Other Works

Here are links to places you can find other works of mine.

The Cleat Report: Anything baseball related

Phalse Philly Sports: Philadelphia sports satire

Blog Opening Credits

How can someone enjoy reading a blog if they don’t have opening credits to go with it? They won’t know who I am or who the guest stars are. So here it is, the opening credits to my blog.

These are the names of bloggers who were around to comment a lot in 2012. Stick around for 2013 and you can be famous too.

Equal Signs

We hear a lot of the fight for equality. Equal to what though?

Equal to waking up to a pointless existence where no one appreciates you? Equal to working hard only to die before you actually accomplish anything worth a damn? Equal to Screech from Saved by the Bell?

(This is your goal)

I don’t want to be equal to anyone. That means they have everything I have. If a person can do that, and I’ve met people and boy I’ll tell ya I am not a fan, what’s that say about me?

Keep fighting for equality. It’s perception. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to realize you’re better than comparing yourself to others. Equality is just a false-sense of security and saves you from the brief feeling of being an outsider.

Technology Troubles

Technology is great. It allows us to wash our nude bodies indoors with the light and provides the opportunity to watch others wash their nude bodies with the lights on.

Not all of technology is great though. Some parts are absolutely terrifying.

(Terrifying in person form)

Take socializing for instance. There are way too many ways to be bothered. Between Facebook, Twitter, email, and texting, mutes have become our equals in terms of communication. While they still all have a distinct baritone voice only excused because they can’t hear themselves sounding ridiculous, the deaf have tied us listeners in getting the message across.

And this is a problem.

I remember going a whole summer without talking to anyone from school. I avoided the Internet like the plague or the same way girls did me until I turned 22. The only thing different at 22 was I now had thinning hair and eye bags which to women reminded them of George Clooney if he wasn’t famous. The only downside was when they found out my real age after not understanding any of their references to the 1980s.

What’s a gay cancer?

I don’t like technology because now I’m forced to be empathetic. When someone is sad I have to read about it. I can’t ignore the problem either because I have a kind heart.

However if you have cried for help openly and I don’t respond, it’s because I’m intimidated by how cool you are. I also don’t feel like reconnecting with another person who will just commit suicide in three months. I don’t even own a suit for your funeral.

(Only a black man can pull off a suit that looks like my underwear)

Technology brings us places we shouldn’t be. Like work. Have you ever thought about your job? How important would it be in the apocalypse? Unless it’s oil salesman, road warrior, or cage dancer you’re replaceable. It’s okay because I am too.

One last thing to mention about technology: it keeps us alive longer. This is an awful thing, I think you’d agree, if you’ve ever met anybody.

Big Meals

Is there anything on earth better than a big meal? Maybe seeing an enemy starve us equal. Certainly nothing beats it.

After a big meal today though, I had my confidence shattered. Police officers are protecting our freedom at the entrance to the train I ride with random bag checks. They’re on the clock ensuring nobody blows up the train because if somebody did they’d let all of New Jersey down.

Sometimes I do have a bag, but today all I had was my charming personality and a belly full of food. Apparently, cleaning my plate at dinner was enough to cause stomach expansion to a level in which my stomach actually looked like I was smuggling something.

Aren’t police officers supposed to have good eyesight? Or am I confusing them with baseball umpires? Which is the one we’re supposed to spit on in an argument? I guess the answer depends on your race.

The lawman asked that I step over to have my bag checked. Not since my last physical when the final turn your head and cough moment has anyone asked to check any bag of mine. I agreed to the bag check only for the police officer to then question if I even had one. I didn’t so he let me pass.

I could feel bad about this. Instead I’m going to blame it on my four layers of baggy clothing. Between my oversized wrestling t-shirt, stretched out plaid business attire, gargantuan hoodie covered in dog fur and bearded lady facial remnants, and jacket–it’s no wonder the policeman didn’t ask me to remove the family from under my shirt.

I think he was embarrassed. If he wasn’t, I’m supposed to sue him for hurting my feelings.

Worst of all, as I was haunted by memories of being a fat kid, some mother snuck baby formula onto the train. Fat shaming me nearly cost America its innocence today all because I dress like a slob.

