Archive for December, 2011

We all have them. Unless you’re a machinist. They’re called fingers. Those little dingle dangle things coming out of your hands. A normal person has 10. 5 on each hand. I am normal. I have 10 fabulous fingers. Lets go over each of them because I don’t feel like making you think hard today.

The first finger on most people’s hands is the thumb. Some argue that the thumb is not a finger. I poke them in the eye with my thumb and they say “get that finger out of my face.” I win those arguments. As humans, we’re the only species with the opposable thumb. It helps us grip things. The thumb is also useful when telling someone who you liked a movie or if you’re a Roman emperor and want to see a gladiator killed. When the thumb is aimed up it is good. Down is bad. A sideways thumb means nothing. It probably should have some meaning. How about it means “you look good today.” We need more hand signals that are compliments. They all seem to mean fuck you. Lets do this. Lets start the sideways thumb.

Next on the hand is the index finger. Children call their index fingers pointers. It’s because they use their finger to do just that, point. I learned at a young age not to point. It’s impolite. I was at an Indian Reservation and the chaperone’s son pointed and said “Look, an Indian.” His mother slapped him and said “Don’t point. That’s not nice.” How else was I supposed to know where the savage was? I probably use my index finger more than any other. It’s perfect for poking and picking. Don’t forget scratching. I’m a very itchy person. If I had to cut off one finger, it wouldn’t be my index finger. I’d never be able to shush anybody anymore.

Then we get to everybody’s favorite finger, the middle finger. The big motherfucker of fingers. You lift up this one by itself and you’re starting up a storm of shit. I rarely flip people the bird. Mostly in the car or when their back is turned. On the school bus years ago, a kid who is now a professional baseball player put his two middle fingers up in the air and crossed them. His brother said “Don’t do that. That means fuck everybody.” He did it again. Moral of the story, athletes are douche bags who don’t care about any of us, even when they’re 5 years old.

The ring finger is quite possibly the strangest named finger. It’s like saying the name is irrelevant unless you have a ring on it. That’s kind of true too. It’s hard to move that finger by itself. I guess in a way it’s a second string middle finger. Sometimes people will flip others the ring finger. These people cannot fully commit to telling their enemy to go to hell.

Finally we get to the pinky. The biggest wimp of fingers. I don’t use my pinky for much. There are very few tiny spaces I need to slide a finger into. Ladies in olden days would lift up their pinky to show off how feminine they were. Rich people still do it while drinking tea. Pinkies are very relevant to surfers who do the “hang loose” symbol. Don’t let the name mislead you. Your pinky does not need to be pink. Mine isn’t. I did used to have a freckle near my one pinky that I thought for years was a poop stain. I’d watch my hands nonstop. Now I have asthma and eczema because of my clean living ways.

There are of course people out there with more fingers. I don’t know what the names of these fingers are called. I’m sure they do have one. How do those people shake hands? If I had 6 fingers I would try to get girls to think this gave me some magical talent to give them pleasure. Or I’d learn the piano. You can’t get too many girls by playing the piano so this is an either or situation. I won’t have to worry about that though because I don’t plan on growing a new finger any time soon.

Roommates

Posted: December 20, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Years ago, a Jewish person who I thought was gay and flirting with me gave me some advice. He said to never make a friend of yours your roommate. You’ll grow to hate them. I think this is true. Unless you’re open about how you don’t want to hate each other, it’s inevitable. I later found out that he wasn’t gay. My mistake was that I had never talked to a Jewish person before. I didn’t know how flamboyant and talkative they could be. The older you get, the more you learn.

I have a roommate. It’s a dog. He’s the family dog whom I am taking care of, temporarily I hope. What’s temporary? 8 months and counting is. He’s not technically allowed to be here because he’s too fat. They have a weight limit in my apartment complex. They don’t want dogs over 35 pounds. I wish they had a weight limit on people here. It only seems fair if there is one for animals. Luckily the people who live above me don’t work which means they can’t afford to eat. I only have to worry about them crashing through my floor during one of their weekly shouting matches. Why do I get the sense that I’m going to have to be the one to call the cops?

