BlitzBlog

We've all done it. The self-affirming little search that you do when you post your own name in the little box and see what comes up.

At this point, I've done it often enough over the years, that I see the same articles about me in trade magazines pop up, and of course, this stupid blog.

The real fun begins when you find other folks with your name out there on the web. These Googlegangers can sometimes cause confusion or embarrassment, and sometimes you'd be astonished at the similarities between you and the “other” you.

As for Matt Blitz 2.0, 3.0 and 4.0, I've run across in my self Google-ation sessions, the coincidental similarities are some what eerie.  For those who know me, they'll recognize the similarities.  I'm an
amateur comedian who loves cracking his friends up. I'm a former
theater major at USC who loves movies. I used to own a behemoth Chevy Blazer and loved
to go off-roading with it. Still love watching off-road rallying on
Speed Channel.  I speak with an occasional slight lisp.

There's a Matt Blitz who'd got a stand-up comedy snippet on You Tube.
There's a Matt Blitz who comes up on the imdb.com database as a film actor and also has off-screen credits.
There's a Matt Blitz who also went to USC (Southern Cal) although 20 years after my time there.

If I search Blitzblog, you get a link for The Common Lisp Directory and a guy in England who's built some off-road buggy.

I think we could form a Matt Blitz Club. Would we need an adjunct committee for those who go by the name Matthew? Or Matty? And jeez, at the meetings, what would roll call sound like? (Beuller? …. Beuller?….) 

At least I already know what the listing of the club officers would look like.

No not the Elvis Costello song. I'm talking boobs. Hooters, knobs, funbags.

I've always been a big fan of breasts, especially on women. Some guys say they like legs, or asses, but hey, I got legs and an ass. I want a new toy.

So anyway, one of the hotties from my old job, who's a friend of mine, just got her divorce papers finalized, and now she's gonna go big game hunting for some young bucks to ring her bell. Should be like shooting fish in a barrel for a smokin' 40-ish, 6-foot brunette with legs that'll scrape the ceiling and an ass you could wear for a hat. And she's smart too.

So the other day, she called me to tell me she's got the Big C in one of her boobs. Damn. While she's not extremely well-endowed, it's always scary when a friend gets any kind of cancer, and considering this is gonna put a crimp in her cougar-and-cub plans we started talking about her ordeal.

They caught the tumor very early, so she's getting a lumpectomy, followed by radiation and chemo. No full mastectomy, thank goodness. But during our conversation, she opined that it would been a good chance to get some implants “as long as they were in there.” Alas, insurance only covers reconstructive surgery for those who've had full mastectomies, so if she wants to climb the ladder to D-cup heaven, she's gonna have to pony up the schwag herself.

She is going to have a sort of temporary implant that she'll get radiation in for a few months, and we were talking about the possibility of filling that up with some saline, maybe get one for each side, and enhance her front end that way. Then we thought of how it'd be cool to be able to have some sort of device like this for one's boobs, that could be pumped up with air, that could be used to change sizes whenever you needed. Going running at the gym? Let out the hissy-valve so there's nothing to be floppin' around.  Going out man-hunting? Pump 'em up to 11 babee! Maybe add in some helium for that extra lift!

Which of course, conjures some unsuspecting one-nighter coming up from a titty-suck session sounding like the Mayor of Munchkin Land.
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Note: To all my friends with boobs, get a mammogram and regular breast exams. While I'd love to volunteer to help, it's best left to the real experts. Early detection is the cure. It can save your life.