Posts Tagged ‘jobs’

In my attempt to share as much with the world as I possibly can because I’ve found more good happens the more I share, I am going to let you all in on a part of my life that I’ve been somewhat quiet about. I try to make it no secret what I want in life. I want a mansion, chicks banging at my door to get in just to look at me, and happiness forever. I’m actually afraid of mansions (horror films), chicks never bang at my door to look at me (my face), and in general I’m pretty miserable (again, my face). All that aside there is still something I’ve convinced myself I can do. I want to get paid to write movies, TV shows, and anything else I can.

Sometimes when I tell people what it is I want to do I feel like a little boy. It is a little boy’s dream. It was my little boy’s dream. Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be Mel Brooks. I met my best friend of 20 years because we both loved Spaceballs in kindergarten. In a way my life was kind of scripted out how it would go. Although I didn’t get real into writing until about 3 years ago, it was always in the back of my head that it was something I wanted to do. I saved up my money for my entire life thus far so I could have the opportunity to have more time to pursue this dream. I’m unemployed now but because I was responsible (cheap) for the last 25 years I can relax a bit and go after what I want without having to tie myself down immediately to a crappy job.

crappy%20job

(Who said a uniform makes a job a good one?)

Okay this introduction was boring. What I really wanted to tell you blog friends was the first step I took toward my little boy fantasy. There’s this website called The Blacklist. Wait until I’m finished to check it out. Basically it takes the best scripts as judged by Hollywood professionals and they use an algorithm to determine the favorites each year. At the end of the year a list is produced. Many of these films go on to become major motion pictures. Argo and Django Unchained are two recent films that made this list not too long ago. What I’m saying is getting on this list means you’re a lot closer to getting that mansion with the whores.

In the fall this website opened up to the public. Everything I read about this opportunity seemed real legitimate. All you had to do was pay $25 a month to host the script on the site and any of the professionals could download it at any time. In November I finished up something I had started on Memorial Day and paid the $25 submission fee. Not too many people looked at it so I paid an extra $50 to get a guaranteed review. While sitting at my dad’s on New Years Eve because I have no friends, I got an email saying I received my first ever professional review from a real-time professional pro reading professional pro person. They get paid to do this is what I’m saying.

buddy 2

(How I spent my New Years Eve)

Now if you don’t mind, I would like to share with you the review I was given. I’ll put any of my comments in italics nearby:

PREMISE
7/10
PLOT
5/10
CHARACTERS
7/10
DIALOGUE
6/10
OVERALL
7/10
(Not bad so far. The average rating on the site when I got this rating had an overall 6.82, it has since gone down to 6.79 which means I am above average. I was going to be happy just knowing I got above a 4 considering nobody else had ever read past page 10 of the script)

Era: Present day

Locations: the Middle Eastern city of Nakajabulahantishistamene (I love the fact that they had to type this all out)

Budget: Medium

Genre: Comedy, Spoof/Parody

Pages: 107

Logline:When an all-American rocker loses his popularity, a terrorist recruiting center in the Middle East hires him to write popular music that will appeal to young, aspiring terrorists. (It’s really supposed to be a caricature of the Proud to be an American singer as an arrogant asshole, but I guess their logline sounds more professional)

Strengths:This is a bold and outrageously unique premise in the hands of a writer who ultimately has the right sense of humor to handle it – a strong and consistent comic voice throughout this script with truly funny, tongue-in-cheek prose. Cliff is a distinct and laughable character, and the use of certain comic motifs (like the Nickelback jokes) really add to the script’s humor. (I like to think nothing else in the history of the world has had comic motifs surrounding Nickelback jokes)

Weaknesses:If this script has one major weakness, it’s that its plot doesn’t develop as much as it could. While the plot is generally well-paced, with things happening to the characters, there isn’t really an overriding tension, or developed enough central dramatic conflict, to keep the audience engaged in the story. While the consistent humor may succeed in keeping the audience engaged anyway, a bold premise such as this has more potential to make a political/cultural statement with its plot, engaging an audience on an intellectual level, than this script currently does. If Cliff experienced more of a character arc (even if it was to become more despicable), it may make the plot more engaging. On a lesser note, some of the dialogue – especially in the third act – feels excessive, affecting the overall pacing of the script and losing the audience’s attention. For example, Cliff’s several lengthy monologues may pack more of a punch if shortened or broken up by some action.

Prospects: While the writer’s talent and comic intent is clear, this script nevertheless uses some bold stereotypes that may limit its potential audience and make it a risky venture for major studios and certain production companies. That said, with very specific packaging(actors/creatives who have previously pulled off this type of irreverent comedy), and perhaps some attention to the above-mentioned weaknesses, this script may have the potential to market well, especially with 18-24 year old males.