My roommate and I don’t get along very well. He’s a dog, remember. I usually get along great with animals. They love me. Not this bastard. He’s a dick. We used to get along better. Then I didn’t see him for a year and he has an attitude about that. I was never his favorite. In fact, no joke, he just farted on me as I am typing this. I didn’t feel it or hear it but I certainly smell it. I told you he was a bastard.

So to embarrass him, I would like to name a few things that he should change about himself. I feel like a woman yelling at her boyfriend doing this. It’s necessary for revenge factors.

Annoying Things About McGwire The Dog

1) He always pants whenever the temperature is 65 or above. I get it that he’s fat and all, but 65 isn’t that hot. My electric bill was so high in August because of him. Does he care? No. Dogs don’t have to worry about bills. Only ducks do! (I hate myself for saying that)

2) Whenever I pat the couch and say “come on McGwire, sit next to me and cuddle” he walks over, looks at me, then leaves. What a dick move! Not only does he not obey his master, he teases me and then leaves and goes into the other room. He’s sitting next to me right now (remember how he farted on me?) and that’s only because it’s late and he’s trying to hint to me that I need to go to bed and get off his fucking couch. His words, not mine.

3) He can’t aim when he pees. This could be due to a few medical problems he has, but seriously, this is annoying. You’ve got paws. Use them to aim your dick! I would much rather be living with a guy who pees on the toilet seat than a dog who pisses on his own leg and one time into his own face. He also pees like a girl. So embarrassing.

4) He has this unwritten rule that I can only go outside twice a day without him crying nonstop. I can do it in the morning after he eats and at night after he eats. In short, after he gets what he wants I can go die in a car crash for all he cares.

5) My dirty clothes sprawled out on the ground in my bedroom is his favorite place to lay. This is annoying when I feel like wearing a dirty shirt. Yes, sometimes I like to put on a dirty shirt you know for painting or dates with fat girls I want to end poorly. It’s probably my fault for allowing him there and once Christmas rolls around I’ll have a hamper and things will be better.

6) He eats my clothes, blankets, and bed sheets. Have you ever seen a dog poop out the color plaid? I have. A lot. He loves eating plaid things for some reason. He ate a part of one of my plaid shirts. He ate the image of a smiling face off of another shirt. That’s cruel and Satanic. Of all of the images to eat he chooses one of a smiley face. The shirt did say “I Hate You” but he doesn’t know that. He can’t read!

7) Sometimes McGwire gets in the garbage. I don’t ever throw away anything interesting to eat. The other day I came home to two egg shells, a ripped up plate, and a bottle of carrot juice which he didn’t even bother touching. I’m sure he was very upset to realize that I always clean my plate. Probably why he hid with his tail between his legs while I beat him with a belt.

8 ) My apartment has two rooms in it. A bedroom and a living room type thing. Chances are, if I’m in the living room he’s in the bedroom. When I enter the bedroom, he leaves and goes into the living room. My parents lived together for about 2 years and didn’t speak. This reminds me of that and I start to cry again.

9) Whenever my girlfriend comes over he will not leave us alone. All day long when I’m with him he acts like I don’t exist. The second she gets here my crotch becomes the most interesting thing to him. Maybe he’s trying to send her signals that it’s what she should be doing, but I don’t think he’s that clever.

10) He does a lot of other things that most dogs do. He barks at inappropriate times, tries to eat other dog’s poop, exists, begs for food, and makes me sneeze. I can’t really fault him for these, but I wanted you to know that he also sucks in the obvious ways that other dogs do too.

11) He has never gotten a girl to talk to me. Isn’t that the whole point of having a dog? Attracting girls? I’ve walked him in public enough for some hot mama to notice and everyone looks at him like he’s a big retard buffoon. He is, but it’s impolite to stare and they should be old enough to know that.

12) He will only let someone pet his face for so long before he sticks his butt in your face. He loves his butt rubbed and slapped. No normal living creature should like this much humiliation. He’d probably get off on reading how embarrassing this is. His red penis (lipstick as I call it) would pop out.

