Archive for September, 2011


This may end up being sort of a series of things that I write about. Most classes are bullshit. They’re ways for failed artists to scam you into giving them money at the hopes that you can one day be as good as they lied about being. To prove my point, think about how much you really learned in any high school class. Not much, eh? Classes for adults aren’t much better.

When I say public speaking classes, I don’t necessarily have a specific group of people that it’s for. I took a public speaking class in college and it was a big waste of time. I had already done public speaking out in the real world, but it was a required course. I’ve never had to do public speaking against my will and that’s the funny thing about it all. They lied to us saying that everyone has to do it. No they don’t! What’s with teachers lying so much? I’ve known a few people that were teachers outside of schools and they seemed like all right people. I’m fairly certain at this point that they just like fucking with kids and making them nervous that “things will be real tough in high school, this won’t fly!” as many of them would tell us in 8th grade. Things never get tough because none of us ever get to the maturity level we think we should be at. Just use common sense and a senior won’t pants you.

I remember very little about my public speaking classes. I know my teacher hinted that he had come out of the closet as a homosexual in his 40s and his wife and children were shocked. I wasn’t. He made a pass at me and would rub beards with other boys in the class. He claimed it would “warm up our jaws” for speaking, but it only warmed up the oppressed gay man who had to share a bed with a yucky woman all those years.

A few things that were big in the class were not to say filler words (uhh, umm, fuckburger, like), maintain eye contact (there was one hot girl in the class, even then I looked at her chest), keep a good posture (a kid with a cane got to sit down for his speeches), and dress above your audience (one kid wore ripped up jeans and flip-flops, I could have shown up naked and been more formal). That was all common sense. The teacher should have shown us videos of great speeches by presidents and said “Do that!” He didn’t though. He made us play stupid games that involved encouraging each other and holding our breath in his pants. It was a waste of time if there ever was one.

The class didn’t make me a better speaker. I wasn’t more comfortable in going in front of crowds. Okay, maybe a little bit, but the thing is that I was with the same 25-30 people twice a week for 3 months. We got to know each other so we were better at standing in the front of a classroom talking to them. How does this help with public speaking? The thing that frightens people about public speaking is the stranger aspect. Anyone can talk in front of a room of peers, but with strangers it’s tough. I have a solution.

On the first day of every public speaking class, the class walks in and take their seats. They start to talk, thinking that the teacher won’t show. Just as people begin to file out the teacher enters, naked. He chest bumps everyone he can and tells them to sit down or he’ll fuck them. They’ll sit down, believe me. The teacher then goes over the syllabus. All the syllabus says is “Take off your clothes or you fail.” The class won’t believe this at first, but a few ringers in the crowd will begin to take off their clothes. After a few minutes, everyone will be naked. An entire room full of naked people sitting in cold chairs. Because the chairs are so cold, they stand. The teacher has everyone line up. He informs them that every week they will be forced to get naked in class. Each class they will be paired up with a different person and for five minutes they have to compliment each other. Then for three minutes they have to be judgmental of each other. Then they fuck. It doesn’t matter if it’s a guy and a girl or a guy and a guy or a girl and a girl, there will be private parts entering private parts.

That lasts for the first month or so. From then on, the class is clothing optional. You can show up in the nude or clothed or maybe you just want to wear a bra and boots. It really doesn’t matter. The class will be like any other public speaking class without the garbage waste of time learning how to gain confidence. You will have already had sex with half the class that you’ll be so comfortable or uncomfortable around them that it won’t matter what you say. They’ve see you and you them in the most intimate of situations. Giving a persuasive speech on why you think animal cruelty is wrong will be cake. On a side note, of course that’s easy. Nobody disagrees. Like the one kid in my class who did his persuasive speech on why smoking is bad. Everyone knows smoking is bad dummy. That’s why people who smoke do it. Also, if you get persuaded by one speech then you’re a weak minded tool. That’s how dictators get elected. So don’t be persuaded the first time you hear something. Learn the answers yourself.

