Two Years

I totally forgot, but thanks to WordPress something popped up congratulating me on my two-year anniversary with the site. I’m getting praise for essentially not knowing how to delete this thing. Not that I plan to delete it or anything. I have way too much greatness here.

So what’s there to say? I’m not sure. Here’s a list of ten things about this blog because I feel like I’m cheating you (wasting less of your time) by not doing more.

1) My first blog follower ever was this guy. He still blogs sometimes which is pretty unique. I remember it was September 2011 before I figured out how to navigate WordPress and comment on other blogs. I was sitting in a hotel I wasn’t staying at stealing the Internet when morning when I found his blog and left a comment. It was something about kids get coddled when playing sports.

2) My favorite blog post anyone else has ever done was this one. Has it been six months already? Wow. The post was probably the best thing to happen on my birthday.

3) My most commented blog post that wasn’t Blog Award related or the Opening Credits I have on my home page when I announced the availability of my first ever book. If you remember correctly, I hyped it up for a month leaving clues and making people think I had gone crazy. I had people in real life come up to me asking if I was all right since I had claimed the world would come to an end on August 9th. Although I may not be an award-winning writer, it’s great to know I can actually pull off writing a full novel and people will pay money for it. The next one comes out in like a week and a half and I’m excited for the first person to buy it complaining that they bought the wrong thing.

4) I’ve somehow managed to in two years become friendly with several bloggers. I write a blog with one of them, I almost met one in person, and a third has the distinction of being the only blogger to have seen what my knees look like. I’ll tag the rest of you somewhere else below so quit complaining. This is poetic.

5) I’ve learned what it’s like to be a great mother of a newborn child and how to be a great mother twice with two newborn daughters. All great mothers of course have people they look up to. When in doubt they can always turn here or if that doesn’t work they can go here. Here also knows a lot about the American Revolution so if you need help on that topic like I did, that’s the place.

6) When I first started blogging I thought it was to become famous and successful and rich and powerful and dictatorshipish. I soon came to learn it’s not about that. Blogging is about asking for help with art, it’s about giving and receiving advice on life and realizing others have been through the same as you, and it’s about whatever this guy taught me.

7) I’ve met people who have written their own books like this guy and this guy  and this girl and this girl. There’s an abundance of creativity everywhere here on WordPress. Some people create amazing music.

8) I didn’t want this to be sentimental or anything, but I hate leaving people out and I’m procrastinating on doing something more important than blogging. What’s more important than blogging? Right now it’s writing out a character list for another shitty TV Pilot I’m putting together. Bleh I make myself sick with my “struggling artist” attitude.

9) So what has changed in the last two years? I think I can bench press like 10 pounds more than at the start. That’s something I should be proud of, right? I’ve convinced myself I’m a better and more relatable writer, but who knows? My personal life has changed drastically. For better or for worse, it’s death til us part. I’m still waiting for something really great to happen. I’ll know sometime mid-summer the results of several writing contests I have entered/will be entering. Could it change everything? After all, keeping up with this blog helped me feel motivated in other aspects even when I didn’t feel much like blogging. What the hell am I talking about? And why is there no link in number 9 and there are some everywhere else? This really bugs me.

10) I’m not going to put a link here either so 9 isn’t so alone. I also don’t have anything to say here other than thanks for two years. Whether you come by often, sometimes, or never make your presence known, thank you for existing. Now to head out to the store and grab some Tampax because I seem to need them.

(This looks exactly like the box to my Britta water filters. I guarantee someone has made that mistake)

Background Objects

Sometimes pictures are taken and there are objects in the background. Sometimes these objects are people. These people have tremendous stories that we never know the truth about. Objects have stories too. This is their story.

So I was looking for something to pleasure myself to which meant I was looking at my own pictures on Facebook. One of the pictures was particular sexy. All of The Philippines agree this is a sexy picture. But what is going on behind this sexy picture? Once you get past the awesome jacket, the perfectly naturally sculpted hair held up with sweat because hair gel is expensive, a soul patch that can only be earned by truly having some soul, and a face so adorable you want to squeeze it until the eyes pop out, what else is there?

Let’s talk about what’s going on behind the eye candy. There’s one of those old-timey heaters on the floor. I’m not sure what the proper name for these are. I really don’t like them because they can get really loud at times. I should probably tell my Super about it, but he has a really gross skin disease and I hate having to look at him. He also wore a bandanna with an American flag design once in front of me. Calm down there Easy Rider, you lost the revolution. America is no longer a free nation.