13) He’s a pussy. I mean a massive gaping one. Three little yapping dogs live next door and whenever he sees them he hides. He’s 5 times their size and that’s not an exaggeration. Even three of them they’re barely half his size. He’s also very afraid of thunder and fireworks. He’s very unpatriotic. McGwire hates America and that’s why you should hate him too.

McGwire does have a few cool things about him. For one he knows what the word “Dinner” and “Breakfast” mean. I can say to him “Do you want to go for a car ride?” and 50% of the time he will guess the correct car in which he will be entering. He doesn’t do it anymore, but when we were younger boys whenever I would toss him a ball he’d try to catch it with his paws like I would catch it. He farts a lot which can cover up any of my farts that I might make in front of others. If I drop food he’s there to clean it up. That’s my favorite because I’m lazy when it comes to cleaning. For a while, he would wake me up right before my alarm went off. I really dig internal clocks. I don’t know why he couldn’t have waited 5 minutes to walk into my room wagging his tail and smiling. He would have saved himself a couple of strangling sessions that I gave him later on in the day.

The only other good thing about him is that for the first 5 minutes after I come home he pretends to be happy to see me. I know it’s because he has to pee, but I like to pretend that he actually has some sort of love and affection towards my being. I know that can’t be true. Something that smells as bad as he does can’t possibly have the capacity to love anything that cannot be eaten. Unless he’s planning to eat me. Shit. That’s why he’s been so sweet lately.

Exes

Posted: December 18, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Preface: I’m posting this ahead of time and scheduling it for a future date. I will not have a chance to post anything Sunday or Monday so hopefully this will hold you over. I hope the “scheduling” feature works for this. Also, if you are one of the creeps who frequently looks at my blog and does not comment, leave a comment. I like to know who reads this so I can cater to you interests/make sure I don’t say bad things about you/make sure I do say bad things about you if I don’t like you. I’m curious to know who these people who Google “mooselicker” are. Yes, I can see that you do that. Stop being a creep and show yourself.

(Until I know better, this is you. A gay clown in the bushes spying on my every move. He’s gay because gay clowns only red the tips of their nose, not the nostrils)

Onto the article:

This is a thought that has putted around in my head for a while now. It came to me when looking at Facebook profiles of old high school classmates. I might be going out on a limb here, but Jesus Christ, I am the only person who looks better now than they did 6 years ago. I’m not in amazing shape or anything. One thing I do have is that I am completely unrecognizable. I’ve talked to people from my old high school and they have no idea who I am. Maybe they never noticed me and I didn’t get more handsome. Crap. I was excited and pooped my pants for nothing.

I recently saw a picture of an ex-girlfriend on the Internets. Before you get mad at any insults I might say about this girl, let it be known that 2 days before we broke up I texted her “I miss you” and she responded with “That’s nice.” What–the–fuck? You said you loved me! It took us dating 2 days and you were in love with me! Now only about 2 weeks later, it was nice when I missed you. You son of a bitch. I regret not saying your face looked feline.

I’m sitting on Facebook trying to find some Spanish girl whose name I recently learned. Yes, I’m stalking. Big deal. Do you know what the worst thing about Spanish girls is? They’re impossible to stalk. All of their last names are the same. I hope I never need to seriously stalk a Maria Lopez. There has to be 5 million of them.*

(Sofia Vergara has never had a successful stalker. Believe me, I’ve tried)

*This is a recycled joke that I posted on Facebook. Sorry if you’re my Facebook friend and had to read this again. I thought it was clever. Only one person commented on it which is one more than I usually get. I felt it was also very fitting for this post so I used it again. I really was trying to stalk a Spanish girl so it’s not so much a joke as it is a harsh reality. It’s fine to recycle harsh realities.

I am getting so off-track here! I apologize. What I wanted to say was that I saw my ex-girlfriend had some new photographs up. To say she packed on a few L.B.’s would be an insult to the letters L & B. Do letters get insulted? I can’t remember if it’s letters or numbers that have emotions.

(Numbers and Letters getting along for once despite religious affiliation)

I won’t go on a tirade of fat jokes or anything. I’m above doing that to anyone I actually know. I also can’t think of anything clever or hurtful enough. My question though has to do with exes. There are a lot of people who go from “geek to chic” as Jenny Jones would put it. Or in other cases they go from “chic to big fat mess.” I know there’s nothing wrong with change, that’s how Obama got elected.

