First Van Halen. Now Infinity Broadcasting Corporation.

It seems like David Lee Roth can’t play nice — wherever he goes.

This shouldn’t be a big surprise to those of us who occasionally tuned in. As you know, we’ll never get that time back.

The morning broadcasts were uncomfortable and painful. And, he always used the word “etcetera.” It was irritating … like nails on a chalkboard. Or, the sound of screeching styrofoam. Walking in unpacked snow, too, will drive Blogging Boner mad — FYI.

Anywho, some folks are getting their panties in bunches, hatching ridiculous conspiracy theories. Give it up. David summed up his career best when he sang:

There will come a day, when youth will pass away, and what will they say about me? When the end comes I know, there was just a gigolo. Life goes on without me!

Talk about prophetic. Maybe he’ll have better luck with saggy, leather-faced bleach-blonde groupies. Actually, him and Eddie should reunite — he’s got some free time on his hands these days.

For the record, Opie & Anthony aren’t really the answer, either. Certainly more palatable and without a doubt more entertaining.

But, Howard is still the gold standard. Indeed, the last of a dying breed.

Good riddance, David.

Only in Florida — better known as God’s Waiting Room — can a warped old timer cook up a diabolical scheme to consensually molest perfect strangers.

Truly, a geriatric prodigy who every man can admire.

Ingenious, really. Surprised no one thought of it sooner.

This from a recent Reuters article:

One woman became suspicious after the man asked her to remove all her clothes and began conducting a purported genital exam without donning rubber gloves, investigators said.

Atta’ boy, Gramps, er … Dr. Winikoff.

Sounds like he got a little greedy. He probably didn’t remember Blogging Boner Rule No. 1 vis-a-vis 80’s classic “Weird Science:”

Anything bigger than a handful and you’re risking a sprained tongue.

Now that’s proper bedside manner.

Blogging Boner admits that he may be getting a little too involved in political issues lately.

This one, though, is timely and won’t go away anytime soon. So, why not rant about it now so we can move onto other — less serious — matters.

Twenty years ago today Reactor No. 4 at the Chernobyl nuclear power complex exploded and caught fire. Over the next 10 days, it spewed the equivalent of 400 Hiroshima bombs‘ worth of radioactivity across Europe and beyond. The thing is still leaking today.

It was our planet’s worst environmental disaster ever. The short- and long-term health effects, while still a contentious topic of debate, to the people in nearby areas are sad and atrocious.

Editor’s note: Blogging Boner saw a gripping documentary called “Chernobyl Heart” on HBO last week that details this ongoing human tragedy. Crazy, right? Something good on HBO besides The Sopranos.

The unfortunate meltdown was also the genesis for the historic collapse of the Iron Curtain:

From then on [Chernobyl] Gorbachev mistrusted the political system that had put him in power. He tried to reform it, instituted policies of transparency — glasnost — and structural reforms — perestroika. A few years later the Cold War came to an end. Chernobyl played a role in all of it.

Sorry for the quick history lesson. But, c’mon … Glasnost? Perestroika? Those words are killer. Blogging Boner will never get an opportunity to use them in this blog ever again.

Anywho, the veil of secrecy that shrouded the Soviet Union then is similar to the one that plagues Iran now.

It’s no secret that the Iranian government is brashly thumbing its nose at the international community and going full steam ahead with its production of nuclear material.

Why the hell not — North Korea is doing it. So, too, can Iran.

There are so many bad things that can happen if these rogue nations aren’t stopped. The destruction of Israel, or an intercontinental ballasic missile armed with a nuclear warhead aimed at Los Angeles, are just two very possible doomsday scenarios.

Blogging Boner is a lover — not a fighter. And, much like the rest of the normal world, he wants to find peaceful solution to this nuclear brinksmanship.

But, we need to do more than talk shit and pound our superpower chest.

Otherwise, Chernobyl could be peanuts compared to a modern-day nuclear disaster in Natanz — or Yongbyon for that matter.

Make a donation to the Chernobyl Children’s Project International Inc. today right here.