Public speaking classes will really take off if my advice was to be taken seriously. It won’t be though. We’re almost as afraid of naked people as we are of speaking in front of strangers. It’s silly really. We’re told to imagine those we speak to as naked. Why not really do it? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re all gross out of shape animals. Lets stop living the lie. It’ll make us better public speakers which will help us when we grow up to become presidents, talk show hosts, or public speaking teachers, the only jobs where public speaking really matters.


“Hello. My name is Tim Boyle.”

That’s how none of my conversations ever start. They probably should start that way, but they don’t. I’m too awkward for that. Most of my conversations with strangers start with me judging them on a physical flaw. I’ll nod and hope I never have to see them again. I usually get my way.

Tim isn’t a bad first name. It’s not as great as Deacon, Lexington, Jackson, or something else that makes me sound like a gay biker. I’ve never been made fun of for my name. That’s a good thing. I’ve known people that have been. Any bit of cleverness has to come from my last name. I had a teacher call me Tim “Hard” Boyle “’d Egg.” It got a lot of laughs from the 6th grade class. I had a rough year.

There isn’t anything too heinous that could relate to my last name that would be plain offensive. I guess if I had been boiled alive that could offend me. At that point, why would I care? I survived being mixed in a giant black pot by cannibals. Everything after that is cake because they didn’t have the opportunity to turn me into cake.

Little known fact: Cannibals love cake!

I’m not positive about the meaning of either of my names. My mom told me that Timothy means “honoring God.” I used to live up to my name, but my interpretation of the name God is “being there for those in need.” There are about a dozen commercials with malnourished children and battered women who think that he needs to work on living up to his name as well.

From what I know about my last name, there is a city in Ireland called O’Boyle, or so I was told. I’ve never found any evidence to back it up. I had the opportunity to talk to three people from Ireland once and they had never heard of the city. Someone lied to me. But does it really matter where the name came from? It’s still mine and doesn’t change who I am. Unless it means “cocksucking ape” in Gaelic which I doubt it because there are few apes in Ireland.

Sometimes people share my name. Tim is pretty common of a name. There’s Tim Allen who had a hit sitcom with Home Improvement. There’s Timothy McVeigh who blew up a building with children in it. There’s that fiction writer Timothy who worked on The Bible. Tims have a reputation for being successful. We rarely fail. Ask Timothy Dalton. Oh wait you can’t because he’s too busy racing dune buggies in his giant mansion!

My last name is also shared. Susan Boyle unfortunately being the most famous. She’s that fat mess that was popular 2 years ago. Here’s a picture my friend made of me on her album cover:







Other people have the last name Boyle. Nobody that’s ever accomplished much. The owner of Columbia Sportswear shares my exact name. I tried to get discounts but they refused because he’s a jerk. That actually never happened. He still is a jerk though. He should share the wealth with his namesake. He hogs it all with his mother Gert. Now that’s a terrible name. It sounds like a type of growth on the bottom of a foot. Irish people aren’t good at much, especially giving out names.

Overall, I don’t mind my names. Eventually I plan on changing my name to Timo Theebole to fool people into thinking I am ethnic, thus getting hired faster or not at all, depending on the company policies. The beauty of it is that if you say it fast enough, it’s pronounced the same as Timothy Boyle, my birth certificate name. I could be crazy in doing that and by then there will be a huge backlash against affirmative action. Until then I’ll stick with the names I was given at birth.

I’ve had this theory for a while now. As with all my theories, they only make sense to me and have no scientific backing to them. My theories usually come to me in dreams or in print on grilled cheese sandwiches.

The proposed theory that I want to give to you is that every form of entertainment is somebody’s favorite. What I mean by that is, if we hired people (hey it can happen) to go out and poll everyone in the world on the topic of favorites, that every one will be chosen at least once. For example, every band is somebody’s favorite. I can’t commit to the thought that every single stinking band has someone who is behind them more than any other band. I’ve seen and known people in too many shitty ones to believe that. The list would have to have some sort of semblance. Like they must have at least had a studio album come out. I don’t know enough about he music industry, I’m not a socialist pig. So it wouldn’t be my job to come up with the standard.