The question here for you is, what’s the most important and what is the worst of the below choices? Yeah, I’m having trouble wording this. Fuck letters. I hope they are the ones with emotions and feel sad now. Just select which one of the below is more true for you.

A) I would rather date someone attractive who used to be unattractive

Or

B) I would rather date someone who has always been attractive who ends up becoming unattractive after we break up

There are tons of variables to this. I know I would rather date someone who used to be unattractive merely for the fact that they’ll probably lack confidence and be easy pickings. Having dated someone who turned out worse feels a little embarrassing. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because I relate more to people who get better looking as opposed to others who take a nose dive into a bucket of ice cream.

I guess though what really matters is what the person looks like when you actually do date them. Why else should any of us care? Because we’re gossips who want those who hurt us to live miserable lives! That’s why.

To be less shallow, what really matters is personality. I can’t fall in love with someone unless I have some sense of a personality. That’s probably why I don’t like porn. Those girls don’t have a personality other than being a slut. I need to be able to know that the girl has a sense of humor or is real into animals. If more pornographic films had girls wearing clown noses or holding kittens I might get into it and fall in love.

(I am in love)

Yes, sometimes I’m a real pig and will find something very small to turn myself off from another person. What you might call being an animal, I call being observant. I’m not picky at all with girls I’d date. All I ask is that you let your beautiful personality shine through, always let me remind you how amazing you are, and don’t have a big nose. Everybody needs a line. Big noses are mine.

P.S. I also wrote something else. It’s about wrestling! Enjoy by clicking on this link.

I would like to talk about a topic that we all enjoy, parties. They’re fun, usually contain a lot of drunks, lots of scandalous sex, and there is always a lot of unnecessary drama. Yep, that’s what the political parties of the United States of America are like.

My readers not living in the U.S. or familiar with how the politics here work, this is a brief summary for you. In this country we have every political party you can think of. Communists, Socialists, The Green Party, Libertarians, politicians who believe that other politicians are really reptiles from outer space disguised as humans, and Independents are allowed over here. None of them ever stand a chance at winning and that’s why everybody in my country complains. None of us would ever seriously vote for one of these third parties unless their name is Ron Paul. I never got the Ron Paul buzz. People like him because he “tells it like it is.” I don’t know. Telling it like it is doesn’t necessarily seem like a good thing from a politician. Doing good things for me sounds a whole let better. I like to be blind and think that there is hope for me after all. I don’t want Obama to come out and say “Listen, you grew up in a middle class family. You’re not really that gifted at much of anything. You’ll probably spend the rest of your life working mediocre jobs and hating that you didn’t try harder in school. Sorry. That’s Capitalism.” That’s a truth that I do not want to accept. That’s why I like my politicians like I like socks, dirty. Why do I like my socks dirty? Because when white socks turn black they look like a pair of black shoes. I don’t like wearing shoes. This allows me to wear only socks in public without getting funny looks. Unless someone looks directly at my feet. Then questions arise.

(You know this isn’t a picture I took because I don’t own anything doily)

Foreigners, also take notice, there are two main political parties in the United States. They are called the Republicans and the Democrats. The Republicans are the more conservative group and the Democrats are the more liberal group. That’s when they make their speeches and promises. Once they get elected, they become moderate, but in a way that none of us seem to like. I believe that most people are moderate with their politics. It’s hard to fully agree 100% with anybody on anything. That’s why politics are tricky.

Lets use make up a fake politician. We’ll call him Barack Bush. Say Barack Bush runs on a platform that he will make abortion legal. People who like abortions will be really happy. But then he also thinks that all chocolate products should be allowed. Barack Bush hates chocolate. Loves abortion, but hates chocolate. Now imagine yourself. You consider yourself a liberal. You think a woman has the right to choice what she does with her body. Even more than that you believe that a woman can get an abortion and then go out for chocolate ice cream afterwards. What do you do? Barack Bush’s opponent, George Obama, is very anti-abortion. He thinks that it’s wrong. He wants to outlaw it. But he loves chocolate. He’s going to spend our money on missiles to build chocolate factories all over the country instead. Low calorie, sugar less chocolate too for you health nuts. You’re faced with a serious decision. Do you want abortions or chocolate? The point of all of this is to let you know that you will never be happy with your decision. You have to sacrifice something with politics. In this case it’s the difficulty choice of abortions or chocolate. I know Meryl Streep had a difficulty decision in Sophie’s Choice, but that does not compare to this fictitious decision that you have to make.