Blogging Boner recieved this rather funny forward the other day and couldn’t wait to share it with all the folks who don’t read this blog.

It was a painful reminder, however, of just how out of control the media circus surrounding Barry Bonds and his “alleged” steroid use has become.

Enough already.

Is the newscycle so light, desperate and pathetic that it has to splash this non-story across the Internet and broadcast media 24/7?

The other day Blogging Boner got a Breaking News E-mail Alert from CNN that Barry Bonds farted while shagging flies at AT&T Park.

It’s that bad.

Here’s a news alert: Not that many people care about Barry Bonds, much less Major League Baseball.

It reminds Blogging Boner back to the year 2001 when Chandra Levy — a Washington, DC, intern for Rep. Gary Condit (D- California) — went missing.

Apparently, he had an “innappropriate” relationship with her, and because of it, the man was convicted in the court of public opinion for her disappearance by virtually every media outlet and late night talk show across the nation.

He was innocent. Not to mention terribly unlucky. But, that’s not the point.

Amidst this over-hyped media-created “sensation,” America was rocked by the terrorists attacks of September 11. And all of a sudden, no one cared about the Condit scandal. It barely made a blip on the media radar until her body was discovered in 2002.

Why? Because in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t that important. A terrible tragedy? Absolutely. A heinous crime? No doubt about it. Worthy of all that airtime? No way.

So, back to Barry.

Is he an ass? Absolutely. Did he take steroids? No doubt about it. Worthy of all this airtime?

No way.

There are more important things with which to concern ourselves. Things that are certainly more interesting and not so played out. Hopefully, we don’t have to find that out the hard way … again.

But keep those funny email forwards coming.

Blogging Boner has a kid. Yesterday, she got way too much Easter candy.

Mind you, she just turned one.

So, as responsible parents, Blogging Boner and his fiancé (EEK!) took it upon themselves to help the little munchkin out.

Free candy is one of those small and seemingly insignificant parenthood perks. Kind of like free balloons at Publix or a person actually holding the door open for you.

Anywho, everything was going down good — M&M’s, Reese’s Pieces, jelly beans — you know, the usual. That is until we came across the marshmallow PEEPs.

Either you despise them with a passion or you don’t mind them.

Blogging Boner hasn’t met a normal, grown person yet who falls into the latter category. It’s like fruitcake at Christmas — it’s always around, but no one eats it. No one ever admits to buying it, and it’s always the last thing to be thrown out.

Making and selling PEEPS has got to be a pretty good racket, though. Think about it: They’ve been around forever. Everyone knows what they are. And, you can only get people to buy them — for the most part — one month out of the year.

It’s just a guess, but to stick around for so long, the PEEPS-making people need to be raking it in for that one month.

Curious, Blogging Boner did a quick Google search when he got home. To his surprise, there is a tremendous online PEEPS community. It’s cult-like, really.

Check out what some people do with their PEEPS right here.

For Blogging Boner, he knows what to do with his PEEPS. He figured it out around the age of 13 or so.

Sitting on his green couch the other night, Blogging Boner noticed some stuff in his belly button that wasn’t supposed to be there. So he carefully dug it out.

Of course, afterwards, he had to smell his finger.

Ever notice that belly button funk smells just like toe jam and that goop that gets stuck in your pierced ear hole? Blogging Boner isn’t really concerned, though, about how a person can find this one-of-a-kind smell in more than one place. Nor is he curious about his body’s unique fermenting process that produces this natural pheromone.

He really wants to uncover the fascination with smelling his finger each time he ventures into one of these dark bodily caverns.

It doesn’t exactly smell like a southern barbeque.

Nonetheless, it never stops him from putting his finger to his nose after taking a swipe. If you smell someone else’s – even your partner’s – it can put you off.

But Blogging Boner’s smells … interesting?

He’s not alone. It’s one of those universal quirks of human nature that virtually everyone does, but just never really talks about unless you’ve got a bottle of wine – or its equivalent – sitting sweetly in your tummy. Kind of like looking in the toilet bowl – or at the toilet paper – after you’ve worked overtime on the can to see what your intestines have created this time.