That make sense? If not let me get a little more specific and onto another topic. Actors. Every actor that has played a major role in a movie or in a television show was at one time somebody’s favorite. I guess I just changed my theory here. I added in the “at one point” part. It’s hard for me to really believe that at this day, at this time that Breckin Meyer is somebody’s favorite actor. Above all else, Mr. Meyer has won their hearts over Al Pacino, Will Smith, Will Sasso, Danny Glover, Adam Baldwin, Danny Tamberelli, Toby Huss, and everyone else who has ever been in a movie or on a television show with an important role. I don’t mean to pick on Breckin Meyer. He’s just always the person that comes to mind when I think about this. He’s the epitome of average. Nothing other than his nose stands out. His nose isn’t even big. It’s just, not a normal nose. But really, of every leading man, he still must be somebody’s favorite. If not at least his mother or whoever he’s dating, Breckin Meyer has to be the favorite actor at one point of a living human being.

This argument can get tough the deeper into it I get. Like every movie is somebody’s favorite. I always see Troll 2 and Plan 9 From Outerspace on lists of the worst movies of all time. I’ve met two separate people to have claimed that those were their favorite movies. There. Done. Cross them off the list. Even legendary worsts are favorites to someone. That doesn’t prove anything though and I know that. It’s still all an argument that can’t be proven in the other direction either. Nickelback is constantly one of the best-selling bands every year. They suck and yet they help my argument. By being such shit and still being gigantic draws in ticket sales, the Crappiest Band from Canada (really they should adapt that nickname) gives me great hope that my theory is true. It’s the first step to finally making it into science books across the country.

And if my theory is true then it might go further than that. It may not have to end at entertainment. Maybe we’re all somebody’s favorite. In fact, I believe that each of us has at one point done something, said something, or created something that is someone’s favorite. We’ve all created a favorite. Maybe you’ve told a favorite joke. Maybe you’ve cooked a favorite meal. Maybe you had sex with your favorite person and created a baby who became someone else’s favorite. So don’t think you’re wasting your time with anything you do. At some point you will do something and then another human being can say “That’s my favorite.”


Posted: September 29, 2011 in September 2011
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I am an addict. I am addicted to drugs. I am addicted to alcohol. I am addicted to food. I am addicted to love. I am addicted to sex. I am addicted to TV. I am addicted to self-improvement. I am addicted to pain. I am addicted to getting tattoos. I am addicted to sports. I am addicted to candy. I am addicted to killing others.

All of the above is true. I don’t do a lot of them. But that doesn’t mean they’re not true. I know myself well enough by now that I am addicted to everything that I try. It doesn’t matter what it is. Even if science has proven that it does not cause addiction my mind and body will find a way to become addicted to it. I defy science. I’m like Superman or one of them Creationists except, sane. Superman must be the most insane superhero of them all. He was the strongest and nearly invincible and never wore a mask. NEVER! Even on Halloween he’d just hold up one of those gay rich people masks. La’Tee’Da Clarke. A superhero is only as good as his mask and villains. The only nemesis of Superman is a bald high school pal. It’d be like me having a war with that cancer kid from 10th grade geometry that stole my protractor.

I do my best to avoid everything that I could see myself potentially getting addicted to. I don’t do drugs and I don’t drink much at all anymore. I know that if I did then that’s all I would do. Instead of sitting in my apartment alone in the dark looking at blank Word Documents (Works Documents to be exact, for some reason I never get computers with Word, just Works) I’d be sitting there shoving beer and heroin down my throat. I know you don’t eat heroin, but I have an oral fixation and would need to at least attempt to chew on it.