(Okay, so maybe the cop wasn’t so crazy after all. He should have at least searched my giant head)

Writing Goals & Pants Holes

I haven’t blogged here much in the last two years. At first it was because I had a job that drained me plus I had found other outlets where I could make money. I’m still primarily writing elsewhere about sports (people love sports) and seeing some success. I’m not satisfied though as writing is still only a fraction of my “career.”

Unfortunately it’s a tough industry. More and more people are learning English plus women who know how to write are no longer tossed into rivers to see if they can float. This immediately doubles my competition, which I’ll have to accept.

A large part of me still does enjoy writing on humorous topics. It’s tough for me to get rid of completely because I don’t take much seriously. I add my jabs and sarcasm in as necessary when writing about sports yet it’s still limited at times and when I try doing it sometimes feels forced. So I may be writing here a little bit more now that fantasy baseball season is over. Probably, my train rides home will include a little bit more writing about my life or how much everybody else is a silly person.

Ultimately, my writing goals include nothing specific. I just want to be able to say something, be heard, and then have someone hand me enough money to pay my rent, buy food, and have a little extra left for pants whenever they rip in the crotch. Or maybe that last one is society’s fault and they should just learn to accept seeing more flesh than they’re used to.

(These aren’t my work pants, but just so you know, all 3 of my pants I have for work have giant holes in the crotch and I have no idea what to do about it other than lose shame)

Writing about your life isn’t exactly lucrative though unless you’re already successful at something else or killed someone. Nobody is interested in the autobiography about a person who thinks their life was interesting if the only thing interesting about it was that they wrote about it. We’re not as special as we think we are and as I’m looking at Kurt Cobain autopsy photos knowing he’s younger dead than I am currently alive, it’s humbling to know how insignificant I am.

I’d love to write a little more openly. An opportunity to entertain more than inform would be dazzling! Where I’m at in life, people only want facts from me instead of opinion. I’m also tiring of editing which is why you will certainly continue to find many typos on this blog. Between writing, eating, and making sure my blinds are drawn so my neighbors can “accidentally” get a glimpse as I change in the morning, re-reading anything I write falls to the side. I can’t imagine how painful it is for you to read it once when I’m incapable of even passing my eyes along it as I type.

All of the articles I see online about getting paid to write online are outdated and reiterate the same information. The days of content farms are over. Your best bet is joining an already established site where you can break off on your own blog or killing someone. I don’t own a gun and I’m too short to clobber someone in the head without them seeing it from a mile away. I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing instead and hope someone just gives me a winning lottery ticket.

Commitments

I’m a pretty loyal person. I’ve been with the same bank since I was five and all of the congenital diseases/syndromes I was born with are still there. I’ve stayed at jobs far longer than I would have liked to because of my commitment and lack of real world skills. Road rules skills on the other hand…

On my recent trip to Asia (the continent, not the band) I decided to make a really big commitment. The overwhelming feeling of dying alone had engrossed me so greatly, I decided it was time to commit to something other than a documentary series on Netflix. I asked someone to marry me.

It may seem like a big thing to do. It’s not every day (more biweekly) someone believes it’s time to ask such a task from someone. But after more than two years in a relationship, I knew I was ready. I already felt married to her anyway even if the circumstances kept us apart by distance. Emotionally though, I’ve never felt so connected with anyone. This comes from a guy who was born with a conjoined twin too so obviously my future wife must be pretty special.

And she is.

After getting down on my knee and popping the question, she gave me a “yes” in her own words which were closer to “fuck you, of course I will.”

She claims she likes the ring too which is pretty sweet because it’s actually part of a lugnut that I found in a scrapyard.

I’m not sure when I’ll actually be a married man now, but it does feel different. The people who know me and interact on a regular basis seem to behave differently around me. There’s a larger sense of maturity I feel now mixed with only a little fear that this will all end in a court room and a sleazy lawyer sitting next to me. I’m doubtful it’ll end like that as we love each other and murder is far more likely.

So I’m engaged. To someone who understands me. Someone who knows if I could, I would grow my ass 100 times bigger then hover above earth and poop on everyone. It feels good. And I’m not yet at the point where I feel like there’s nothing left for me in life.

In case you were wondering if there were still crazy people in this world, there are. One agreed to spend her life with me.