Okay so I didn’t put too many italics in there because it seemed tedious to do. I have since uploaded two new versions which I believe help fix what was wrong with it. The funny thing about it is they say the Third Act is a little weak. The Third Act is where I did half-ass it. I had no idea what to do. I stopped writing it for 2 months I was so lost. All this makes me think is how much intuition I have into knowing what works and what does not work. Or maybe I’m just right about one thing. Either way, this made me really happy to find out the same things they found wrong with it were the same things I thought they might.

If you want to take away anything from this post it’s that I’m awesome and you should go out and take a risk for something you want because you might be pleasantly surprised and have it make you really happy like this did. Look for Friends With Terrorists to open in theaters sometime in 2078 when it is incredibly easy to get a movie made.

I suppose this is my obligatory New Year’s Resolution post. After all, a new year is approaching and it would seem silly not to at least set a few goals. This year though will be different from past years. 2013 for me has to be an important year for me. If it’s not…fuck.

In January 2011 I decided that if in two years I still was interested I would move to Los Angeles to further pursue my desire to have a career as a television/film writer. I could have simply said screenwriter but technically writing for a PowerPoint means you’re writing for a screen so I refuse to use that word. Through 2011 and 2012 it was all I could think about. It seemed so perfectly scripted for my life to head in that direction. I worked hard at writing as much as I could during this span of time. I’m not proud of much I’ve done with my life, but the amount I produced and the quality I believe I consistently achieve at this point is something I wish I could brag about and have someone understand how far I have come.

worst movie idea ever

(This was not one of those clever ideas I had this year)

Life doesn’t always work out the way we want it. I got as far as filling out an application for an apartment I visited while out in Los Angeles in October. The stress and fear of moving across the country began to hit me not much after. As fantastic as it would be to drive off into the sunset with a big fat middle finger sticking out the car window it was not realistic. I have no valuable skills to offer at a job. Worse, I have no credentials that would get me much further than where I am now with my desired career.

Instead I opted to move to New York City which is much closer and still can offer me what I want, at least for now. New York City is complicated so I settled for North Jersey, close enough where I can actually see the skyscrapers in Manhattan. I actually have to walk down a couple blocks to see the view, but it’s there and I’ll probably never bother unless I have absolutely nothing else to do.

The hardest thing about it all is I am still getting rid of nearly everything in my life. I just have less of a distance to drive and also won’t have to pay $5 for a gallon of California gas. In fact, I won’t need a car at all anymore. After spending the last 3 years driving an hour to work it’s almost arousing to know in the coming days I will have gotten stuck in my last traffic jam for a while.

Kyiv_traffic_jam

(I’m not going to miss looking at another person’s bumper. I should really get my blood pressure checked now and then again after a month without driving just to see how much of an early grave it has sent me to already)

Growing up I was always told two things when it came to happiness. The first was bite your tongue, life sucks now shut up and play goalie fatso. The second was if you’re not happy you should fix it. Well, I spent 25 years doing the first. When something bothered me I remembered how much worse things could be. Yes there’s a hole in our bathroom floor but at least we have a bathroom. No matter how much things bothered me, no matter how miserable I would get at times, I never really did much about it other than hope someone would cross my path and save me. I feel like a woman writing that last sentence but I think it’s true for men and women. It’s easier to have someone else do all the work when really you’ve got to always do it yourself.

I’ve quit my job I have had since I was 17 which may have been the most consistent thing in my life. I had no problem quitting because it never brought me joy and it never let me do anything close to what I wanted to with my life. It became clear to me long ago that working there my entire life could be possible. I could have continued working there and driving an hour back and forth. I could have continued coming home to my apartment each night to no prospect that something incredible might happen. Nobody was going to show up at my door. Nobody was going to rescue me from complacency. As scary as it is and as scared as I still am, getting comfortable in a routine of loneliness is not healthy and eventually it will catch up to you.

jurassic-park

(Typical Jeff Goldblum. Always running away from the problem without a real solution in mind. That ain’t me)

So what are my expectations for 2013? I’m starting the year off living in a new town, no job, and knowing exactly what I want out of life without too much of an idea on where to start or how to get it. My simple expectation for 2013 is to do whatever it takes. I want to get involved in whatever I can with whoever I can. I’ve spent my life surrounded by apathetic people who mean well but don’t offer me what I need. I used to have people I wanted to be. Now over the last few years it becomes clearer how the time for me to try to become the hero is here. I’m probably not going to rescue anyone from anything life threatening but I certainly hope I can at least lead by example and inspire others to do something amazing with their lives.

