I wasn’t always perfect!! It’s true. Hard to admit or even fathom but this body took some work to achieve. Of course, this is all tongue in cheek….well part of it. In fact, just like most people there are times when I have a blemish or two. Yeah, it’s sad to say that at the age of thirty I haven’t quite gotten rid of my pubescent skin. It isn’t like I have zits all the time but every now and then one bundle of joy pops up and needs to be dealt with. I really don’t know what it is about the women in my life that seem to try to pick at the slight imperfection on this chiseled mass of twisted steel and sex appeal but if there is any hint of oil and dirt in a pore on this body my lady makes sure I know about it.

It isn’t like she walks by me and says, “Nice zit Jerk Face!” It isn’t anything like that, although she does call me Jerk more than by my first name of Stallion. It’s more like when I take a shower and she comes in to watch the droplets of water curve down my body, she grabs me and just when I think I’m going to get some serious hotdog to donut action, she shifts me towards the light and starts squeezing the living shit out of me. If I attempt to move or get away, she calls me every vagina name in the book. It isn’t good for my ego to squirm like a girl so I stand there, squint, curse, and wait for her to say, “Got it!” This usually is followed by an obscenity laced sentence that would make Andrew Dice Clay blush, followed by me running to my room to get a shirt on. This isn’t just my lady…I guess fiancé, news on that at another date, but I’ve had past relationships where the girls seem to get off seeing things shoot out of my body (other than my anaconda) and putting me through intense pain.

I guess this is it. I’m getting married and just like marriage, I will be squeezed through pain for the rest of my life. Maybe by the age of 40, I won’t have clogged pores. I probably won’t have a physique worthy of a Greek God either. That’s why people get divorced at 40, no physique and no zits. Shit.

I have been having this recurring dream that I’m being bit by a snake. Last night I fought a snake that could twist and jump around the room and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get a stick over its head to cut its head off. I fought this snake for hours in a very dark room, with dark shudders and terrible fluorescent light.

The snake bit me in three places, the hand, shoulder and foot. I think it was a venomous snake but after giving up and leaving, I guess for the hospital, I realized the pain wasn’t that bad and that I was going to live. I seem to have these dreams a lot where no matter how hard I try I can’t kill or hurt what is attacking me.

I have had another recurring dream where I have to fight off a man but no matter how hard I try I couldn't bring myself to beat his brains in. I associate this and the snake together and for some reason I can’t bring myself to end its life.

I found an article written by Gillian Holloway, Ph.D. She states that being bitten by a snake as meaning different things. She says, "In many dreams a single snake will come to bite you, and you may in fact be bitten after a brief struggle. To your amazement though, you will not die, and may find that the situation is not as bad as you thought."

According to Holloway you have this kind of dream if you are struggling with some problem, relationship or challenge. "Such a snake-ordeal is an important signal that you are going through a kind of initiation; a psychological and spiritual trial that has the potential to change your life for the better if you deal with it bravely and with a clear heart. You may have to give up something you thought you couldn't, or take a stand for your principles or faith."

I take this as meaning a couple of things…either that spitting cobra on Man vs. Wild really got to my inner subconscious or as most of you know by now, I’m engaged. HOLY SHIT!! MARK SANDER IS ENGAGED!!!??? I’m happy I’m engaged though, but I do know relationships are a challenge. I’m not stupid enough to think that we’ll always get along and not fight with each other every now and again. Relationships are sticking through the tough times and meshing them with the good times so one day you can look back together and say, “WE ROCK! LET’S GO BANG WRINKLES!”

On a brighter note, I had a dream one time that I had my head between Jenny McCarthy’s legs and I woke up with a whole bottle of Elmer’s glue in my underwear. BOOM! Where the hell did those dreams go?

So yeah, I turn 30 years of age tomorrow. Sorta sucks but oh well it could be worse...I could like boys. Anyway, after watching and reading about this Volkswagon commercial I've found my new calling in life. I'm going to live my life like the great Jeffery Lebowski. I've always loved The Big Lebowski. It is in a direct tie with Pulp Fiction on my greatest films of all time. I can't exactly live my life like Vincent Vega going around shooting kids heads off, shooting up Heroin and trying to shoot my load in Marcellus Wallace's wife. I think my life might be cut short that way. But the Jeffrey Lebowski way could mean living a full stress free lifestyle. His way of living with no worries and drinking White Russians sounds like a great way to spend the next 30 years. So if you see my out and about wearing a robe, drinking White Russians and telling stories about when I was with the Seattle Seven, think nothing of it. I'm just practicing my new religion of "Dudeism".