(I would have sex with Meryl Streep)

When I was younger, I always figured that the Republicans were the bad guys and the Democrats were the good guys. A lot of young people feel this way. Republicans are old white men. They remind us of Disney villains or the Emperor from Stars Wars. I swear, for the amount of Star Wars references that I make, it’s not even one of my favorite movies. I didn’t even own a VHS of it when I was a boy. I had a copy that was taped when it aired on Cable. I’d have to fast forward through the commercials and have to deal with that awful sound that would come on whenever music would play. I kind of miss that.

Now that I am older and understand politics even less, I don’t see the Republicans as the bad guys. In a way, I see the Democrats as the bad guys. I always kind of relate it back to professional wrestling in a way. Yes, I’m going to mention Star Wars and the WWE. You’d think I’ve never spoken to a female that wasn’t named “Mom” with this banter. Maybe I don’t need to relate it to wrestling after all. No, I won’t. I’m better than that. But think about this. Aren’t the people who are in charge always the bad guys. In wrestling it’s Vince McMahon. He’s always better as a heel. High school had a principal. Principals are always dicks. Even your job. I’m sure it has a boss. Don’t you love to hate that ass-clown? What’s the meaning of all of this? We learn to hate those with authority over us. When Clinton was the president, Rage Against the Machine was raging against the machine! Then Bush came along and a lot of shitty punk bands came along to whine. I hated George Bush at first and by the end I pitied that fool. He was just a guy who did what he thought was right. I don’t think he was out to screw me. He was a name and a face that could be put out in front of us while the Illuminati did what they had to do. Now Obama is in charge and well, he hasn’t made anything better. I wanted to kill myself when Clinton was president, I wanted to kill myself when Bush was president, and I still want to kill myself with Obama as president. What drastic things have really changed between these three very different men? I don’t see it.

(These 4 guys need to calm down and do something more than sound like a louder version of the Beastie Boys if they’re really that angry)

I hate politics and it was painful for me to write about it here. I don’t vote because I’m not informed. I could become more informed, but what would that accomplish? It would stress me out and make me feel guilty when my elected official kills off a certain ethnicity. I’m not really swayed in either direction, Republican or Democrat. I always thought I would be a Democrat but the more I’m around them the more I hate them. Republicans are just boring and stuck-up. I don’t know if I’ve ever even seen one. One time at a Rita’s Water Ice I saw a limo pull up. A large family got out. One of the sons of the family twirled around and said “I love being rich” in a sweet British voice. I assume these people were Republicans. The mother and father in the family smiled at each other. They were making their kids happy. This is why I could never join the dark side, the Republicans. That queer twirling Brit ruined all hopes of me saving the elephant party.

I should probably mention that too. The Republican’s symbol is an elephant while the Democrat’s is a donkey. The story goes that the Democrats are a donkey because Andrew Jackson was a jackass. I don’t know if this is true or not. The same woman who told me that said that Ford’s Theater where Lincoln was shot was in Western Pennsylvania. I believed it then she played Billy Joel for the class. I didn’t learn much that year. My history teachers were never good influences and I blame them. My 11th grade history teacher voted for Condoleeza Rice for president in 2004. He voted for someone who got one more vote than I did. I was months away from being able to vote and the man teaching me about politics was throwing his vote away. All I did that year was get ignored by girls and watch Michael Douglas movies. Jesus Christ high school sounds like my weekends.

(“Stay away from Dupont Circle.” – the running joke in this film. Yuck)

Will I ever vote? Who knows? The Illuminati do but that’s because they have a crystal ball that they ask a lot of questions to for answers. I still think I know more about politics than your average 11-year-old. And really they’re the ones that should be voting. Most of the laws affect them more than they effect a guy living alone in his 20s who doesn’t own much. The best thing I do own is my mind. That’s something that the government, no matter what party can ever control until the year 2016.