Most importantly I’m making these changes because I want more than I have. My current lifestyle is not something that could one day support a family or really get everything out of life a person should experience. A person shouldn’t have to give up so young, which I try telling everyone my age who seem to do it with ease. One day I want to be able to afford to go out to fancy restaurants maybe with a wife and kids. I want to be able to own a home where I worry about it being built on an Indian Burial Ground. In my life I want to be able to go on vacations and love my job so much that I spoil the fun for whoever I’m with. The direction my life was headed, I could somewhat attain these things. And it’s about more than money of course. It’s about feeling valued and most of all, valuing myself. There are not many things I need or want in life. One of them is to actually enjoy waking up with who I am and what I do.

In 2013 I expect to a year from now be so exhausted from all the hard work and good times I’ve had that I write something short enough you actually read entirely through. Let’s kick some ass and take some names in 2013.

There is a ton I would like to do with my life. Dying is one of them but the problem with dying is it has to be the last thing you do. If life was like billiards, death would be the 8-ball. No matter where you are in your life now at some point you’ve aspired to do something awesome. There are so many different jobs I would love to at some point partake in and if I cannot do them all I would at least like to inspire and push others to go after what they want. It’s part of my whole “being a better person” nonsense. I think I’ve been watching Mr. Holland’s Opus a little too much. Was that movie about being a failure that helped out a lot of other people inexplicably? That’s what I took away from it.

(If you’ve seen the movie you’ll know Mr. Holland is wasting his time here…or should I say hear?)

Instead of going on about philosophical bullshit about how we should all try harder to inspire and push others I will inspire and push you by letting you know about all the things I have ever wanted to do with my life. Maybe I will accidentally inspire you to join the army and die in Vietnam, Mr. Holland style.

Cowboy: This might seem like a job I wanted as a kid but I want to be a cowboy more than ever now. You don’t have to wash your hands or face and you’re still sexy! Cowboys can’t get away with the same shit they used to. Instead of hunting down gold now cowboys have to chain up baby cows to make veal. Maybe this is what killed the Western genre, the realization that cowboys are now farmers on horses.

Professional Athlete: More specifically, I wanted to be the first guy to play professional baseball and hockey at the same time. My dreams of playing professional baseball died around when I was 14 and hit .098 that season which is disgraceful. My dreams of playing hockey faded when I had to hold the instructor’s hands around the rink when I learned how to skate.

(Infamous picture of me standing on skates without holding onto the wall)

Wrestler: As recently as 3 years ago I contemplated going to wrestling school. Some of the best ones in the country are in Philadelphia and the trainers are actually guys who are nationally known now. I figured worst case scenario I get in really good shape or break my arm. Girls love guys with those qualities. I didn’t end up doing it because it was too expensive to get yelled at for 2 hours twice a week by men. I also get creeped out by muscular man backs.

Porn Star: Do I have to explain this one?

Movie Maker: In kindergarten we had to write down what we wanted to do. I said I wanted to be a movie maker. I think back then I thought one guy could do all the work. I’ve kind of narrowed it down to screenwriting because it involves the least amount of social interaction. My ultimate dream would be to be a television show runner (which involves little physical running I hope). It’s a passion I’ve had for 20 years now and since I was practically raised by watching TV it’s no surprise.

(My dad)

Radio Show Host: The only thing that stopped me from pursuing this further was I don’t have the voice for radio. I sound like a whiny woman and when I get excited I sound like a whiny woman on her first day of testosterone supplements. I think I’d be pretty good at this but my voice has the soothing powers of stepping on a rusted nail.

Veterinarian: You can always spot a kind child when they want to be veterinarian. You can also spot a logical child when they no longer want to be a veterinarian. Did you know they have to kill animals? Whoa! I’ll stick to dog sitting for people when they’re on vacation. Carrying a dead dog seems way too disturbing to me.

(“You get to kill the dogs? Looks like I got me a career after I break the record for most turnovers in a season.” – an awful dog killing quarterback)

Model: I was taking pictures of myself flexing in the mirror the other day when it hit me, I should model. I’m realistic enough to know I could never be a fully body model. I could probably model a few parts of my body though. My eyebrows are pretty sweet. If I turn my arm a certain way and maybe put some whiteout on it to give myself some color (I’m terribly pale) then I could see that 1/8th inch on my bicep being in a magazine. Who says that models ever need to be perfect or beautiful? I still say I got a shot.

I hope sharing all of my hopes and dreams I have had has inspired you to have your own. If they have, you are very easily inspired and are probably a stupid person.