Sometimes Blogging Boner thinks about what he ate the night before, and tries to guess the color. It makes pooping fun.

Anywho, one day Blogging Boner is going to bottle this funk … like fart spray. It hasn’t gotten nearly the respect it deserves despite the unheralded – albeit unspoken – role it plays in today’s society. Tell me that won’t make a million bucks.

You would totally smell it.

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Because at midnite tonight, New Jersey is laying the smack down on evil bar-going smokers across the Garden State (sans Atlantic City, of course).

Check out this obituary in the New York Times.

Rub your gums with tobacco. Chain smoke until you vomit. Do whatever it takes to get your fix before heading out for a night on the town.

As a New Jersey native, this legislation has a special place in the heart of Blogging Boner.

First, we got the cock smoker out of Trenton. Now, we’ve graduated to abolishing cancer sticks in the pubs.

It is so wonderful to see that things like sprawl, overdevelopment, crumbling infrastructure and a runaway budget have all taken a back seat to lung rockets.

Bravo New Jersey! Can’t wait to see what happens next.

Bill Kurtis is a pimp. With a voice like that, how can he not be?

Whenever possible, Blogging Boner is lulled to sleep by his unmistakingly calm and cool delivery.

Ambien, Lunesta, Sonata and the gaggle of other sleep aids on the market today hold no candle to this award-winning narrator.

Not to mention, Bill Kurtis won’t make you do whacky things in your sleep like drink beer, take a spin around the block, or call your ex-girlfriend. Sound crazy? Check out this recent Newsweek article.

He’s the voice of virtually everything good on A&E. And, it’s no coincidence that Blogging Boner can get stuck on that channel when a Cold Case Files marathon is running. Even if he’s seen them all before.

Blogging Boner could listen to him read the phonebook if it came down to it.

He’s that good — kind of like John Facenda from NFL Films.

Bill Kurtis, though, can make you think about whether or not the front door is locked. Or, second guess going out to the car to grab your wallet.

Even when he turns 100, Bill Kurtis can probably pull all sorts of tail with that voice. It’s soothing, yet creepy.

When Blogging Boner came across this treasure trove of totally inappropriate ways to describe a female’s privates, he couldn’t help but share it with the rest of the universe.

Enjoy. Or, more than likely, move along.