Starting on the windowsill, you will notice a “pyramid” shaped object. This is one of those air fresheners that sits open and slowly emits a nice scent. I had one on my toilet too. I’m not sure how they work exactly, but if it means the smellier the room is the quicker they evaporate then I need to see a doctor.

Moving along to the right you will see a can of compressed air. I use this to spray in the eyes of strangers who ask me for directions. Beside it is a Philadelphia Phillies finger thing with a little duct attachment where it can hang from glass. Do you know what I’m talking about? I really don’t feel like looking its proper name up. The only problem is it doesn’t work very well so it just sits on my windowsill. I think they’re supposed to go on cars. I no longer own a car so it’s going to collect dust. Not for long though. I can always clean it off with the compressed air.

On the refrigerator you will find some more important background objects. The far left end you can see behind a small packet of travel tissues a mini-totem pole. My dad gave me this mini-totem pole. I am not sure why. I think it was his way of saying my father is really a man named John Redcorn. Next in line is a square black object. This is my digital camera. I keep it on my refrigerator because I like to take pictures of pigeons that land near my windows. I also know it will never get stepped on.

Finally we reach my Jason Voorhees action figure in a battle with my Jesus Christ action figure. Two men who were betrayed by camp counselors at Crystal Lake must fight to find out which one gets to claim Christmas as a holiday to honor him. Who do you think would win?

And that’s what’s going on in the background of my life.

Apartments & Houses

“Home is where the heart is”

I have a lot to say about this quote. The first is that it’s poorly written. It’s six words long and already you’re repeating. This quote is so old that there has been plenty of time to edit it to look better on paper. The more important thing that needs to be said about this quote is how cruel it is. What about homeless people? Does this mean they have no heart? What about people without hearts? Does this mean they deserve to be homeless? It’s a confusing quote which really has little to do with what I want to do here. I want to compare apartments and houses to figure out which one is better.

When things break and you live in an apartment you can usually call up the maintenance men to fix it. They’ll most likely smell and have weird paint stains on their skin. Working in the industry they do, unclogging toilets, they still tend to be pretty nice. When you live in a house it is much more annoying to get things fixed. You have to call in a professional and everything that gets fixed costs money. I grew up in a house where everything was broken except for the people living in it so it’s nice to be able to have maintenance men fix everything. I was kidding before when I said the people in the house weren’t broken. We were and are and will continue to be.

(Jesus lady, how big was your dump that you’re making this face?)

Lawn care can be fun for men who enjoy beer, golf, and not satisfying the needs of their wife. The best thing about apartment living is you don’t need to worry about a lawn, in most instances at least. Living in a house means you have to mow it, make sure it doesn’t die, and clean up any animal shit that might appear there. It can become costly to maintain even an ugly lawn. The only downside to not having a yard is your children are more likely to be fat because they will have little choice but to play video games all day long. At least it will build character.

(Oh look it’s this douche again)

Something you must consider when moving into a new place is the ghost factor. When I say ghosts I mean anything paranormal. I’m not sure if I actually believe in the existence of these creatures but it’s always a worry. You have to figure fewer people have died in a house than in an apartment. People usually own a house for like what, 20 years? Once one person dies in it they move on. People are always dying in apartments. And even if they aren’t actually dying in the apartments, people who lived in those apartments are surely dying somewhere else. I’m not sure if I was a ghost I would actually go back to living in an apartment I spent a lot of time in. Do ghosts have a choice? I think in asking that question I skipped over a lot more important ones like “Is there a God?” and “Do ugly people still look ugly in Heaven?”

(This looks like the ghost of Paul Revere Photobombing a picture in Tokyo. Yes, because they’re Asian they have to be living in China. And yes, because I’m a racist I assume Tokyo is in China)

When it comes to choosing where you will live the two most important factors should be space and beauty. You need enough room to put your shit and it needs to look nice once you do. I guess that sounds a little shallow in a way. It involves being materialistic and kind on the eyes. But life is shallow so let’s not get all uppity. Houses problem win as far as space and beauty is concerned. What can you do to make an apartment look beautiful other than buy a weird-looking Ikea couch? Apartments are basically storage units with more rats. A house is definitely the way to go if you care about other people’s opinions. Everyone is always judged when they live in an apartment. People will say you have no money and you have no friends and nobody loves you enough to marry you and buy a house with you. At least that’s my reasoning for why people say those things to me.

I don’t know what the point of this was. Where would you rather live?