This was written a few years ago...so mom...spare me. Also, I blame this on Oster. Everyone who knows Oster knows he can't handle his liquor and besides he didn't have a car. This was his 1st night back from his 1st tour of Iraq so who can blame us for a little impaired judgement. It was his fault I got pulled over but it was his work in the military that got me out of it too. Without further ado, my last run in with the coppers!



"Walk nine paces turn around and walk nine paces back. Heel to toe." This was my last and final sobriety test.

It all started with a weekend visit from Oster in which he came for a two week Vay-K from Iraq. The night started with a few drinks and a trip to a local Pub which knows Oster and I well. After playing some pool and shuffleboard and talking about poon and laughing about the 400 lb gorilla that left the biggest shit splatter in the restroom we were on our way to a fun evening. Oster proceeds to explain to us his next tattoo of a Scorpion and the meaning behind it. It goes as so…..

One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.

The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn't see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.

Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.

"Hellooo Mr. Frog!" called the scorpion across the water, "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?"

"Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you won't try to kill me?" asked the frog hesitantly.

"Because," the scorpion replied, "If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!"

Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. "What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!"

"This is true," agreed the scorpion, "But then I wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the river!"

"Alright then...how do I know you won't just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?" said the frog.

"Ahh...," crooned the scorpion, "Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!"

So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.

Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.

"You fool!" croaked the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?"

The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drowning frog's back.

"It's my Nature", said the Scorpion..."I could not help myself. I am what I am."

Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.

Proceed to 4 cranberry and vodkas, a couple rounds of Jagerbombs, shot of Ice 101, beer, blah blah blah later. Oster gets the idea of fully stocking the fridge full of beer and needs me to stop at a gas station before the bars close. I proceed to the gas station and put it in park and as luck would have its way with me I look in the rear view mirror and low and behold flashing lights. Quick....I grab every mint in my pocket....because everybody knows I carry an assortment of mints and gum on me especially when I'm drinking, and shove them in my mouth. I've seen the MythBusters about there isn't anything that can cover up a breathalyzer but fuck, what would anybody else do? The officer goes through his song and dance and asks for the usual License and Insurance and explains that I was being stopped because I was going 35 in a 25. At that moment, I couldn't help but think of those alcohol commercials where the obvious drunk guy rolls down the window and booze pours out.

He asks me to step out of the car and he proceeds to tell me his other song and dance that my eyes are little blood shot and a 'hint' of alcohol from my breath....which I know is bullshit. My breath smells like a Wintergreen Giant dropped a load in my mouth. He asks me to step out of the truck and perform a sobriety test. You know when you were younger and you would practice these tests when you were drunk? Well back then the whole thought of losing your career or paying 2000 dollars doesn't really have that sharp of edge as it does now and the fact is, this time its for real. I was completely honest with the officer and told him how Oster just came back from Iraq today and he couldn't drive so I was forced too. "He had a gun to my head officer. I swear! I didn't want to drive!" Should of said it..but didn't. I don't know if my preamble was helping or hurting but here comes the eye exam. At that moment with a flashlight in your eyes you start to say a little prayer to yourself like GOD if you're really there I need some serious fucking help now. "Follow it all the way out." he said. He told me that a couple of times like I'm a fucking Iguana and my eyes can go out that far. I swear he was going behind my head. Alright, I think I did pretty good on that one. Now on to stage two, stand on one foot with your hands down and count...one one thousand...two one thousand until he tells me to stop. I got all the way to one 26th one thousand before he told me to stop. I was thinking I did a fairly descent on that one too. Final test, heel to toe nine paces and turn around and comeback. Did it and I was money. Thank God. He comes to me and asks would I submit to a breathalyzer. I swear I wanted to point to my cock and say I'll give you a breathalyzer......right here, but this was serious so I didn't. When a cop asks if you want to take a breathalyzer you know the first thing that pops in your head is, "What if I say no?" Well in this case I can save that line b/c he informed me he wasn't going to give me a ticket for DUI! He said I was borderline but I passed. Right then the weight of 2000 George Washington's lifts from you and a smile comes over your face and you say yeah I'll blow...you know, I have to see what I was. So the magic number comes back a .146! Almost twice the limit. I'm not bragging or complaining but I think I composed myself pretty well.