vagina, pussy, bearded clam, vertical smile, beaver,
cunt, trim, hair pie, bearded ax wound, tuna taco, fur
burger, cooch, cooter, punani, snatch, twat, lovebox,
box, poontang, cookie, fuckhole, love canal, flower,
nana, pink taco, cat, catcher’s mitt, muff, roast beef
curtains, the cum dump, chocha, black hole, sperm
sucker, fish sandwich, cock warmer, whisker biscuit,
carpet, love hole, deep socket, cum craver, cock
squeezer, slice of heaven, flesh cavern, the great
divide, cherry, tongue depressor, clit slit, hatchet
wound, honey pot, quim, meat massager, chacha,
stinkhole, black hole of calcutta, cock socket, pink
taco, bottomless pit, dead clam, cum crack, twat,
rattlesnake canyon, bush, cunny, flaps, fuzz box,
fuzzy wuzzy, gash, glory hole, grumble, man in the
boat, mud flaps, mound, peach, pink, piss flaps, the
fish flap, love rug, vadge, the furry cup,
stench-trench, wizard’s sleeve, DNA dumpster, tuna
town, split dick, bikini bizkit, cock holster,
cockpit, snooch, kitty kat, poody tat, grassy knoll,
cold cut combo, Jewel box, rosebud, curly curtains,
furry furnace, slop hole, velcro love triangle, nether
lips, where Uncle’s doodle goes, altar of love,
cupid’s cupboard, bird’s nest, bucket, cock-chafer,
love glove, serpent socket, spunk-pot, hairy doughnut,
fun hatch, spasm chasm, red lane, stinky speedway,
bacon hole, belly entrance, nookie, sugar basin, sweet
briar, breakfast of champions, wookie, fish mitten,
fuck pocket, hump hole, pink circle, silk igloo,
scrambled eggs between the legs, black oak, Republic
of Labia, juice box, Golden Palace, fetus flaps,
skins, sausage wallet. Holiest of Holies, sugar hole,
The Death of Adam, home plate, Deer Hoof, Golden
Arches, Cats Paw, Mule Nose, Yo Yo Smuggler, Mumbler
(Aussie), Dinner Roll, Crotch Waffle, Piss Fenders,
crack, Melvin, Dove Breast, Brakepads, Vedgie, Slurpy,
Vacuum Vulva, Pastrami Flaps, Hot Tamaki Walk, Buffalo
Gums, Rooster Jaws, Wagon Ruts, Beaver Teeth, Mumble
Pants (Sweden), Ninja Boot, Marcia (Aussie), Skin
Canoe, Fatty, Mossy Jaw, The Big W, Chia Hole, Lip
Jeans, Beetle Hood, Hungry Minge, Sausage Wallet,
Front Bottom, Welly Top, Frum, Pancake Fold, Tongue
Roll, Bologna Flap-Over, Furrogi (Poland), Fortune
Nookie (China), Bearded Taco, Calamari Cockring,
Displabia, Slot Pocket, Bluntfrunt, Fishamjig, Pole
Magnet, Pocket Pie, Clamarama, kitty cage, Chicken’s
tongue, Conch shell, Crack of heaven, Dog’s mouth,
Door of life, Fly catcher, Fruit cup, Jelly roll,
Lobster pot, bunny tuft, KNISH, her asshole neighbor,
lotus, nappy dugout, moneymaker, womens weapon, tackle
box, bone hider, red sea, pizzo, JIZZ RECEPTICLE, The
Helmut Hide-A-Way, hairy heaven, furry 8 ball rack,
crave cave, arbys with fur, fish canyon, toolshed,
snake charmer, Furby, Enchilada of love, Ham sandwich,
Camarillo brillo, Brazilian caterpillar, dick rack,
boy in the canoe, flesh tuxedo, Mound of Venus, queef
quarters, Venus butterfly, cooter, cream canal,
poontang pie, wet mark, private area, thresher,
punash, salami garage, tunnel of love, slurpee
machine, pink cookie, penalty box, ground zero, meat
crease, bait, birth canal, holy grail, pole hole, pork
pie, fuzz bucket, one-eyed python trail, bubble gum by
the bum, stink rink, theme park, saloon doors, pink
truffle, bitter & twisted, burger bar, meat counter,
temperamental ringpiece, python syphon, big bud, the
Wombsday Book, the condo downstate, snake lake, the
indoor barbecue, pound cake, beef tomato, tickled
pink, launch pad, horn of plenty, the indoor picnic,
hamper of goodies, flapped bap, bonefish, close
encounter with the turd kind, sperm bank, man’s
charity bash, bush tucker, midnight dip, the one-door
vulva, the welcome opponent, the Twatlantic Ocean,
temporary lodgings, field of dreams, bean, cooze, old
catchers mitt, devil’s hole, lucy, pish buffet,
pooswaa, poonaner, davey jones locker, pink panther,
tinker bell, south mouth, dick eater, wonder bread,
wolly bolly, foxhole, hot pocket, head catcher,
Lawrence of A Labia, silk funnel, dick driver, purple
people penis eater, meat curtains, ponchita, cherry
pop tart, fat rabbit, scunt, pee jaws, mingus, The
Notorious V.A.G., stench trench, poon jab, nappy
dugout, babyoven, penis parking, cooter muffin, the
promised land, cock pocket, cha cha, the shrine, bitch
ditch, fury pink mink, mammal hole, ever-lasting cum
stopper, the toothless blow job, happy flappy, wilt
chamberlian’s daily glove, the code defierthe salt
water taffy factory, mommy’s pie, the easy bake oven,
the deflower patch, the virginator, the schlong
sucker, the dea bone patch, the vegitarian’s
temptation, the vegan store, the blow hole, the pump
protector, bag pipe, Spitball Bullseye, meat wagon,
pickle stinker, jezebel’s smell, yoni, willys haven,
scrumpter, peach, sweat box, yeast pocket, penis
warmer, tampon tunnel, penis pothole, cucumber canal,
egg drop Box, sperm shack, dick dungeon, cock curator,
b.o.b.’s bungalow, mommy parts, tuna pot pie, nice
slice, peter vise, cock sock, rack of clam, peters
grove, penis purse, grandest canyon, fish dish, banana
box, tuna spread, pink portal, count fapula, red river
gorge, happy valley, revolving in/out door, baby
zipper, richards house, stop-n-pop, bone polisher,
packin shack, weiner wrap, clap trap, camel toe, dildo
hotel, axe gash, pearl hotel, sea food six pack, clam
canal, coose canal, dick deposit, wand waxer, vidgie,
erie canal, candy kiss, gauntlet, round mound of
beehound,lick n’ stick, lap flounder, tomahawk chop,
chin-chin, pachinko, cuntry pie, lip tip, the big
casino, one eyed worm hole, amazon forest, cock cave,
fuck donut, coochie pop, babby, wet seal, pissy froth
hole, bald biscuit, the unmentionable, mans ruin,
peeshie, hairy potter, courtney cocksleve, panty
hamster,deep pink, jaws of life, gizmo, faith, cock
magnet, slippery slide, Meat tunnel, pink heaven,
squid, dick basket, hot spot, poochika, pudding, bowl,
love cave, squeeze-box, quim, honey pot, the bone
collector, goodie basket, depository, pink turtleneck,
bread-box, little debbie, pole hole, pandora’s
box,snail tracker, cuntzilla, homebase, pud pocket,
bear trap, indian bones and the temple of poon,
chanch, big montana, noochie, choot, golden valley,
nappy roots, dick mitten, mystical fold, beef flaps.