I never understood drug dealers. I used to always tell myself it was silly to get into a business that always ends with Colombians armed with machine guns coming after you. As I grow older, I understand it more. When I say drug dealer I don’t mean some loser who stands on a corner or deals from the basket in his bike. Street drug dealers are still lame and usually only are doing it to help pay for their own harder drugs they put into their own bodies. What I want to talk about are the big drug dealers; the Tony Montanas, Walter Whites, and Mary Louise Parkers of the world.

(She’s almost 50 and still I want to have babies with her. Not that she probably can anymore. Looks like one less worry for our relationship)

What is it all people have in common? A lust for money. I tell myself time is more important now than money is. It’s been a tough decision. I could easily make more money by working more. The decision I have made is I would rather have time. Some days I have too much time, others barely enough. I worry a lot of young people spend too much time working. Everyone I know under 30 seems to complain constantly about the most easy to fix problems. They’re not giving themselves time to improve or discover anything new in the world. They’ve gotten caught up in the ecstasy of gold.

I’ve decided if I could be anything it would be an outlaw. I would be a bank robber, a purse thief, and a guy who will turn you upside down and shake you for your lunch money. This is my dream that I will probably never do. Robbing banks is tough, I’m embarrassed whenever I am seen holding a lady’s purse, and kids are so fat these days they could probably beat me up. A boy can continue dreaming though. It’s not even the money I would want either. What would I do with money? Buy stuff? I hate owning things. The only reason to own a lot of clutter is because ghosts do not like clutter. I forget where I heard that fact. Have you ever seen a ghost on an episode of hoarders? My proof exactly.

(Not a single ghost. Wait…no. Thought I saw one but it was just more junk this person doesn’t need)

My lust for money does not come from wanting the money. My lust is about the adventure to get the money. I always wondered about old cowboys and what the purpose of robbing trains was. Didn’t a house cost a nickel back then? DVDs, high cost low-fat snacks, and deviated septum surgeries didn’t even exist. What did they need the money for? All cowboys ever spent money on was booze and whores. After a great heist they could easily spend the rest of their days with all the alcohol and sluts they wanted. This is a very simple and happy life. Times may change but a man’s needs never do.

One thing I have heard about detectives is they don’t so much care about protecting and doing the right as much as they enjoy the hunt. Some detectives want to be able to prove to themselves and everyone else that they cannot be outsmarted. I think I’m the same way with money. I don’t really care about having nice things, but I would like to be able to prove to myself and everyone else that I have the capability of making a lot. I could take the easy way out of course. I could focus all my time and energy and try to become a doctor or a lawyer. I could sacrifice my formidable years and follow down the path of those jobs. I won’t though because doctors have to look at infected genitalia and lawyers have the compassion of infected genitalia.

(Is he bribing the witness with a new wallet with the tag still on it while the old lady judge falls asleep?)

My life goal is simple; make as much money as possible by doing the least amount of work possible. This may sound incredibly lazy but you’re taking it the wrong way. If I could get a job I love to do and make loads of cash doing so then fantastic. Even if I don’t end up making a ton at least I’m doing something I love to do and that’s worth more than any treasure chest filled with gold. It’s about the adventure in getting to the top. Who wants to be an early success? Your life will inevitably be on a downward slope.

Why do men leave the house? To pick up as many chicks as they can. We’re very simple creatures. I fancy myself an expert at picking up chicks. One time a Mermaid fell so deeply in love with me she began to crawl along the beach just to touch my face. She ended up drying up and dying only a few feet away. In a way I charmed a fish out of the fish bowl. I love that phrase. You’re so charming that an animal without many emotions will kill itself to be near you. I wish I could one day be so charming people kill themselves over it.

The problem with picking up chicks is a lot of guys do it so unnaturally. They come up with corny pickup lines like “Are you an astronaut? Because you look like Neil Armstrong” or “Did it hurt?” which elicits the response “Did what hurt?” and then the guy follows up with twisting her nipples and tells her he’s a psychic who saw it coming. Girls like guys who can see into the future. Nostradamus was a major pimp. What Nostradamus did correctly though was he got an actual job where he could be himself and the chicks would follow. That’s what today’s post is about. Jobs for guys to take in order to meet the girl they’ve been waiting for their entire lives/evenings.

(Seriously, tell me this guy couldn’t be a pimp. All he needs is a feather in his cap)

1) Bartender

This one is very obvious. Drunk girls will sleep with anyone. I saw a drunk girl the other night having sex with a tree. I guess the tree was tall, dark, and handsome. Some of the bark on its base looked like George Clooney’s face. I think at every point in his life every guy has thought about becoming a bartender. Women have to talk to you in order to forget what shitty adults they have become. Without you they cannot get their booze. The only thing stopping me from becoming a bartender is all the drinks I would have to memorize and I cannot smile at ugly people. Have you been to a bar lately? It’s an ugly person’s lair.