My way of coping with addiction is to not do something I don’t think I’d be willing to do all the time at all. The best way to not become an alcoholic, don’t drink ever. The best way to not become addicted to sugar, avoid sugary snacks all the time. The best way to avoid becoming addicted to fun, don’t drink or eat sugary foods. Maybe my way isn’t the best or healthiest approach, but it keeps me on track. I can’t remember the last real dessert I ate and I’ve only had alcohol once in the last two years and that was because I was on vacation. There was a time when I tried to avoid sugar all together. That lasted 4 days and I began to binge on sugary foods whenever I could. Now I don’t worry about sugar. It’s in everything. Even the broccoli in my freezer has sugar in it. Broc-fucking-colli! The vegetable that I constantly trick myself into thinking I don’t mind only to fix myself a plate and feel like vomiting. Sugar is unavoidable and that’s fine. Why deprive myself completely of something that I can’t avoid? Every meal can’t be chicken and brown rice. Fuck. Even the chicken has some sugar in it. No wonder so many people have diabetes.

Food is easily mine and a lot of people’s biggest addiction. It’s something we all need. I can’t avoid it at all costs like I can do with drugs and alcohol. That’s why so many fat people exist. They use the same plan that I do. We’re all addicted to those tasty treats. Theme parks are named after foods that will kill us! Imagine that. Hershey’s chocolates have probably helped lead to the deaths of many people yet they get their own roller coasters and mascots dressed up as giant pieces of candy. I’m waiting for Red Meat Wet and Wild Water Kingdom to open up soon. Ride a steak through your own arteries trying not to get stuck.

The Internet is another thing that may fall into the same category as food when addiction is considered. It’s hard not to use the Internet. Everyone I know uses it. I’m sure some old-timers don’t and that’s probably because they haven’t discovered how many naked women are on there. Once they do, the top searches on Yahoo will be “Bingo”, “Matlock”, and “5 Cent Movie Tickets.” From the porn to the social networking websites to this very blog (there HAS to be someone out there that’s addicted to reading what I write, eventually at least) the Internet is a dangerous place full of procrastination. And isn’t that what’s so bad about addiction anyway? Because it stops you from doing stuff you really should be doing like showing up to work on time and respecting yourself.

The best advice I can give on addiction is that you should try to get as addicted to certain things as you can. I’ve never had a horrible addiction like some people unfortunately have, but I don’t think my advice has any less merit. Try finding things that will make you a better person. More importantly, things that will make you a happier person. I know drinking and drugging and fucking random people may make you feel good temporarily, but I’ve never heard a story about any of them that ends with a smile. Use our addictive natures to help others and to help yourself. Become addicted to cleaning up trash. Lose sleep over the need to help out at a soup kitchen. I know those are corny, but give me a break. I’d never do either of those two unless I was addicted to them. Addiction doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s what you’re addicted to that makes the difference.


Posted: September 28, 2011 in September 2011
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There is no justice on the planet earth. No court, no God, no government can control the injustices that happen in this world. There are two grave injustices that I want to focus on today. There are lots, like starving children and soft toilet paper being expensive. They are not topics for today, perhaps tomorrow. When you think about it though, those two injustices never go together. If you’re hungry you don’t shit. If you have rough toilet paper, at least you’re eating. Nobody can ever complain about them both.

Injustice Number One:

Hitler achieved more in his lifetime than I, you, or anyone any of us know ever will. He had more money and power despite being evil.

Say you what you want about the NAZI bastard, he got shit done. A lot of people I know like to try to put a positive spin on things. They say that everything happens for a reason. That being the case, then why the Holocaust? Why did so many have to die in concentration camps and in war because one man had an ideology of what the perfect human being was? Well, I guess I’ll try to put something positive that may come out of it. Work ethic. Looking at Hitler, he had such a great work ethic. He was born a poor Austrian boy (still some debate on the boy part) and rose up from the ashes to live his dreams of massacring millions. It’s the American dream, except instead of making 6 million dollars a year playing baseball, that’s how many people he killed.