If that wasn’t enough, Bob & Tom have even created a hilarious song to celebrate man’s best friend.

Looking back, Blogging Boner grew up during a very awkward time.

Hairspray and parachute pants were all the rage. Members of Def Leopard were considered Gods. And, apparently, it was OK to blow monster rails of cocaine every day.

Oh, the 80s. A decade in which the vacuum created by the death of disco and the emergence of MTV blinded a nation.

But, Blogging Boner mostly remembers having fun – in the truest sense.

Way back then, there weren’t XBOX 360 and Playstation consoles to keep kids trapped indoors for hours on end. Atari, Nintendo and Genesis were always around and exciting, but none of them ever kept kids from being kids.

Blogging Boner religiously played stickball with his neighborhood pals in the cul-de-sac on Column Court, where Jack Hoppin’s mailbox was the left foul pole and Bruce Caulkin’s streetlight, the right.

Every once in awhile, an “outsider” from across the tracks would be enlisted, literally, to ruffle some feathers. It was like these kids were hired guns, ringers, or mercenaries. To cool off after a long day in the sun, it was basketball in the Marsiglio’s pool or tube races.

At night, it was manhunt or ring-and-run.

These are tremendous memories. Vivid, character-building memories that will never be forgotten no matter how much beer Blogging Boner drinks. So much more meaningful than Bo Jackson rumbling for 10 touchdowns in Tecmo Bowl, or Jeremy Roenick dinking and dunking his way to a double hat trick in NHLPA.

Admittedly, there’s a special place in Blogging Boner’s heart for one-of-a-kind, mind-blowing (at the time) video games like the Legend of Zelda. The gold cartridge says it all. Link, in fact, should be given sole credit for pioneering today’s video game revolution.

A virtual Malcolm X if you will.

Maybe Blogging Boner is being too sentimental, or perhaps his perception is just wildly skewed now that he’s older. But, life back then seemed much more fun.

Make no mistake, kids these days surely have fun – handcuffed to their controllers. A different kind of fun, like it was different for Blogging Boner, his parents, and his parents’ parents.

But, Blogging Boner will never get it.