2) Animal Shelter

Chicks love animals. Would you believe some girls love animals so much they never eat them? I know, bonkers. Even if you have a penis and you don’t eat animals I consider you a chick. Tofu should be the name of an African dictator, not something we eat. I know if I ever get desperate enough where I would need to meet women I can always volunteer at an animal shelter. It’s perfect. Animals love me, girls will see how good I am with the animals, and then we do something filthy near a malnourished cat on its death-bed.

(Sorry little kitty, I’ll get you your medicine as soon as this chick finishes taking hers, if you know what I’m sayin’)

3) Musician

Anyone who knows how to play the guitar and doesn’t get laid 60 times a day is an idiot. Girls love any guy who can play the guitar. Do you know why? Because she doesn’t have to interact with him. She can sit there, nod, and smile pretending she enjoys his dark poetic pain. For me, someone without any musical talent, I tell girls I’m the lead singer in the band. They tell me to belt out some lyrics and I remind them I have to save my voice for the big show. They nod and smile because girls who obsess over musicians are idiots too.

4) Gay Rights Supporter

You’ll probably need a real job like doctor or guy who steps in front of traffic in order to pull this one off. Hanging out around gay people will surely help you meet some single ladies. Any girl who is obsessive with gay rights is either a lesbian herself or is trying to make up for the fact how much men find them repulsive. This gives you a great opportunity to sweep in and steal these feminists off their do-gooding feet. Not only will these girls think you’re tolerant to others, you’ll also have very little competition. A straight guy hanging out in a gay is a lock to go home with a girl or at least have a chubby one nag him all night about American equality.

5) Anything Famous

Become famous and girls will bend themselves into whatever position you demand them to get into. I understand it. I would love to bang someone famous. I could see Yahoo articles about them and think about how we shared those amazing 40 seconds pressed against the sink together until I let out my fart ruining the mood. Athletes, movie stars, and even high-profile murderers have women flocking to them at all hours of the day. I’m almost tempted to go on a killing spree just to see how many women propose to me. I can barely throw a spiral and my acting leaves much to be desired. If I ever want to become famous it will have to involve bloodshed. Or I could do something really good for a lot of people. Sounds hard.

(Mark David Chapman, John Lennon’s killer. Ringo’s still alive isn’t he? Hmm I think I have an idea to get some chicks)

Let me know if you know of anything else. As for girls on picking up guys, sit outside for five minutes in a place with high foot traffic. If nobody even looks your way start searching for a child murderer to marry. It’s the best you may ever get.

In other words, these are not jobs appearing here.

This is not a post about how much I hate to leave my apartment. If you’ve been to my apartment you’ll understand why I hate to leave it. My walls are completely barren and white, except for the one black stain from when I was wearing a black shirt, sweating, and leaned against it. My apartment always smells like whatever I had eaten for breakfast. Today it smells like warm milk. The greatest thing about my apartment is there’s always something to do. There are so many dog hairs everywhere sometimes I lie on the ground and count them. None of what I will write about today has anything to do with that. I would rather focus on something even grander. The places we have potential to go in our lives.

My idea on this theory came during the middle of the night. I also had a dream about a movie where Joseph Gordon-Levitt played a character named “Ugly Nick.” I’m not sure what my subconscious was saying there. Rarely do I ever think of JG-L. I could have sworn he was on Roseanne and he wasn’t. The idea I had was that each of us has three paths we can go down. There’s the path going downhill, the path going uphill, and the path leading to a dead-end.

(I always thought the fat guy on the right was Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I feel like an idiot now)

The path going downhill is very obvious. These are the people we look at knowing they’re in a downward spiral. They’re drug addicts, alcoholics, people who watch PBS, sexual deviants, anyone who puts on 30 pounds a year, and so forth. Basically they’re anyone you see headed into a worse direction than you might be used. This is where we hope all the popular people from high school end up. If you were popular in high school and are reading thing then I really don’t understand how you got here. You’re in the wrong place. I think we all know someone from high school who still relives their glory days. My mom’s boyfriend used to tell me about how he was a world champion wrestler in high school. By world he meant Middlesex County. He was reliving his past triumphs from the early 1970s. To give you an idea how long ago he was traveling through time, the third Austin Powers movie took place around the same time he was wearing a leotard and getting ringworm from a wrestling mat. Sorry I don’t have any other idea what else was going on in the early 1970s. Wasn’t there a war?

(Nevermind no war took place. I was confusing it with a song by Martin Luther King Jr.)