Like any dictator or bad boy rocker, Hitler had a soft side. He was a vegetarian and an avid animal lover. So the next time PETA asks you for donations, don’t give them any. They could be the next evil doer. I’m sure there are a lot more funny things about Hitler, but not much is known. There was a rumor I once heard that he had one of his testicles removed because during his passionate speeches he would ejaculate into his snazzy NAZI trousers. Imagine that. Someone that loves themselves so much that hearing themselves talk about what they loved would make them cum. Evil man. Passionate about his beliefs. Another thing a lot of people don’t have, passion. How many people do you know that sleep away their dreams and don’t get out of bed until they have to? Complain about their problems and do nothing to solve them? They’re good people, yes, but lazy motherfuckers. There are people who do and people who sit around eating potato chips all day watching sports. Hitler never ate a potato chip in his life. He nearly dominated the entire world. We’d admire him if instead of killing others he was out planting trees. Christ, where did his parents go wrong?

Cult comedian Bill Hicks put it best when he said “Hitler had the right idea, he was just an underachiever.” He went on to proclaim that Hitler should kill off the entire human race, not selectively. The relevant part of the quote is the underachievement part. Yes, Hitler’s plan failed miserably. He thought by the end he’d be regarded as the greatest hero in the history of the world, not the biggest villain since Cesar Romero’s portrayal of The Joker. To take anything positive away from the atrocities he committed, it’s that if you put your mind to anything and want it bad enough, you may come pretty damn close as long as a fat British Prime Minister doesn’t get in your way.

Injustice Number Two:

Nuns still get their period, cramps, and other PMS issues.

I never thought I’d be discussing Hitler and nuns consequentially and not be referring to winning costumes at a Halloween bash. There’s a day for everything. I think the least a higher power could do is take away the menstrual cramps that a nun has. She’s pledged her life to be the bride of Christ and she still gets her monthly visitor? No wonder they’re so mean. Nuns can’t catch a break. They have to wear those big habits even when it’s hot out. Even mascots get to take a break every inning or so. There better be an afterlife or else they’ll have egg all over their faces.

Nuns also can get cancer, constipation, hit by buses, and every other horrible thing happen to them. They gain no immortality by pledging their allegiance to Jesus. I have to respect them for that. Mad props nuns, mad props.

I’m not sure if America is aware of what is going on around them. The scary truth that we have all turned a blind eye to. I’m referring to the increase in the price of milk and oatmeal. Only a few months ago I could get milk for $3.29 a gallon and a giant tub of oatmeal for $2.24. Today, it costs me $3.79 for my Kosher milk and $3.54 for my plain boring oatmeal. I haven’t eaten oatmeal in a while now and that was before the price hike. I’m not sure if there is a war going on wherever oats are grown, but I want more blood for my oats!

Everyone is always worried about gas prices, justifiably so. They suck. It’s only been in the last 10-15 years that they’ve been so ridiculous. It costs too much money to go anywhere and once we do get there we can’t afford to do anything. No wonder the economy stinks. Nobody has the means to get to any place to spend their paychecks. Even worse, with the increase of the price of milk and oatmeal, we will all now have weak bones and be constipated on a daily basis. We’ll slouch and be full of shit. Maybe the government isn’t trying to fuck us, they’re just trying to turn us into them.

Before the “One of us! One of us!” chants come out of Washington, we need to act. Let our voices be heard that these increases in prices do not sit well in our osteoporosis tummies. Most of my solutions involve burning things. People have a stigma about fire. They say it hurts when it touches their skin. This time only, I do not want fire to be involved. Oats are highly flammable and I can see the government using that against our flames of victory.

Little known fact: In the 1970s, oats were often tied to the fireproof clothing of stuntmen in order to ensue excessive burning.