I know it’s been done to death. I am the kind of guy who is willing to beat a dead horse though. Horses do die right? I’ve never seen a dead horse. I’ve seen a lot of dead animals, but never a horse. One time I went to a zoo and noticed behind the zoo a massive graveyard for all of the animals. That was sweet yet really upsetting. At the very least they pretend not to throw the animals in the garbage or sell them at the kiosks as a new flavor of ice cream.

There’s a certain etiquette that one must undergo while using the restroom. Even if a restroom isn’t what you call it, you need to abide by these rules. There are so many names for them that I want to first address that. None of the names are all that accurate either. Restroom doesn’t fit because you don’t really rest much unless you take a long shit. I’ve never fallen asleep while taking a number two. That seems difficult. As titled, some people call it the washroom. I never call it that. That’s why I titled it this. Of course everybody should wash in the room when they are done. Especially employees. They’ve got paper signs to remind them. I still don’t think it’s an accurate enough of a name. It completely overlooks the fact that before washing everything is very messy and sticky. Bathroom is what I tend to call it even when there is no bath present. You could always splash a little water on your face then look in the mirror to psyche yourself up for the date, but that’s not really a bath. For it to be a bath you need to be able to lie in it and possibly slit your wrists if you had a bad day. A sink doesn’t qualify. I remember in The Diary of Anne Frank she called it the W.C. I forget what that stands for (Wanking Chamber?) but with her luck I would never take advice from her on anything. I also heard someone call it the powder room before. I don’t know where she came up with that. Not since Victorian England was powdering your face the most important thing that went on. Perhaps she was a time traveler? The most simplest thing I’ve heard the room called is simply as the toilet. People say they need to use the toilet. Maybe this is the best thing to say. Not toilet always, but say exactly what it is you need to do. I need to pee. I need to poop. I need to pee and poop because if I do one I can’t do the other please do not make fun it is a serious medical condition.

For the sake of this blog here, I will try to call the room as many things as I possibly can so that all bases are covered. You’re welcome.

I go to the bathroom quite a bit. I drink tons of water. A high school boy once compared me to a lizard. They drink lots of water? I average at least one session an hour. Rarely do I not have to wake up once in the middle of the night to go. You might say I need to get my prostate checked out but like I said, I drink a lot of water. Probably close to two gallons a day. I’ve done this for about 5 years now. I remember old advertisements saying that drinking water will make you happy. It doesn’t. I’m very miserable. Then the advertisements come back and say that water will help your skin. Right now I’m using cream from my sister to help eczema on the left side of my neck and on each of my arms. What has drinking lots of water given me that’s positive? Lots of time spent in the bathroom, that’s what.

First off to understand this, you will need to know some science. Humans are made up of two different genders, males and chicks. Both of these genders must remove waste from their bodies through their front genitals, which differ from each other, and from their butts. The waste will vary in sizes, but you already know that. You’re human. Dogs cannot read. And if they could, they surely wouldn’t be reading this. They use the W.C. outside. They don’t need to know about washroom etiquette.

I can only really speak from my experiences from the men’s room and not the ladies. I have in fact spent some time in the lady’s room though when I was younger. I remember being at the mall with my mom and two sisters. It was probably 1991, a dangerous time in the world. Nevermind had just come out, Family Matters was a big hit on television, and Ted Danson was still a sex symbol. There was no way my mom was letting me use the boy’s room alone. So I went into the lady’s room. There were huge lines everywhere. Nobody talked. They just stood patiently waiting to take their turn. It was weird and I haven’t been back in one since. Now I hear they have couches in girl’s bathrooms. No fair! I want somewhere in my bathroom where I can lose a remote control in.

