This Guy is the F'ing Balls!

...Just sayin'

The Weekly Wager Starring R Von D: Update

I would like to update you in regards to my first wager through the majesty of Haiku:




Wax did not hurt me.
Duchess enjoyed smooth outcome.
But, hair now ingrown.

The Weekly Wager Starring R Von D: Week 2

First, from Wikipedia:

Water intoxication (also known as hyperhydration or water poisoning) is a potentially fatal disturbance in brain functions that results when the normal balance of electrolytes in the body is pushed outside of safe limits by over-consumption of water.^[1] Normal, healthy (both physically and nutritionally) individuals have little to worry about accidentally consuming too much water. Nearly all deaths related to water intoxication in normal individuals have resulted either from water drinking contests, in which individuals attempt to consume more than 10 liters (2.2 imp gal; 2.6 U.S. gal) of water over the course of just a few minutes, or long bouts of intensive exercise during which electrolytes are not properly replenished, yet massive amounts of fluid are still consumed.

The Challenge:

Drink two gallons of water in two hours.

The Payoff:

$20.00


Now, you'd think this is easy enough right? You'd think this would be a no-brainer for me, right? Well you're wrong, and without giving too much away I will tell you that this is the first challenge in recent memory that did not come to fruition. Yes, ladies and gentleman. I, who at one point, drank entire pint glasses of hot sauce, have eaten a soy sauce and sour skittle sandwich, and have scarfed live sea urchin to impress an ex-girlfriends father, have come undone. What is the arrow that struck the Achilles Heel of R Von D...fucking water.

As we were sitting at home one night, Fussy Joe brings this challenge to me after a night out with Mr. Guy. If he hasn't been mentioned yet in this blog, you should know that about six months ago, on my 27th birthday, I met Mr. Guy. All I can tell you about this person is that he loves betting money and in terms of his psyche, he is clinging to the last essence of what it is to be a human being. Think of that person in high school that convinced you to do stupid shit and made it sound like the coolest thing you've ever done. Now picture that person with a limitless supply of alcohol and smokeless tobacco and there you have Mr. Guy, the man who offered me five thousand dollars to be on the receiving end of a Viagra-infused phallus...dead serious.

Anyway, Joe comes home and tells me of this water concoction that he and Mr. Guy have come up with. The original idea was to have me tape two gallons to my hands until they were gone. But me being the bet enthusiast that I am, I decided that the Edward (Insert Beverage)Hands was cliche. We also didn't have any tape...so me holding them would have to do. I sat down at 10:55pm and had until roughly 1:00am to finish the jugs (that's what she said). I decided that pacing myself was the best option, as prior milk challenges have gone south for me in regards to the alternative.

Skip ahead 45 minutes and my stomach is cramping so badly that I have to stand up and take the first of my many pisses that night. Truth be told, I woke up every hour that night and had to do the "dick dance" all the way to the bathroom as to not pee myself. You know the dick dance right? The one you used to do when you were 3 when you were getting yelled at or just got a new Nintendo cartridge.

(ed. note: I just felt like saying the word cartridge, and have a deep personal feeling that our economy is as bad as it is today because more things aren't offered in cartridge form)

So there I am, stomach cramping, girlfriend glaring at me, and Fussy Joe wearing that ear-to-ear shit-eating grin of his, and I decide to call it a night. Several things were running through my head in that instant, and I will share them with you in order of importance.

1. I drank so much beer and ate so much Chinese food on New Year's Eve the week before that I almost threw up on Duchess Von D. A repeat performance would almost certainly seal my fate into the world where my only means of gratification would be watching late-night Cinemax.

2. I had just consumed a bottle of wine, garlic and spinach pizza, and some carrots and hummus earlier that day, none of which would feel good about seeing again on both physical and psychological levels.

3. I surmised while watching her on my television, that Angelina's Jolie's lips must feel like two fleshy pillows filled with sunshine dust and rainbows. We were watching "Wanted" at the time...good flick.

4. I heard about this lady who died from Water Intoxication (See Above) in a "Hold your Wee for a Wii) contest. Maybe I should stop...

So to sum up, I gave in, and so-the-fuck-what? Twenty bucks wasn't worth the puke nor the the effort of self-gratification to Bikini Carwash 8. I'm too old for that and sadly I wasn't getting a new video game console for my effort. So until next week, this is R Von D reminding you that money makes the world go 'round and I'm broke as shit.


Urinatingly Yours,
Ron Von Don

2009: The Year of Von D

So I quit my job.