He tells me to get in the vehicle and comes back and writes me a ticket for speeding. He proceeds to tell me that his younger brother just got back from Iraq and he was out doing the same thing a couple of weeks ago. So in true Maryville fashion…Oster goes into the convenient store and comes out of the convenient store with two arm loads of liquor and we walk the two blocks to my house. Nothing is funnier after the fact as walking down the street with arms full of booze after almost getting a DUI! I know it sounds terrible but sometimes the best thing to do is laugh…and get more drunk. That cop had to be thinking…"What an asshole!"

So yesterday, I was thinking about Oster's little fable that he is contemplating tattooing on himself. I thought about how that officer couldn't possibly be a scorpion could he? I know living in Maryville for the better part of a decade that officers, usually take it to the uttermost extreme and think their cock grows when they have the chance to fuck a person over.

On the other hand, it's sometimes hard to fathom that maybe the fable is true. I have had past relationships, whether it be past girlfriends or friends, that you thought you knew a person but in the end they were the scorpion after all. In the end, their true colors came out. The problem with the whole scorpion and the frog story is it didn't take anytime for the frog to get fucked over. In life, it usually takes some invested time in being with a person to truly get hurt. The bad part is if they do jam that stinger in your back it hurts that much more and takes that much longer to get over. Now I'm not trying to say that scorpion wounds can't heal, but I do think it takes some time for the 'sting' to fade away and hopefully by that time you both haven't drowned.

Moral of story: In life it might suck to get fucked over but it's a lot better than getting your ass pummeled in a jail cell by a guy named Richard Cheese!

I, like most men, hate peeing in the toilet. I really don’t like anything about it and think it takes away from man’s ability to mark his territory. First off, like most men in the mornings, I’m rocking a chubby and have to disgrace myself by sitting on the toilet. It beats doing a hand stand. Secondly, I have to take proper aim every single time. There isn’t a honing device on my wang. I have minimal control of where it’s going to shoot. Most of the time, it’s right on but every once in a while my cock likes to play games and shoots off at a 45 degree angle soiling the rug, toilet paper holder, toothbrush, etc.

You might ask, “Where the hell are you going with this?” Well to curb my aiming problem I like to take “Ol’ One Eye” outside on the deck and let it fly. Well you would think this was a quick fix but actually just led to another problem. Apparently my piss is at least one part Round Up. I was always under the impression that pee helped plants grow! Well after picking weeds in the garden this past week, I’ve found that my excrement is some sort of burn everything in its path General Sherman mega piss.

This is a healthy Purple Coneflower.

This is a Purple Coneflower killed by my devil piss.

Apparently the ammonia, salt and mass loads of creatine in my pee destroys plants and subsequently leaves behind a smell of…..well piss. Lesson learned, I guess. Now I’ll just go back to what the masses are doing and use the damn toilet again.That's, of course, you hire my services to come over and piss in places you want to kill some weeds. In that case, It'll be twenty bucks an hour and all the beer I can drink!

As many of you know, Chipotle for me is sometimes the only reason I wake up on Saturdays. My body is now trained to salivate and crave Chipotle after a hangover. So I did a little research and decided to find out how much I'm putting into my belly. After tallying up my weekly ritual it's roughly calculated to 765 calories, 325 calories from fat and on top of those 36 grams of fat. Awesome! How in the world could a person not love a 20 oz burrito? In order for me to burn this off I would have to have sex (intercourse) for approximately 2 hrs or have sex (foreplay) for 332 minutes or 6 hrs and 32 minutes. That is a calloused tongue waiting to happen! Another alternative is lifting weights for approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes. For me, I personally enjoy doing all of them so I figured it out. On a Saturday, to burn off my fatty wrapped burrito I will embark on trying to have sex (not with myself...although that might be the only choice) for 1 hr., foreplay for 1 hr. and lift weights for 1 hr. All of those activities combined are equivalent to burning 832 calories. 832 calories minus 765 calories = 67 calories burned! Whoohooo. Perfect...I think I can get used to that diet. I will call it the Slender Sander Diet and write a book, make millions and do infomercials explaining how I made millions. Unfortunately, I have about as much chance of having sex for an hour as I do winning the fucking Powerball. My woman sure is lucky!

If you love the Chiefs...guilty. If you love The Office...guilty. Although not as much as my sister, she is incredibly gay when it comes to The Office. To tell you the truth, The Office has ran its course and really sucks. In fact, I would venture to say that I would rather watch that overly gay show True Blood. Talk about getting sucked "literally" into another stupid fucking vampire show. I'm guilty of watching it only because there are usually naked woman in it and they are usually having orgies. Anyway, I digress. If you like the Chiefs and The Office then this video is for you. Enjoy yo' self!