The path going uphill is also a very obvious one. There are the people we look at knowing they’re going to go someplace in life. They’re hard-workers, loving, confident, not me, sexual deviants who happen to know the correct rich businessmen to approach, and probably not you. This is the path we all dream about going down. It’s the basic American dream underdog story. Rise up from the bottom to the top. I like to think I’m on this path. I do whatever I can to not be self-destructive. I eat healthy, I exercise, I ask old black people for advice often, I don’t burn my bridges, and I keep bad people out of my life. The problem is most people think we’re on this path. It’s a very thin one and the further along you go the thinner it gets. What we have to understand is not everyone can be successful. It would be great if we all grew up to be movie stars with large genitals, but our DNA is not Communist. Things are not even. So keep going to those Tuesday night acting classes and buy that penis pump you’ve been eyeing online. The path uphill cannot be accomplished alone.

(An official Dr. Seuss penis pump. It also plays music and makes your balls grow as big as the Grinch’s heart)

Finally there is the path leading to a dead-end. Oye vey this is a wide asshole path. Lots of people fall here. They’re not bad people by any stretch. They take care of themselves as much as they have to. In a way they’re defeatists, something else I have to write about later on. I would say 90% of people are on this path to a dead-end. Crazy isn’t it? People without hopes, dreams, motivation, or anywhere to go. Saddest thing about this is a lot of the time it’s not their fault. They’re content with where they stand in life. I know the combination of words “big dick fucking black pussy” might offend some people. The word content does the same to me. How are you content? You’re waking up every morning thinking everything is fine and dandy? Don’t get me wrong, a positive attitude is wonderful and I would love to have a stronger one. These dead enders are different. They fall into a trap where they believe this is what life was supposed to be. They use words like karma, destiny, and fate to justify how their lives didn’t turn out the way they wanted. It’s sad to me other people can think this way.

The scariest things that could ever happen to me are 1) I am kidnapped by cannibal rapists (it doesn’t matter what order they do it in) and 2) I end up with a job I get nothing out of and I have to wake up when it’s still dark outside to get there. Those are my two biggest fears in life. I really don’t want to be eaten then raped or raped then eaten and more importantly I don’t want to wake up when bats are still outside fellating each other. To me, this is a dead-end path. I will know my life is going nowhere if I have to dread waking up for work in the morning and once I do the moon still shines down. It has been decided. Whatever I can do to get on a path going uphill I will do. If I fail on my way up, at least I get to fall rather that putz around on a hypothetical dead-end street.

I’ve been seeing a lot of transsexuals lately. No matter where I am; the subway, the store, the meat-packing district, I’m bound to find a 6’2 man with a tucked in wiener ready to call me daddy. For the right price of course. Today was different though. I didn’t see any trannies. I did see two delivery men. The unsung heroes of our laziness. Today, I pay a tribute to you.

(Lady Gaga, well-known tranny who I guess you could say works delivering poison to our eyes and ears)

I have a lot of respect for people who work delivery jobs. They’re tough. You have to move objects from one place to another. When did Star Trek take place? Wasn’t it like 2013? And we’re not really even close to developing teleportation. What a filthy liar of a show. The thing most people have delivered is food. The two guys I saw today were delivering the most common foods for delivery, pizza and Chinese. I didn’t bother to ask what they were “hauling.” That’s more of a question for truckers. Delivery men aren’t usually much for talking. They’re only in their cars for a 10 mile radius at most and don’t get as lonely for small talk as a trucker would. I still said hello to the portly Dominoes man who called me dude. He was a very large man. I have a feeling my neighbors received a half eaten pizza.

Where I currently live, I’ve had two things delivered. One was my furniture. The other was Chinese food by a, get this, Spanish guy! I mean full-blown Spanish. One of them Spanish people you see in Robert Rodriguez films. When I brought me my food I called him a race traitor then threw his tip on the ground. My furniture was much more fun to have arrive. I spent two weeks sleeping on a couch and using an overturned book shelf as a dinner table. My days were spent doing Sudoku puzzles and evenings spent watching my grandchildren. You can tell someone is depressed when they buy a book of Sudoku puzzles and complete half of it. A white guy and a black guy delivered my furniture. They set up my bed and everything. It was cool to have a team of ebony and ivory in my home. I felt like I was living Lethal Weapon 3.

(Riggs looks pissed. The new commissioner must be a Jew, woman, or anything not-white)

Back in the olden days when baseball players drank more beer to get bigger muscles, other things were delivered to the home. Milk probably being the strangest of these deliveries. If there was a milk man I would definitely use him. I drink a lot of milk. I’m pretty sure I have Madcow disease because of it. Newspapers were also delivered to homes. I guess they still are, but who really reads a newspaper? There’s a little something called Good Morning America that can give you news faster than any newspaper. Did you know Matt Lauer has a light peanut allergy? You never would have known that if you were some geezer who still reads the newspaper.