There that is. As you may or may not know I left my teaching position to come to Boston (Waltham) in search of money and women. The latter is taken care of, the former is very much not. And so, I have taken another position in the world of personal finance, vowing never again to venture into the world of retail advertising sales. Sure, that sounds really cool, and sure I got some free dinners out of that job, but at the end of the day, everybody in that profession stinks.

I've also gotten fat.

There has been much said in this blog about my height and weight. So much so that it has finally vaulted me into action. No longer will I take heat from my friends as they reminisce about what I used to look like, how I used to be active, and how I used to be able to beat people up. I will contest the third thing until the day I die (probably in a fist fight with a close friend), but you have to wonder about two out of three of those things.

It is also a new year. And since my pathetic planets seem to be in complete alignment, it is now time to act: 2009 is officially the year of Von D. Now what that means for you, dear reader is that you now have a front row seat to the greatest transformation of all time, slightly edging out the first time Optimus Prime was on screen in "Transformers." I have taken the necessary steps to get myself into better positions financially, physically, and emotionally so it's time for me to rock and roll.

I will not share with you my income, for that is rude and dumb, but I will share with you with as much specificity as possible, my weight fluctuation during this entire 90 day endeavor. Why 90 days you ask? Well, because the Duchess was good enough to burn me copies of P90X, and true to it's name, it takes 90 days...retard. I will also be keeping a food log the entire time, so I can tell you what I eat during the week. Overkill? Maybe. Self-indulgent? Definitely. But this is my blog and I do what I want with it. And I'm on a "Weekly Update" kick these days, so just be happy that this thing is still getting updated as The Fridge, K-Rock, Dana Complaina, and the C have much better things to do...so they say.

Starting Weight/Current Weight: 237 lbs
Target Weight: 195 lbs

Now, I would say that 99% of the people who read this know me and think that there is about a snowball's chance in hell that I will complete this task. But think about what has happened in the past couple of months: We have our first black president of the United States, my beloved Bruins are in first place, the 11-5 Patriots did NOT make the playoffs, and the list could go on...stranger shit has in fact happened.

I'll see you all on the other side. God help us all.

Still fat,
R Von D

The Weekly Wager Starring R Von D

Okay so after a lot of positive feedback from the food eating wager, which I apologize for not finishing by the way, the Pen15 Family has decided to make it our regular thing.

And so, we've decided as a house to start the R Von D weekly wager. The rules are simple, the results are hopefully pleasurable for our readers. So without further adieu, our first bet.

For those of you who aren't aware of it, I've had a tough history throughout my life of not being able to turn down money or bets. Remember in "Back to the Future" when somebody would call Marty McFly a chicken and he'd lose his mind and inevitably do something dumb? Well, I'm kinda like that minus the cool Nikes and the Parkinsons. So Fussy Joe and I are sitting around the house one day and up comes the converstation regarding body waxing and personal male house keeping. Fuss then asks me how much it would cost me to get a full brazillian wax. Ever the one to High-ball myself, I tell him that a mere forty dollars and the cost of the wax would be sufficient funds for me to sport the "immaculate canvas" so to speak.

So weeks go by and nothing is said until Fussy decides it would be a good idea to start dating a cosmetolegist who actually does waxing and whatever the hell those people do. He then tells her of our little wager and the meager means it would take for me to complete this task. She, of course, tells me I'm out of my mind and it would hurt more than anything I've ever experienced in my life. Really, when are you people going to realize that telling me I can't do something only strengthens my resolve. So, I decide that on that day, not only am I going to take this bet and win it, but I'm also going to do it for every man in the world who gets told by a woman that he couldn't handle a "manzilian." Seriously if I heard once more that a woman's pain threshold far surpassed a man's, I think I would have burned somebody alive. I mean come on, men play football and drive monster trucks. Women cook dinner and sew. I win. Now, since we were in the middle of a snowstorm, and a Rite Aid was within striking distance, not only was I going to get a wax done, but I was going to do it myself. How's that for pain threshold you buch of pussies.

So there I am in Fussy Joe's barthroom stark naked save for a pair of socks, one foot up on the toilet about to make some money. The details are what you would typically imagine. Yes it hurt, yes I bled a little bit, yes I started to sweat and breathe heavy towards the end. But, was I crying like people said? Fuck no. Was that the worst thing I've ever felt? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Was it the easiest forty dollars I've ever made? You bet your ass. I even went a step further and did a large portion of my arm for another five spot. Not only that, but The Duchess was quite impressed with the job I did. So much so that I might make this a regular thing. I will say though that I will never wax my chest. I enjoy my nipple-spinach too much to get rid of it, and it is also the source of my virility...much like Samson.