Essentially Socks Inside Socks

I’m surprised I never told this story of my youth yet on the o’le blog. It’s one of my few stories where I actually, pardon my French, fucking dominated my shithead 6th grade pussy classmates. Many of them have gone on to become doctors or have visible abdominal muscles, but they can never take away the glory I had this day.

My middle school had a tradition of having a Medieval Day at the end of each year. I’m not sure why. We only learned about that era in history class for about a week. I think they chose this part of history because it was the cheapest. If the food or decorations didn’t arrive they could just say the delivery man died of plague and everything would stay in character.

In order to participate in this event you had to dress up as someone from the era. Basically the only choices were if you were a female you dressed up like a princess or a peasant and if you were a male you were a knight or a peasant. All the boys in my class said they were going to be knights because knights are so much cooler than peasants. I was going to wear my regular clothes and be a peasant but because everyone else was going to be a knight I decided to be one too.

(I thought I’d look like this…)

My knight’s uniform was nothing more than a black shirt my mom had that kind of looked like a knight’s chainmail. I shouldn’t just gloss over the fact that I wore one of my mom’s shirts to school but it almost feels irrelevant to the rest of the story. A knight’s job was to participate in what the school considered a jousting contest. We didn’t have horses or anything like that. Instead we had to stand on a line of tape on the ground and make sure our feet didn’t come off while we hit each other with our swords which were essentially socks filled with more socks. Why did I go to such a cheap and wimpy school?

(…I looked more like this)

The day of the actual Medieval Day came and most boys were peasants or gay princes. One classmate was the “Kid Formerly Known as Prince.” He was always a trendy dick. There was a mini-jousting tournament held in each classroom where the winners would advance to finals where they could hit classmates with socks in front of the rest of the grade. It actually wasn’t the entire grade, just my half of the grade. We were split into two halves and…blah blah blah you get the point.

I had to beat two classmates to advance to the finals. I don’t remember who the first was but the second was a lot taller and had a face triceratops face. After I won the biggest whore in the class was sent out to report to the other classes that I was Mrs. Kroelinger’s champion. Mrs. Kroelinger had two sons. How does a man with the name Kroelinger ever get laid? That’s irrelevant. What matters was I had made it to the finals.

The finals would take place in the auditorium, like I said, in front of a shitload of people. My first opponent was the tallest kid in school. I didn’t move at all when he hit me with the sock. He ended up falling off the line anyway because he was so grotesquely tall. The teachers talked with each other and said I had to at least make it look like I was trying otherwise I’d forfeit. My mind games weren’t allowed. It was at that moment I learned schools are good for one thing, killing innovation.

(I was basically the Leonardo Da Vinci of hitting people with socks. I need to start telling this to women more)

I defeated the tall kid best 2 out of 3 taking the first two. My next opponent was a really athletic kid who bruised me he hit me so hard. I was fat though and wouldn’t budge. I beat him 2-1 by the hair of my balls. I think everyone wanted him to win because he was kind of popular. I blame my unwillingness to take a dive as to why I never had a date to prom.

When the finals came I had pretty much became the favorite. I was the underdog. Funny thing about the guy in the finals against me, he was the same boy who beat me at Madden and rubbed it in my face at our Up All Night Giggle Fest only two years earlier. I had vengeance in my blood is what I was saying. He had shown me his asshole and now I was about to turn him into one–or something more clever.

The judges each round were two different unbiased female classmates who had nothing to gain from who won. The winner of the jousting contest got their class the opportunity to eat at the Medieval Day Buffet first. My whole class was dependent on me. They needed to eat before everyone else. Our classmates had filthy hands and they would certain pass along way too many germs. Getting to dig your fingers into the food first meant the difference between life and having a cold. The two judges for the final round were the hottest girl in school and a girl who is dead now. I guess they wanted the finals to have a wide range of experiences.

(Milli Vanilli, my favorite female duo where the ugly one is dead and the hot one lives on)

In two quick matches I devoured my opponent. I showed no mercy. I have little respect for anyone who shows me their blonde asshole. I was given a trophy and my teacher told me to celebrate as much as I wanted. My class ate first and I was popular until the end of the school year. The school year was only another week unfortunately. The next year everyone forgot how awesome I was and I had to start from scratch. I think the moral of the story here is they should have given us real swords because I would have still won anyway.

P.S. I think I wrote about this before but it’s awesome to remind people who I was cool for a 24 hour period. Plus there was food, violence, and I mentioned a hot chick.