You could consider taxi drivers as deliverers of people. But if you do that you also have to consider bounty hunters delivery men. I bet bounty hunters get a chubby in the front of their pants every time they see the letters “DOA” on a wanted sign. They can be more careless with their work. Crazy people are sometimes delivered places. Outpatient programs will come to homes then bring the manically nuts to their lair for crafts and group talks. Don’t ask me how I know a lot about outpatients programs. Let’s just say my lack of athleticism isn’t the only genetic shit storm I have cooking up in my DNA.

(Boba Fett proves you don’t need a mullet to be a lawman)

Way before Netflix I had an idea for movies to be delivered to your home via car. I figured my parents and older sister could be drivers, my younger sister could answer the phones, and I could sit back and do boss things like sitting back in my chair wasting space. Like all my ideas, this was brilliant with obvious flaws. A caller would call in and say “What do you got?” and I’d have to name everything from Abba: Live in Concert to Zorro: The Gay Blade. It would take so long that they’d die of exhaustion and never actually be able to place their order. Luckily I was 12 when this idea came around and could use the excuse of hormones as to why I was so dumb.

Best Buy or as I will call it from now on, Best Buy It Somewhere Else If You Want A Decent Price, has that thing the Geek Squad now. I don’t know how much they deliver things. I guess delivering your own nerdy skills could be considered. Geek Squad members are probably the safest to be around. I know women are not allowed to deliver pizzas as some places due to fear of rape. Firstly nobody would ever rape a Geek Squad member. Secondly no poor old woman with a busted alarm clock would ever need to be worried about being raped by the Geek Squad member. He’s too nervous to put the moves on his best friend he’s known all his life. There’s no way he’ll be able to de-robe her in time before her husband returns from his afternoon duck feeding session.

(He better not be doing the “hole at the bottom of the popcorn bag” trick)

I hope you always show respect toward those hardworking delivery people. You should always tip. Even if it’s you joking and saying “Hey buddy, here’s a tip for ya!” then tell them about other job opportunities. There are so many things that are delivered nowadays that I barely tapped into it. Of course the most famous delivery men of all-time, the mailmen. They come there every day. Their motto is such that they will brave any element to bring you your bills. So the next time you see someone delivering to a lazy bastard send them a salute. They’ve cut off three cars and ran over a cat to get you your hot wings on time. It’s the least you could do in return.

“And IIIIIIIIII will IIIIIII will always, love youuuuuuuuUUUUuuuuUUUUUuuuu”

When I think of bodyguards, I don’t think of Kevin Costner or Tina Turner. Somehow that song is still stuck in my head. The film The Bodyguard must have been big when I was a child because I remember hearing that song all the time. I think my babysitter really liked it. She always liked picking on kids in subtle ways. My nickname was Big Timmy to differentiate between Little Timmy. Little Timmy wasn’t all that little for his age. Big Timmy was big for his age. They should have called me Fat Fuck and left it at that.

I would never be a good bodyguard. I’m bad enough at guarding my own body. I do use Right Guard deodorant which is officially endorsed by the Body Guard’s Union of America. That’s a start. But to be a bodyguard you have to care about others. Be willing to throw yourself in front of a bullet to save a politician or a drugged out rock star. I could never do that. My diving skills are below the 20th percentile. I like to think I’m more athletic than the average guy. One thing I never have excelled in is jumping or diving. I’m more of a wall sort of athletic. Like I can only move side to side or fall down quickly. I’m a great goalie. That’s kind of like being a bodyguard. Hey, maybe I can do it.

I remember a show on television a few years ago starring David Alan Grier. I forget the name and think that the government erased all information of it from the Internet. The plot was that he was a Secret Service Agent who walks around trying to protect the president. An attempt on the president’s life is made and DAG (that’s the name of the show! Weird how things like that come into your head) dives in the wrong direction. Then he has to protect the first lady instead. So, the president is an evil enough man that he doesn’t fire DAG, he just demotes him to protect his wise cracking wife who I imagine was played by Wanda Sykes but know it wasn’t. The show lasted only about 3 episodes. It was greatly hyped too. That just goes to show you. Even if you are nominated for a Golden Globe, you still might suck. I’m talking to you The New Girl! Learn to write a joke!

Lets say I had to be a bodyguard. Like I had a gun to my head. They said “protect me or I’ll shoot you.” I’d probably respond back and say “so I choose if you shoot me or one of your assassins does?” Then the gunman will look around realizing how strange this situation is. He’ll readjust the deal and I’ll become a bodyguard anyway. But this time he lets me have the option for being a bodyguard for anyone I want. I think I would choose Donald Trump. Not enough people want him dead, he has a lot of connections, his daughter is hot, he’d probably set me up in a nice apartment in Trump Towers, maybe he could help me get a TV deal, and he could probably handle any potential killers on his own. It would be an easy job. I don’t particularly like the guy, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t particularly like anyone or anything. At least Donald would be interesting to work with. Plus he’s probably friends with a couple of crazy millionaires have yacht races or pay high-end prostitutes to have knife fights.