Blogger Buddies

On my birthday last week I rode a plane. *bloop bloop* – the sound a plane makes, not a fart (although I did do that)

I am officially an adult now. My penis is an adult size (at least compared to yours) and I am traveling the world doing adult things (like lying about my penis size to make you feel horrible).

Now at 28-years-old (which is dead in dog years) I made a very stupid decision. I decided to invest a lot of time into another human being rather than myself. I also spent money!!! to get there along with a plane ride that took approximately 24 hours away from my life I will never get back.

I’m writing this from the Philippines. It is one of those weird countries that has a “the” in front of it to differentiate between all of the other similarly named countries like “A Philippines” and “That Philippines.” This is “The Philippines” because they want to be the top dog among the nations named after Phil.

I’ll write more extensively about this life changing journey. I am envied for immersing myself in the culture over the last week–or at least I’m told so by my wonderful, lovely tour guide. I saw everything from security guards at fast food restaurants with shotguns guarding the napkins from the bad guys. Bad guys fucking love napkins. They are bad guys because they have such dirty hands that need cleaning with napkins so they’re always going into fast food joints taking them all. I also saw dogs pooping on the street like a boss and nobody seemed to give a shit (pun partially intended).

This was the longest I have spent away from home in a long time and only the second time I have ever left the United States in my short yet getting longer miserable life. But is it really going to stay so miserable?

I’ll surely add more about this adventure here or somewhere else. For some quickie satisfaction though, you can read another perspective about the week from the person I spent it with.

Hey Bayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet

Sleepless Nights & Competitions

I had a very tough time sleeping last night. I won’t bitch because it was actually more good than bad. Other than waking up at 6AM two days in a row and messing up my entire sleep schedule, I couldn’t sleep because I’m excited for new competitions in my life.

I’m very competitive. I’m the type of person that when I hear there is a new one I can enter, I do and quickly do some maths to determine my odds.

I’m in a new competition on a monthly basis over at a new blogging format I joined about 3 weeks ago at Sportsblog.com. If you happen to also enjoy writing about sports, I encourage you to sign up and make money writing about sports. However, I’m pretty sure anybody I met through this blog would guess a basketball was shaped like a trapezoid.

The important notice I wanted to make here now is that although I’m not writing here or many of the other places I used to, I am overwhelmed with the written word now to the point where it’s taking up way too much time and I fucking love it. I’m making money too. Someone even randomly contacted me about becoming the editor for his site he’s reinventing. I’ve had lots of good news lately in my writing pursuits after a miserable first week in March in just about every aspect of my life other than plenty of bees.

The current competition I am in is based on unique hits to my blog, Innings Eaters. It’s all about baseball, a topic I was always very interested, but not until about a year ago realized I could make money writing at. I know it sounds like I’m a sellout writing with the motivation of money, but I gots kids to feed! And by that, I mean I eat so much it’s like I’m pregnant and already have several other children who depend on me for food.

So, if you could be so kind as to visit the blog and click around a bit, I’d greatly appreciate it. Hell, wait until Monday when the other competition ends. If you like baseball, read it frequently and share it. You won’t do it. You stink.

Slideshow Bobs

I haven’t blogged here in nearly forever (a slight exaggeration) and I happen to be drained from writing about baseball at the moment so I figured why not entertain you fine Mohicans still checking in on me here.

I’ve been writing lots, still, but mostly about baseball. I’ve been keeping up with Phalse Philly Sports, however, I’m thinking about ending the blog when I reach 1,000 posts in the next three months. Having the blog mentioned on a sports radio show multiple times seems to be its pinnacle and I think I got everything out of it that I could.

Back in December, I began writing for a baseball site. It was fun for a short while until several circumstances led to even more frustration than my life needed at the time. I’ll go into detail at a later date, but the key thing I took away from it was the importance of slideshows and other clickbait techniques. Because I know the editor I had an issue with is stalking me online now, which is really creepy, I’m going to save the juicy details until after he disappears for good.

A combination of frustrations with my flailing writing “career” and my job which seems to have become a “career” made the last two weeks pretty shitty. Hoping to find something good, I managed to discover sportsblog.com during a Craigslist search.