Anti-Bullying Campaigns

Like everybody who has ever existed, I was bullied. Big deal. It made me stronger. The strange thing about bullying is we’re told to not listen to anything a bully says yet we’re supposed to listen to everything an anti-bully says. Huh? What gave them that qualification? Most bullies are accurate pricks. They call fat people fat rather than not saying anything at all. Why be anti-bullying? That does nothing but bring more negativity and hate into the world. Be pro-love and pro-human.

(Stereotyping bullies in cartoons IS bullying. Let’s stop it)

I can’t quite put into words what I really want to say about bullying. I just find it weird how an anti-bully’s word has more merit than a bully’s. This to me seems like an elitist attitude. Everybody has been bullied and everybody bullies. The key is finding the balance and making sure you bully someone everybody else hates anyway. Don’t we all need to be a little bullied sometimes? I think after you graduate high school if you’re still worried about bullies and you don’t do something about it you should get bullied by someone new for being such a pussy.

I’m very pro-anti-anti-bullying. I think bullying to an extent needs to happen in everyone’s lives. If you disagree with me look at these anti-bullying slogans I found online. Somewhere out there someone needs to be called stupid then have hot soup thrown at them. My comments are in ellipses beside.

Anti Bullying Quotes:

Stop bullying sayings and quotes

• 1
• You cannot prove yourself big by seeing others in little sense. (saying this to a bully means you deserve to get your teeth knocked out)
• 2
• Bullying is actually a form of bull-sh*t, so keep yourself away from it. (no it’s not, bullying is a form of making up for poor self-esteem you liar)
• 3
• Bullies are rotten rats. (yeah they’re full of horse hockey….this slogan is one for the birds….something else old-timey)
• 4
• Bullying? Not a wise idea at all. (coming up with a shitty slogan, an even worse idea)
• 5
• Before posting some comments on the Internet think twice what you type (I agree with this one, it would suck to make a typo then get more bullies after you)
• 6
• Think double before you speak or get ready to fall you in troubles (nobody says “think double” so don’t bother trying to rhyme it with troubles, please)
• 7
• Bullying is not a human behavior, it only suits to bulls. (bulls have big dicks though, I’ll take my chances being an asshole)
• 8
• Let’s cheer, bullying is ban here! (totally gay, they also left out the “y” in bullying but I spotted them)
• 9
• For bullying you can move to Mars. (yeah or Venus or something…-Chip Chipperson)
• 10
• Bullies are out of human league. (so humans are in leagues no as if to say some are better than others?)
• 11
• Bullies have no future. (this implies murder which is the worst kind of bullying)
• 12
• Bullies are bad jokers. (he’s like everybody’s favorite Batman villain so I don’t get why this is a bad thing)
• 13
• Join us today for Anti-Bully crusade. (crusade, a word used basically meaning the unjust slaughter of millions for a really shitty campaign)
• 14
• Bullies need to make others feel insecure because they are insecure. (yes, but this isn’t really a slogan as much as it is something to say to a bully before he pulls your pants down)
• 15
• Stop forwarding bullying emails otherwise you will be a part of bullying s league. (I don’t know what the random “s” is doing there so whoever put this together is retarded, haha let’s laugh at the retard)
• 16
• Be sober on my Facebook Timeline. (just say Facebook, don’t add Timeline you proper wording twat)
• 17
• A bully cannot be a friend of his friends. (unless his friends are bully)
• 18
• Use Your Brain, Being A Bully Won’t Gain (unless you work in politics, the fashion industry, anything entertainment related, sports…should I go on?)
• 19
• A bully tries to put you down, because they are not up. (all bullies have erectile dysfunction?)
• 20
• Some bruises are on the inside. Stop bullying. (yes and you should get those checked out immediately because internal bleeding is very serious)
• 21
• Nobody likes to respond Barking Dogs. (you forgot the word “to” haha you retard let’s laugh at the gay boy)
• 22
• Can you abuse me in-front of a mirror? (probably, I don’t see how that would be difficult)
• 23
• There must be a rubber bullet for every bully. (and there must be a toilet for every nerd to get his head shoved into)
• 24
• A bully is a nonstop nonsense. (double negative, bullies rule)
• 25
• Never say Hi to bullies. (say see ya later?)

There you have it. Anti-bullies are so lame.