For the first few years of my life I could never use a urinal. I know a few adults that still seem to have this problem. It always makes me laugh now how they have such a shy bladder that they can’t pee next to me while I giggle to intimidate them. I don’t remember the first time I worked up the courage to actually use the urinal, but I remember I felt proud like I had accomplished something important. It might have been the time I was at an amusement park and a janitor said to me “Do you have to pee?” and I said “Yes” then he refused to let me into one of the stalls because he had already cleaned them. I understand he was doing his job, but this was a big strong black man. He probably had nothing to be shy about. I was a chubby 10-year-old boy. I didn’t know if what I was packing could make anyone jealous.

Women cannot understand urinals and how uncomfortable it is. It’s men lined up peeing on walls. This is normal now. Yeah, I scrunch my nose at the thought. It’s weird in such a homophobic society that it’s fine to yank out your dick in front of 30 other guys as long as water’s coming out of it. I know you’re not supposed to look and all. That’s like the number one rule. Still, you know it’s out there. It’s the elephant in the room. Or the elephant trunk in the room if you’re a lucky boy who ate his vegetables and has Haitian genetics.

The first rule about urinals is not to look. That’s simple. It’s a very mafia influenced idea, I think. Another rule that I think that goes without saying is don’t talk. We’re in a weird situation. I don’t want to small talk with you about anything at all. Unless we’re good friends then it’s fine. If I don’t know your middle name, shut the fuck up. We’re peeing. I don’t need to know what you thought about America Idol. A third rule that might not be so obvious to some is that when using the urinal, stand near it. I mentioned him once before and hope to mention him again, the kid with a foot for a hand that I went to elementary school with. My elementary school had bathrooms in the classrooms, until you got to 5th grade or if you were in the special education classrooms. Foothand was special ed. Really good at soccer too because he was allowed to punch it into the net. When he’d use the urinal, he’d completely drop his pants and stand against the back wall. He’d actually be able to pee a good 5 foot distance and hit his target. Damn. If that isn’t a talent that will make him some money at a circus. He has a foot for a hand and can pee far. In another world, I’d pay to see that. He reminded me of a fourth rule too. Don’t drop your pants. If your pants disable you from having a fly, go use a stall. I might think you have a shy bladder or some disease, but who cares? That’s better than everyone seeing your ass hanging out. Next time I see this, I’m dropping a penny down there.

One more rule. Don’t eat while at the urinal. A Spanish guy at my work stood up at the urinal next to me while eating a bag of chips. He dumped them into his mouth because only one hand was free. Chips are a delicious snack. As delicious as they are, I still think it’s possible to wait until after peeing to taste. Just a thought. Maybe this is some sort of Spanish tradition though. Like dancing with roses in your mouth. That has to confuse some children. Shit. Only one person will get this but maybe that’s why the kid in Season 4 of Breaking Bad “ate” the poisonous flower, the Lily of the Valley. If you knew the reference here you will know how brilliant I really am.

Further Reading Suggestion: Everybody Poops, Going Rogue and America by Heart by Sara Palin

I was going to post a really long story about my testicles. I thought the better of it. You don’t need that much information about me, unless you beg.

South paw. Penpusher. The hand of Satan. Scumbag. Left handed people go by only a few different names. I should probably start this off by saying that I am right-handed. By being right-handed, my chances of getting into Heaven have automatically increased. I would have not only survived the Salem Witch trials but also Nazi Germany. Lefties have had it rough throughout history. They’re one group of people who are still okay to kill for no damned reason.

I’ve met a few left-handed people. It always creeps me out and looks like they’re doing something wrong. Really, find someone who is left-handed. They look like they’re faking it. Whenever they try to throw something they look like they’re about to fall over. Take Randy Johnson for instance. He’s a lefty. Look how silly he throws.

(I couldn’t find a good video of him other than when he explodes the bird. I don’t like violence against animals. You’ll have to take my word for it that this giant pelican moves funny)

That giant bird necked creep really needs to poached. What an ugly man. If I was really tall I would by the most amazing athlete ever. I’d make sure I was handsome too. Every girl would want me. I’d be able to have one stand on another’s shoulders and we can have some sort of weird threesome. It’s a good thing I’m of average height. With my luck the girls would topple over and one would die and the other would be paralyzed. How do I explain this to the cops?