Immediately I created a blog then decided my idea was too simple and I needed to not focus on one topic, rather, open it up to all baseball related news.

Since creating The Cleat Report back in July, I’ve published almost 900 posts–many being links to other places I’m writing. I thought by now I would be eligible for Adwords, but to even be considered you need to average about 600 views a day. Bloggers know how difficult this can be and if I ever want to make money writing I’m going to have to venture out in more directions.

So my new main focus is writing over at Innings Eaters. It’s unbelievably awesome because I get paid, the site already ranks high in Google, and there are plenty of competitions a boy like me can enter and enjoy. It’s far from a permanent dream writing gig, but it’s one of the best experiences I’ve had writing about baseball so far. It’s also only been a week so like the wrestling card at a WWE event, my opinion is subject to change.

That’s what I’m up to and focused on most. Life is pretty crazy at the moment so it’s nice to have something I can put a lot of energy into and get a lot back from.

(He’s making an Atheist Face)

Oatmeal Farts

I reintroduced oatmeal into my diet. I also took out milk. I haven’t noticed any difference other than an increase in my oatmeal farts.

This is probably one of the better things I have going on right now as things are getting pretty hectic in my neck of the woods! Why am I yelling?

I’ve gone from partially to super to partially sick over the last 3 weeks. I lost my voice completely one day for a few hours. I have since cut out coffee and replaced it with the healthier option, tea. Tea is basically just really hot water and perfect if you like chewing on mouth blisters.

There’s a lot of changes at work too, which has taken up most of my time. I’ve been meaning to blog for a while now, but other writing priorities have taken up my time. Oh and bee time!

The company I work for is expanding faster than the vagina of a 30 pound newborn baby sliding out from its mother’s vagina. We basically need 20 employees by the end of the year. Right now, we have like 9? Tomorrow we’ll probably have 8. The day after, we’ll be at 11. There’s been so much change over either because the new employees suck, don’t like the job, or just stop showing up.

Unequivocally, the company wouldn’t be where it is without me. I say that with complete honesty and humility too. My responsibilities include: all of the scheduling, all of the billing, all of the other administrative duties, telling my coworkers not to use the n-word so much, telling my coworkers if they are going to use the n-word to do it more quietly, and a lot more you’re too stupid to understand. Okay maybe you’re not too stupid. It’s Thursday and I’ve been around stupid people all week.

Mainly, everything I do is my sole responsibility. If I call in sick, there’s nobody who can take over for me. I haven’t called in sick since I started working there in July of 2013. This is with a 1.5 hour commute one-way that includes about 4 miles of walking and an hour on the train. Basically, I doubt anyone else would put up with this.

But of course, it’s all my choice and as much as I fantasize about telling everyone to go fuck themselves, some days aren’t so bad. It’s just lately there aren’t many of those.

Besides being the most responsible one at work, that’s not a joke…, I have to play the bad guy while making sure everybody is happy. It’s like when a professional wrestler is clearly a heel and he’s fighting other heels. I’m finding this doesn’t work. Either playing the good guy or the bad guy does and I’m trying to balance both.

Today I had to basically fire someone who just had a kid. Well, I didn’t do the firing. I was just there when it happened because I’m second in charge and I’m the reliable witness. Nobody wanted to fire him because of the circumstances, but he was just such a shitty worker. The turnover at work is getting ridiculously silly for a job that pays $10 per hour. Over 20 people have been interviewed and only 1 has worked out in the last month. The phrase “a fucking waste of time” was invented for mathematical situations like this.

It’s…well it’s not strange…it’s something though that I have thinking about. With all of my responsibilities, duties, jobs, tasks, and position as the second in charge my lifestyle is still distant from someone with the power I possess. I live in an apartment that has a hallway most dicks can stretch across (mine included, yours probably not) with a lifestyle that is a fraction of the people I need to work to please. Perhaps it’s my efforts that makes me feel lower than them? A passion to do a good job without an equal result may be why I find myself muttering “fuck you” a million times a day.

It’ll be really funny when I have a breakdown. Like, of epic proportions. Sometimes when I am really frustrated I’ll think about it in my head and how it will go. I’m responsible for satisfying well over 100 people who probably would not go out of their way to do the same for me.