Woods

There’s not much I’m very good at. Most men have some talents where they can either fix cars or be abusive toward women and get away with it. I’m not like that. I don’t know the difference between a car and woman anyone. Which is the one that nags? But there was one point in my life, one short semester where I was a manly man. At this time in my life I managed to build this:

(The magazine rack I made when I was 14)

(And here I am photobombing the magazine rack)

I’m much more amazed than you are that I actually put this together. I almost always cut myself brushing my teeth I’m so clumsy. Or maybe that’s actually a serious medical condition I should get checked out. The point is, I managed to reach deep inside my soul and create a place for magazines to poorly rest within.

In 8th grade we were all given a choice as to which elective to take. We could take band, home economics, give a blow job to the principal and get into the Gifted and Talented program, or take metal and woodshop. I have no musical talent, home economics is for women, and the principal was not cute enough for me to attempt to get into GT. All I was left with was becoming a master craftsman.

The first two marking periods which made up one semester I had metal shop. My teacher was Mr. Sullivan, a grizzled bald Vietnam Veteran who on 9/11 said “If those towel heads try to blow up the World Trade Center again I will bitch slap them all with my pimp hand.” He didn’t exactly use those words but he did tell us in a subtle way hours before they made the announcement that we were under attack.

In metal shop most of the class was spent doing homework for other classes and general tomfoolery. The first project was to make a battery operated cardboard car. Mr. Sullivan had not heard of a man named Henry Ford who has made battery operated cardboard cars obsolete. I got my car to run, barely and we moved onto the next project. This project was to build a chisel. How do you build something that builds something else? I don’t remember how I built it but I did. I think I may have just brought in a knife. Mr. Sullivan or Vinasull as we would call him to confuse him, was so senile and old at this point he would not matter. He was just happy I wasn’t Vietnamese.

(Vinasull loved the smell of Napalm in the morning. It smelt like useless assignments to keep us busy for a marking period)

The final two marking periods were spent in woodshop where I would make this magazine rack. We were given tests in this class where the average score anyone would get was a 30% F. One girl literally got 0 questions correct on a multiple choice. That’s like going to Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey and not getting a herpes sore on your face. I really hate that college.

Finally we were allowed to start working on our magazine racks despite it being clear none of us were knowledgeable enough to use the power tools. A few of the kids seemed to know their way around a buzz saw while my friends and I did our Language Arts homework while someone else took a shift making sure the teacher, Mr. Bordas or Bordasull as we would call him to confuse him, didn’t notice we weren’t working on our magazine racks.

The semester was winding down and I had to work harder on my project. I sanded down the wood, I put some sticky stuff on it, I hammered nails, I put more sticky stuff over the nails, and I continued this process until I realized I was doing it totally wrong. Somehow one kid in the class had built a chair in the time it took me to figure out I was making my magazine rack incorrectly. Showoff. But can a chair hold a magazine?

(Nope. Just books. Magazine Racks > Chairs)

I fell so far behind the teacher told me I could come in early to work on the magazine rack the final week of class to get it down. It didn’t take more than two days of arriving early for me to bust my ass and get the thing built. I was proud and I kept that magazine rack until my recent move where I got rid of it. Like many things in life, this magazine rack was there for me but it has served its purpose. 12 years later and less room to cram the thing, I have decided to part ways. It also doesn’t really work well even though I built it the right away. What a dumb thing to build.

I also would like to acknowledge although I have little skills when it comes to being a manly man I was awarded the “Special Effort Award” for my time in metal shop and woodshop. I didn’t go to the ceremony because I hate sitting around for 5 hours watching classmates win awards. I’m not sure where my paper went saying how I was a Special Effort Champion but as long as it remains in my heart I will forever hold the glory that comes with it.

Endeavors

I’ve been unemployed and living in a new town a little over a month now. In that time I have done a lot of good with my time. I’m at the point now where expectations for myself have gone even higher than before which was pretty high already. I think I’ve always had high expectations for myself. When I was younger I once discovered a freckle near my pinky. I assumed this freckle was a physical flaw and did whatever I could to try washing it off. At one point I figured the freckle was also a piece of shit that grafted itself into my hand. I think I’m at that point again. If I find one back hair longer than the other I freak out. Who could ever love a man with different sized back hairs?

Over the last few weeks, I guess it’s only been about 3 but it’s felt like a whole lot more, I’ve been doing whatever it takes to build up my credibility and keep productive. Although in retrospect I’ve gotten done in 3 weeks what would have probably normally taken me maybe 6 or 7, it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I come from the MTV generation. I need immediate satisfaction. I like my food fast, my cars furious, and my sex to last no longer than 10 seconds. I thought I was stronger than this but I guess I’m like everyone else.

