones are apparently relatively small).  She bought them for a night out and I’m now envisioning her at a bar, dropping purple ben wa balls on the dance floor.  I’m not sure how expensive they are but I can’t imagine any incentive for retrieving them in public.  The dark and twisty side is cobbling together an adult version of Cinderella that Disney wouldn’t touch.  Handsome stranger navigating the bar clutching a purple ben wa ball trying to identify the owner.  Excuse me miss, perchance have you lost something?  This line delivered while cradling a wayward ben wa ball that has rolled across the dance floor in a bar in the palm of his outstretched hand.  Of course, if I follow the comparison to the Prince slipping the glass slipper back on Cinderella’s foot, this is a story the two would not be telling future generations when they ask how Grandma and Grandpa met.

On her second attempt, she’s experiencing a completely different problem ….. she can’t retrieve one of them.  It’s hiding "somewhere".  There's not a whole lot of "somewhere" it could be, I think we can safely skip the call to Quantico, this is not going to require an FBI grid search.  Wants to know what she’s supposed to do and how long it’s safe to leave it in.  Not a clue, my friend, not a clue.  So, I did the only thing I could think of to be helpful ………..I googled it. 

Here are the helpful suggestions:

“There are several ways to remove the balls including: jump up and down, sneeze, cough, sit and bear down as if you’re having a bowel movement, insert lubricant to help them slide out, etc. If you think you might have a hard time removing the balls, then you may want to purchase balls that are strung onto a retrieval cord.”

I pass on this information to her as well as a confession she’s already aware of …..I’m laughing so hard, I’m crying.  I still have paint in my hair and in my ear and I’m sitting at my laptop googling ben wa ball extraction techniques.  The retrieval cord idea is brilliant (I’m seeing children’s mittens on strings) but is more of a preventative idea than a solution to this particular problem.  I suggest jumping jacks and some astroglide.  More laughter, more tears.  I’m not sure how many problems are solved with a combination of jumping jacks and astroglide, but it’s all I got for this one. 

Barring that, I’m hoping that maybe if she just heads to bed for the night, it will just wander out on its’ own.  Of course, if that doesn’t happen, she’s going to be quite a hit in her local emergency ward explaining her situation to the triage nurse.

(Side note – while googling the ben wa issue, I came across a reference to something called Analball Bingo ……seriously, google it - I'm not making this up ...........I have no idea what it is and the picture of the required apparatus didn’t clear up that particular mystery even a little bit …………I don’t know wtf kind of dabber one would use for Analball Bingo but I think it’s better that I never know.  As much as I pride myself on being fairly knowledgeable and open minded, I’m just going to let this one go).

Update:  newsflash, this just in the next morning …………..the solution to the problem was time and gravity.

~ tnw ~