The problem is I’m not sure what I want. For now, I’m just going to eat lots of oatmeal and feel bloated and fart tons because when times are dire it’s all you can do.

Food Poisonings

Work has been getting really busy lately. According to a hand-drawn chart I saw, the business I work for is going to grow by about 200% in the next year alone. We’re hiring new employees and in doing so I’m meeting some really strange people.

The first round of hiring people involved in inviting 6 people in for a group interview. Within the week they were scheduled, 3 cancelled including one on the morning of. There were 2 more who just didn’t show up and the one who did was wearing high heels and has never picked up dog poop in her life (that’s basically the job).

So we decided it was time to invite even more people in to ensure we have enough for the big group interview. We invited in 12 candidates and miraculously 8 showed up.

In this 8 were a black guy we ended up hiring, a Spanish semi-hipster girl we ended up hiring, a gay guy who we wanted to hire but he didn’t respond to us until 3 days after the second interview because he’s a flake (no, not like that), a really nice girl who didn’t want the job because 30 hours a week was too much, a black girl with a really deep voice, a girl that was practically blind and kept talking about dogs with vision problems, a lazy Spanish guy (we’ve already got plenty of them working there), and a sassy overweight Spanish girl.

Originally, the sassy overweight Spanish girl was also hired. On her second day there, she told me how great the job was then informed me that she didn’t have any money to get home. She wasn’t even an official employee yet and already she’s asking me for money. I tattled on her and my boss gave her $20. She insisted that she only needed $2.50 to get home. My boss demanded she take the $20 and pay her back when she can. Then fatty got a nice lecture about responsibility. It seemed like a simple mistake she could learn from.

The first week on the job, everyone was already not a fan of her. She talked too much and was a bit of a Debbie Downer. Her sassiness was gone, thankfully, but replaced with mentioning her boyfriend (who probably didn’t exist) all of the time.

Her first week there, she also sat on an employee’s muffin. This foreshadowed a moment that would ultimately lead to her demise.

Often at work we’ll have food because my boss is hungry or wants to treat us for doing a good job. On Wednesday of her first week, we had frozen yogurt delivered to us from a former client. There were 6 leftovers and she volunteered to take them home. On Friday, we ordered Italian food. There was probably enough food for 6 people left and again she wast he one who brought it home with her.

Although most of us didn’t like her after the first week, we knew she was still young in learning. The second week, though, was the one where it was time to really wonder how long she’d last.

The week started off normally and she was as annoying as ever. But hey, everyone is. On Thursday, the same employee who had his muffin crushed, found his phone on the ground with a cracked screen. We require them to put their phones in a basket because for some reason most people (crushed phone guy specifically) cannot stay off of his when they should be working. Nobody was near the phone and according to the least popular employee on the payroll, she “found it on the ground then plugged it back in to charge.”

Using deductive reasoning, I’m pretty sure she treated that phone like it was a muffin.

I also came to learn that this same guy was asked for money from her. Not only that, she had done this with two others and it all came after she received the $20 from my boss.

On Friday I tattled again because this was getting really ridiculous. My boss agreed we’d give her one more week to really improve. Immediately after, we learned she lied about completing a task. Hey shit happens, she’s probably just dumb.

On Sunday at 6:30PM we each got a phone call from her – neither of us answered because it’s the fucking weekend – telling us that she is in the hospital. My boss spoke with her the next morning. Apparently she had food poisoning since Wednesday. I knew this was a lie because she ate a donut on Thursday. The last thing a person with food poisoning would want to do is eat. My boss asked her if she’d be in at work on Monday. She said she was going back to the hospital because she felt they didn’t treat her properly. She was informed to bring in a note and everything would be fine.

On Tuesday at 9:45AM, she was not there. No text. No phone call. No showing up to kill her coworkers by sitting on us. Hey, maybe it was pretty serious. The same thing happened Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. She made no attempt to contact us all week long so we can assume she’s done.

Technically she’s still owed pay for one day. Then again, she also owes $20 and a couple million in emotional damages.

She’s already been replaced by two people (you know how much she eats….) so her time with the company will quickly be forgotten; at least once all of the gossips stop working there.

(Delicious breakfast treat or a chair?)