So to feed the little boy inside me that’s jumping up and down yelling “Pay attention to me! Look over here! Daddy, why are you always at work? Mommy, can you turn off the TV and listen to me. Teacher, why don’t you remember my name? Friends, where are you?” I am going to attempt to over the next few weeks on a weekly basis share one “creative endeavor” I have undertaken. This can be anything like the video I did yesterday to me sharing a few stories from my stand-up comedy days to the premiere of my own short animated series I put together and finished up yesterday. Hint, hint, I don’t feel like hyping something up big time if it falls flat. But trust me, I never put hard work into anything then actually release it publicly unless I can live with it being terrible. I’ve probably filmed 5 hours worth of footage from me trying to make videos and very few ever make it because I either think I look fat in the video or it’s just plain bad. What I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up but also maybe get a little excited?

I guess that’s all. Oh here are just two observations about things women that annoy me.

“Do you think you can handle me?” – woman

How is this a flirtatious thing to say? All it lets me know is that you’re a troublemaker and you’re difficult to handle. Do you know what else is difficult to handle? Biohazardous material. And I stay away from that shit.

“I don’t bite. At least not hard.” – woman

Then say you nibble. There’s a word for not biting hard, nibbling. Use it. Expand your vocabulary.

(I hope this picture was created for the phrase “Her bark is bigger than her bite” because I would hate for this nice gal to have to do this for any other reason than a cliché)

Miller Lite Girls

A girl once told me I was weird when I went on a 10 minute rant on why I thought strip clubs were stupid. I won’t go into it but because I hate phonies. Strippers are some of the biggest phonies out there. I don’t hate them for it. Their job is to pretend the beer bellied businessman man is the man they’ve always wanted. I can avoid strippers and their lies easy. Sometimes though it’s hard to avoid the people one level below the stripper, the Miller Lite Girl.

The Miller Lite Girl in this case is a traditionally attractive female between the ages of 18 and 24. When nepotism is involved they’ll go up to 27. They go out to bars and use their flirtatious ways to get lonely older men to buy the product that pays them, Miller Lite. The Miller Lite Girls I’m going to talk about here were sponsored by a radio station based out of Philadelphia, WMMR. It actually doesn’t matter where they came from because all Miller Lite Girls are the same, awful.

(These girls aren’t even that attractive. The one has orange skin and blue eye shadow. Figures a Mets fan would enjoy this. They’ll take any victory they can get. Maybe he likes the orange one because she’s the same colors as Mr. Met?)

I was at my usual bar which is not a party bar. It’s on the Princeton University Campus which you can figure means the average cliental are elderly professors and dorky Chinese kids. There are also quite a few seminary students. Basically what I’m saying is if you’re a guy looking for someone to hook up with you better have an old man fetish.

On this night there were two bimbos in electric blue outfits. It was the same blue the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders wear. Let’s call it Whore Blue actually. I noticed them immediately because even though they were incredibly fake looking they were still by far the most attractive people in the room. No offense of course to the male musician with the Ellen Degeneres face.

(Gay talk show host Ellen Degeneres or Australian musician CJ “Bearcat” Barna getting ready to play another Rob Thomas song?)

I grabbed a seat with my friend Rob and we noticed them prancing around asking people questions and giving out prizes. I’ve lived long enough to know girls like this would never sleep with me. I know what you’re thinking, who wouldn’t have sex with a pretty face like mine? Models, cheerleaders, incredibly attractive meter maids, the Steinert High School graduating class of 2006, any woman with a job; none of them would ever probably let me cozy up next to them. Knowing this fact is comforting. It simply means I can say “fuck it” and whenever a traditionally hot girl acknowledges my existence I set out to prove just how useless beauty can be in this world.

The bimbos actually made a point to try to get over to Rob and me. I saw them through my peripheral vision coming closer. The thing you need to know about slutty girls is they don’t have peripheral vision. The only direction they see is into a mirror. They thought I had no idea they were coming. I love dumb girls.

The blonde asked Rob if he was drinking beer. He wasn’t and they moved on. I made a point not to even look over when they talked to him. Nobody can say “Hey guys–“ and expect me to group myself in with someone else and respond. I am an individual. I heard them behind us saying “Should we ask him?” referring to me. They agreed that they should ask me. They swooped behind us to move onto others at the bar. The brunette said “Are you guys just drinking water?” I explained that I was drinking water but I’m not in charge of what others drink. She asked Rob what he was drinking and he said Vodka even though he has no clue what he was drinking. He’s not as irresponsible as that sounds.