I am fully convinced that the government wants us to be fat and addicted to sugar. Eating healthy is nearly impossible without spending a buttload, pardon the language, of money on foods with vitamins. Then there’s Whole Foods, a place where they pretend as long as you shop there you’ll be healthy. Whole Foods is really just a Piggly Wiggly with weird-looking bananas. I can’t shop there. I saw a man shopping there and he had a double leveled shopping cart. Really? You’re organic brown eggs can’t be on the same level as your hand-made sugar less ice cream? Double-Decker shopping carts are the most pretentious form of transporting food. A golden bag made out of extinct animal faces would bother me less.

I will still continue to buy milk and on a special occasion oatmeal. That’s where we’re at. Oatmeal is a treat. It’s disgusting and tastes like testicle sawdust, at least the cheap kind I get does. The lids are always dusty too. But oatmeal helps us shit and some of us really need help with that. I’m hoping for the prices to go down, perhaps cows can over breed and a mine full of oats can be discovered by mountaineers. Other than those two solutions, we are screwed.

“One nation, under the control of the government, that wants me to eat bacon for breakfast.” – The Flag Salute

I used to have business cards. A friend of mine made them for me. I only handed out two of them. One was to a girl who I’m pretty sure was trying to rob me. She was way too nice and called me 5 minutes after I handed her the card. I don’t remember what she said and the fact that I never heard from me again, one can only assume that she was screaming for help. I’ve always wondered what happens to those girls whom I communicate with and just seem to disappear. I have a feeling that there’s a mass grave of girls that have met me with my business card in each of their pockets.

Only two people should ever have business cards. People trying to network with a legitimate skill to offer and people looking to win contests at restaurants. Restaurants always seem to be collecting business cards in their little fish bowls. I used to put my dad’s business cards I them and he would never win. This sounds like a scam to me. They probably stole his identity. He’ll end up in that mass grave someday, but until then I’ll continue trying to win him a free slice of pizza.

It’s been a while since I’ve been handed a business card. My garbage can misses them. That’s where they always end up. Right between religious pamphlets and the plate I ate dinner off of. That’s what I think of your entrepreneurship.

Maybe I’m in the minority. If so, then I demand equal rights. Then I demand more rights than the average person. That’s what a minority group does. They want to be equal, then they want more rights. As long as every human being has the same rights as the next, I am fine with it. Your agenda means nothing to me. Especially if you wear a dress.

I don’t like dresses. I like dressings. Everybody does. A salad without dressing sucks. One time I tried a salad with hot sauce on it. I rarely throw food away, but that food I did. Not my greatest idea. No matter what type of dress it is that a woman wears, I am not a fan.

Okay, sometimes there are dresses on certain girls and at certain times that I can admit to myself “Hey, she looks decent in that.” Usually these are slut dresses and she’s drunk and flirting with me already. She thinks I look like some celebrity that I don’t look anything like. I’ve been told by 3 people claiming that I look like Heath Ledger. They were ALL drunk. That’s why there are laws against drinking and driving. You may pull up to a stop sign, spot me, get so excited that Heath Ledger is back from the dead, and crash. Only in cases where this happens am I attracted to a girl in a dress, sometimes.

Dresses to me are weird looking. They remind me of superheroes. It’s oversized fabric, not skin-tight, usually has a dumb design on it, shows off unsexy body parts like shoulders and knees, and most of all, they’re seen as fancy. I don’t like fancy things. I am simple. I like Lobster from Maine and my Rolls Royce white. I’m easy to please is what I’m trying to say. A woman putting on a dress usually means that she has high expectations of where she’s going. Do you know how nervous that makes me? I had only planned on taking you out for burritos and now you’re in a dress. If we show up to a place without a chandelier you’ll throw a fit. Fancy things are never fun. I can’t enjoy a meal in a suit or a nice Christmas sweater. I’m too focused on not spilling. Bread always seems hard to reach for. I don’t like dressing like the wait staff either. That’s what happens when you go to fancy places and dress up fancy. You get mistaken for the help and then fired from a job that you don’t have when you refuse to bus a table. Try explaining that to the IRS. You can’t because they don’t have a reliable phone service. See what dresses do to me? They get me sidetracked.