When you need a bodyguard in your life that’s when you know you’ve really made it. Someday I hope I will need one. I want so many people to hate me and want me dead that I hire a couple of tough looking fat guys to walk around with me to make sure I don’t get hurt. Until then I’ll have to fight my own battles. Thwart off enemies with my amazing wit and charm. I’ve never been punched and only picked up and dropped three times. I must be doing something right.

Recently I had my ears lowered. This wasn’t some serious plastic surgery that I had to endure, no. It’s slang for getting a haircut. Don’t feel silly if you didn’t know that. Only people born in the 1930’s and fans of the television show Doug have ever used it.

It had been over a year since my last haircut. I usually get one haircut a year. I try to synch it up with the same day I change my bed sheets every year. I don’t know why it is. Just one of those strange family traditions like wearing red on Christmas or killing your father when you turn 18.

My head has been very cold since removing a good half of my weight off my head. I probably should have done it earlier, like when it was hot out and I was always sweaty. Perhaps I’m going crazy. Is this the start of my EVOLUTION OF INSANITY!!! I own several hats so things haven’t been too bad. If my head gets too cold I could always rub it on the backs of strangers to warm it up. They’ll think I’m being cute like a kitten. Or weird like a psychopath.

I was in desperate need of a haircut. Even I’d admit that. But I don’t go to barber shops. No. Not since a woman with long forearm hairs gave me a buzz cut and asked me what kind of drugs I’ve experimented with. It felt like a poorly operated sting to bust a good boy who stays away from drugs. I remember my mom waiting in the car. I never asked her to do that. I think she was too embarrassed to be seen with me.

This haircut was different from the rest. This one was done by myself. Yep, all by my lonesome. Nobody helped. Not a single living human being. Well, I guess the makers of the razor helped. And Tmobile for providing a camera phone which helped me take pictures of the back of my head to make sure I didn’t miss a spot. I’m still not sure if I did miss a spot either. That’s something I’ll probably never know. Until a bully points it out to me by rudely tugging on it like Santa’s beard. I don’t know why a child would ever tug on a mall Santa’s beard. That still doesn’t mean that Santa isn’t real. Maybe Santa has a fake beard too. Or decided to shave. I shaved my head finally after a year. What’s to stop Santa from shaving his beard after 6,000 years? (That’s how old archeologists believe Santa to be, approximately)

I’m proud of myself for being able to cut my own hair. It’s liberating. I like to think of it almost as a passage into adulthood. I’m no longer restrained to paying $10 to some vocational school student to make me look handsome. I am my own handsome maker. I don’t need any of my old barbers anymore. Not the girl with the long forearm hair. Not the guy who tried to sell me raffle tickets for a bike despite me not knowing how to ride a bike. Not the guy whose first name was Scott or his last name was Wolf. I can’t remember which was true. I do remember thinking that he might have been actor Scott Wolf, down on his luck.

I’ve lost some appreciation now for barbers. Sure, hair stylists have some talent. They’re artists for hair. I appreciate good art. I appreciate good hair. That’s why I have no beef with hairstyles who can do more than shave a head. To my credit, my hair was so long that I had to randomly cut patches out of it before the shaving. More points for me. I am better than you barbers. You are no longer needed in my life. You too women named Barbara. You’re just as useless to me now. And just to finish off with people I have no use for now, people with the last name Barbera. I only know two, cartoonist Hanna and elementary school friend of mine Michael. I’m tired of Yogi Bear and I’m even more tired of memories of friends I haven’t spoken to since 1997. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Hopefully Googling himself and then reaching this site. That would be kind of creepy. Maybe a potential boss of yours is reading this right now. Here, how about I ruin the chance at the job.

3 Reasons Not to Hire Michael Barbera:

1) He had a dog named Baron. Do you know who else had something named Baron? The Nazis! They had the Red Baron, a dog fighting pilot. See how this all connects here?

2) He liked a girl because she could throw a good spiral with a football. That’s shallow and kind of weird. You don’t want someone like that working for you do you?

3) He once hid nunchucks in his father’s tool drawer and blamed it on his brother Chris. His mother yelled at him “Michael, don’t be fresh!” and he admitted his guilt. Do you want someone who doesn’t stand their ground working for your company? A man who admits to lies? Did not think so.

That’s what you get for not keeping in touch asshole.