The brunette explained how if we decided to drink Miller Lite we could win lots of prizes. I asked about these prizes. They had keychains, mini-footballs, and our favorite, beads. I made a big deal about the beads and acted as if they had me sold. Why would a grown man ever want to own beads? I told Rob they had beads in which he responded, “Bees? Don’t they sting?” and suddenly our characters had been developed. I was the Unsure Guy and he was the Idiot. I don’t think we were too far off from these girl’s personalities.

(Not the best prize in the world. Still better than some dumb beads though)

Our conversation lasted way too long. She still thought I might want the beads. She said they would be good for Mardi Gras. I turned to Rob and said “Hey, she knows your buddy Marty Graw.” The brunette looked at me blankly as I asked her where she knew Marty Graw from. “Is that a person’s name? Is this a joke or something?” I laughed in her face and she laughed too because that’s a stupid person’s defense.

A Japanese guy named Dan interrupted (yeah, they name their kids Dan now) and he pretended to be interested because he wanted to talk to two hot chicks. An actual guy from WMMR came over and tried to get us to participate in the raffle to win an Under Armor sweater. Rob asked him if he knew WMMR DJ Jacky Bam-Bam. He said he did. I asked him if he was Jacky Bam-Bam. He said he was not. I kept going on how ugly Jacky Bam-Bam is. He didn’t deny it. He asked if I was a fan of WMMR and I said “I haven’t listened to that station in 5 years.” He asked me why and I said they play too much Van Halen. We bonded for a few moments over how much Van Halen sucks.

(Jacky Bam-Bam is on the right. The term “a face for radio” was invented for him)

The radio guy gave us stickers in case we changed our minds on getting beer. I told him and the brunette it was un-American to make me buy beer in order to enter a raffle. I was going to say my parents were killed by drunk drivers and they were part of the problem but didn’t get the chance.

The WMMR crew left. Rob got the idea to order a Bud Light instead and trick them into thinking he got a Miller Lite. They didn’t like this joke. The blonde started getting really angry about our nonsense. She asked why he would waste his money on such a crappy beer. He said if he bought a Miller Lite he would have been wasting his money on a crappy beer. The brunette laughed and finally she was getting the joke.

The girls made one last plea to try to get us to purchase their crap beverage. They hyped up the Under Armor sweater that could keep us warm. I asked if the Under Armor was bullet proof and could act as Kevlar. The blonde said “I don’t know what that means” which I think she probably says a lot. We also tried to explain Rob was drinking his drinks in ABC order and he would get to Miller Lite once M came around. The blonde also didn’t understand what ABC order was. I think she’s still in kindergarten.

(Never let her off your shoulders sir. As soon as you do she’s destined down the path of becoming a bimbo who bothers men in a bar with her boobs)

I think the Miller Lite Girls came by us one more time. They made fun of us for drinking Bud Light and water. They ordered two waters from the bar. I yelled at them for being hypocritical parasites (not really, but I should have used those words) for judging us and getting water for themselves. The blonde kept saying she felt bad for us, Rob for drinking a bad drink and me for associating with him. I pretended to be on their side and made fun of Rob for being such a loser. They laughed at his expense with their retarded pretty girl laughs. Then I told Rob he was such a loser and I was glad his dad killed himself earlier in the week. Their faces got really serious and we talked a little bit more about Rob’s dad’s fake suicide. They got their waters, left, and gave out their stupid Under Armor sweater to some asshole who actually thought he could bang them. Men like that annoy me more than the actual Miller Lite Girls.

Hamilton Squares

I consider my hometown to be Hamilton Square, New Jersey. Sometimes I leave out the square because I don’t want people knowing I grew up in a place that lets it be known we’re all L7’s. It’s true though. The town Hamilton Square is full of squares, jive turkeys, and playa haters; you know, the worst kinds of people. Each time I’m back in my hometown I remember why I never wanted to live there any longer. The people are rude, egos are inflated, and there are too many damn people wandering about doing nothing. When the Taco Bell parking lot is the place the teens hang out at you know your town is shit.

(When you’ve got places like this to hangout at who needs to ever achieve anything in life?)