The biggest day of any girl’s life is theoretically her wedding day. On that day, she wears a dress. A big white poofy floppy, hasn’t changed in hundreds of years, dress. Wedding dresses creep me out. I think I may have seen a movie when I was younger with a zombie in a wedding dress or maybe it’s that part in Gremlins 2 when the Gremlin goes up to kiss the guy in the bathroom while wearing a wedding dress that bothers me. Few things creep me out more than seeing a woman in a long white flowing dress. Wedding dresses are disgusting. They’re haunting. And what’s with the veil? I think that’s the worst part about it. It’s like a little see-through mask. Each time someone lifts it I get nervous that something is going to rip through their face. Old things scare me, traditions at least. A wedding dress feels too Medieval and all that reminds me of is the Bubonic Plague and then I get more freaked out. I pick up my feet afraid of rat bites. See what dresses do to me? They get me to quickly lift up my legs. I could pull a muscle or worse, a tendon doing that!

I do want to acknowledge that I get why a girl would wear a dress. It makes them feel pretty. I have never worn a dress so I don’t know if there are some special powers in the stitches that make them feel good. Until I do try on a dress, you are right and I am wrong. All that matters about clothing is how it makes you feel, not how weird I think you look in it.


Posted: September 24, 2011 in September 2011
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I don’t have any heroes. I used to. In 5th grade we were forced into writing an essay about an inspirational person. It was to get on some council with no power. I wrote about then Philadelphia Phillies third baseman Scott Rolen. I mentioned how he always hustled and had a high batting average with runners in scoring position. The two kids that won wrote about Bill Clinton and Jesus. One of them dropped out of high school and has a drug problem. The other has severe depression. I’m satisfied with choosing the 1997 National League Rookie of the Year.

It’s not uncommon for a person to have no real heroes. The older you get, the more human you realize every one of those men you used to worship are. Athletes certainly aren’t my heroes. Neither are musicians. Actors and actresses make a living being something they’re not. I need a hero, bad.

I never liked doing reports on an inspirational person or a hero in your personal life. I usually would alternate between my parents, whichever one had more money to buy me gifts at the time. That’s heroic. Buying gifts. Santa’s a hero to lots. Kids love that guy. I’ve always wanted someone to do a report on how much of a hero I am to them. I don’t blame people for never doing it, I’ve never done anything heroic. I would love to. I sometimes fantasize about pulling a woman from a car crash. I’d go deeper into my fantasy and how she “rewards” me later on, but that would sound less heroic than me simply saving her life.

Deep down inside, I know that I have been the hero to someone, at some point. I know someone has said it to me but I can’t remember who it was or why they said it. I don’t think it was ever serious though. With soldiers fighting wars, police gunning down criminals, firemen saving cats, it’s tough for me to find a niche audience to be the hero of. Kids usually think I’m cool. They always have. Younger people always look up to me for some reason. I like that. They think my bullshit, spoken from the heart, is helpful. Maybe it is. Or maybe I’ve just thrown them down a path into a deeper darkened passageway.

Someday I would like to know that I am someone’s true hero. Perhaps have someone be me for Halloween. That’s how I’ll know I truly am a hero. When a child thinks to themselves “Who would strangers most like to give candy to?” and my name pops up into their head. Move over Spiderman, Batman, and Dennis Rodman. There’s a new man who children want to be.

“I can be your hero, maybe.” – Enrique Iglesias

Why is it that the only people who watch shows about dating are people that nobody enjoys dating? Every girl I have known that likes the show The Bachelor or The Bachelorette has or has had a boyfriend that I have known to cheat on her. I might be breaking “guy code” here but I feel bad for these girls. They already have terrible taste in television and for their men to be out cheating on them upsets me. My recommendation, watch something that doesn’t involve handing out roses. Or, talk to him about something interesting. Maybe he’ll stop handing out his cum to 25 eligible women vying for his heart.