Hamilton Square is known for a few things. It’s the origin of Megan’s Law, home to the post office where the government faked the anthrax mailings (I also think the Home Depot across the street is where they filmed the Moon Landing), and that’s about all it’s known for. As much as I hate the town I have decided to list out a few reasons why Hamilton Square is a great place to live, grow up in, and die.

1) Jaded By Suicide

You can’t throw a beer can at anyone in Hamilton Square’s face who doesn’t know someone who has killed themselves. It’s always young white people too which seems a little silly. Depressed young white people are supposed to join cults not search Google on how to tie a noose. I don’t know an incredible amount of people who have killed themselves but I know enough where it almost seems like a rite of passage. If you don’t kill yourself you’re pretty much destined to live your life wishing you had. Having such an apathetic opinion on suicide means nothing really shocks me. It’s not so much why someone killed themselves as much as it is what of theirs I might be able to get cheap at a yard sale.

(It’s always great one someone who owns a nice swivel chair kills themselves. Those things are way too over priced)

2) Easy to Find Drugs

One time I was walking down the street in Hamilton Square and bumped into a heroin needle. I’m kidding. Hamilton has no streets to casually walk down because it’s lame. Everyone in the entire county, Mercer, does drugs it seems. I’m sure it’s not much different in other parts of the country or anything. It just seems like this area was always known for having drugs because it was white people with money. Personally I’ve only ever seen someone do hard drugs once and it was in a Pennsylvania town called New Hope. Name a town after a Star Wars film subheading and this is what you get.

(Instead of Jedis all New Hope has are wannabe artists who wear bowler hats. Why is this a cool place to hangout?)

3) You’ll Never Spend too Much Time at the Mall

The Hamilton area has one major mall called Quakerbridge. Yeah, Quakers need bridges too. I had always assumed they were swimmers. The Quakerbridge Mall is probably only better than another nearby mall in Princeton called Princeton Market Fair. At least Market Fair has a Barnes and Noble and a movie theater. Market Fair also has a ton of Chinese people so if you’re on a racial scavenger hunt that’s a good tip for you to knock out the Asian countries. I think the last time I went into the Quakerbridge Mall was when I took a girl there. She said “This mall blows” and she was right. Quakerbridge Mall would be better served as an Iraqi hospital. And by that I mean it deserves a missile to hit it.

(Somehow this would be an improvement on Quakerbridge Mall’s current infrastructure)

4) It’s Easy to Keep in Touch With People

Nobody lets you mind your own business here. You can’t even buy porn in this town without running into a big mean lesbian you knew from high school. The best part is now she’s a guy named Tony. The only thing I like about the accessibility of running into people from the past was when I saw a hot girl from high school jogging. Is there a mile per hour rating less than 0? That’s how fast I was driving as I slowly drove up on the curb beside her remember why 11th grade health class was tolerable.

(Oh to be 17 again. When girls would talk to me because I could give them answers to homework. Now they talk to me because pleading for their lives is what most people do when faced with a man holding a giant hatchet)

5) Everyone is in Great Shape

Or at least everyone goes to the gym and talks about it. I used to always think my hometown was nothing like Jersey Shore. The further I distance myself emotionally from the place I see it’s not all too different. We’re about an hour away from the beach which means we’re not as tan or as mind-blinded by the sun. If I ever become a scientist on accident my first hypothesis would be the more sun a person sees the dumber they are. There are so many gyms in and around Hamilton Square you’re an outsider if you don’t go to one. I’m not sure where the people who are actually in shape go because everyone I run into must have fake Gym IDs based on the way they look.

(This is how all people in Hamilton think they look after a circuit training session at the YMCA or Robert Wood Johnson fitness; young, vibrant, and in shape. Truth is none of them look this under the age of consent laws. Really, this girl looks 14. No wonder she’s behaving like an idiot)

I could probably list more sarcastic reasons why every time I stop off in this town I feel the need to bathe with an electrical appliance. It’s not a dangerous place by any means unless you value being around fun and friendly people. In other towns I have lived in you can walk into a drug store and not have a slutty 17 year old girl loudly talk about how she can’t find her debit card. Every time I’m in Hamilton Square this happens.

What do you hate about your hometown? If you happened to read this and you are from Hamilton Square I’m so sorry.

Comebacks

I’ll be coming back Monday with vengeance. Seriously, does nowhere in this town have a good internet connection? I’ve got big things in store. I will also finally get around to replying to all your lovely comments then. It’s a pain from my phone. In the meantime check out old posts or follow my mental breakdown on Twitter. Thanks and don’t watch Dexter Season 7, it’s terrible.