I think I read somewhere that Abraham Lincoln was left-handed. This explains his Emancipation Proclamation. Lincoln was a known racist. On his Emancipation Proclamation, he had two boxes to check. One that said “Free the Slaves” and another that said “Let ‘em Pick Cotton.” Because he was a lefty, his hand couldn’t properly grip a right-handed pencil. He checked the wrong box and freed the slaves. So don’t think of Lincoln as the guy who changed the world. Think of him as the guy who was a clumsy lefty.

(“Look at me I’m Abraham Lincoln. I can’t even put my bow tie on straight. I’m such a klutzy lefty.” – Abraham Lincoln’s original opening to the Gettysburg Address

I had a kid on one of my baseball teams who was left-handed. He also had red hair. Girls still liked him! That’s what I call progression as a people. He had two things heinously incorrect about him. If his parents knew, they might have gotten an abortion. I remember seeing him on the first day of 6th grade. We were in a new school and I didn’t know too many people. I waved and said “Hi Matt!” He looked away like he didn’t know who I was. Now I understand why. He had the hand and the hair of the devil. I’m lucky that ignoring our friendship was all he did.

One girl I dated was left-handed. That was a big mistake. She said that it would come in “handy” later on whenever she would give me a “handy.” As crazy as she was, this made sense somehow. We could diddle each other with our strong hands at the same time. We never got a chance to try it out because she found someone else. Probably someone left-handed. Good. You two monsters can share your genetic mutation together. Freaks.

(My ex with her new boyfriend, Cyclops)

I’ve heard before that lefties are more creative. I don’t believe this to be true. I’ve met plenty of right-handed people who could trump any lefty in creativity. Lefties are supposed to be smart because they use the right side of their brain. I think this is some sort of lie created by the Illuminati, all of whom are left-handed. The only thing a normal person should use their left hand for is wiping their ass. Then they should shake hands immediately after with left-handed people because lefties are disgusting.

For a time my parents and teachers thought that I was ambidextrous. For those of you who skipped 8th grade vocabulary, it means able to use both hands. My mom used that as an excuse when I was in 3rd grade for why a lot my art projects looked like shit. She insisted to the teacher that I was always using my left hand for things. Do you know what I use my left hand for now? Rubbing my right hand in praise because how great it is. My right hand does everything for me. Yes, EVERYTHING! It deserves some praise. Unlike lefties.

Christmas, the most wonderful time of year. I know it’s not specifically Christmas. Chanukah is also part of the most wonderful time of year. I don’t consider Chanukah very wonderful though. It’s a celebration of not running out of oil for 8 days. My car can only last about 5 before I have to fill up my tank. If my car got better gas mileage than maybe I would understand Chanukah a little bit more. And why am I spelling it Chanukah? I’m used to Hanukkah. I don’t get it. Why two spellings? I’m sure it has something to do with translations, but why not make up your mind? Oye Vey! I hate indecisiveness.

This is the first holiday season that I’m feeling terrible about it. I never used to get those jokes about Christmas Suicides. I always thought it was funny because who would ever kill themselves on Christmas? It’s such a happy day. You get presents and time with your family. The older I get, the lonelier I get. The lonelier I get, the less people I have in my life. The less people I have in my life, the angrier I become. Skip forward a few more cause and effects and we got to the point of feeling the holiday blues. I totally get this now. Most holidays I feel pretty bummed out myself. They’re not the same as they used to be when I was younger. Now they feel forced. Almost as if the family is trying to recapture the wonderful moments of ignorance we had when there were children involved. It’s killing me inside to continue to pretend that I believe in Santa. But I’m doing it for the family. I want to keep this magic going. The second I admit I know the truth they’ll make me bathe myself. I have short arms. There’s no way I can cover every inch of my body with these things.

(Sometimes I forget I have arms, they’re so short. I really should just have hands that shoot out of my shoulders like this guy)

It’s not necessarily the holidays in general that I think bum people out. December is pretty gloomy itself. It’s dark by 4:30 and starts to become cold. This would make anyone with a heart depressed. Being alone on the holidays is something that I know I will have to endure at some point in my life. It’s slightly scary but I know that I’m not alone in that. At some point we all have to spend the important holidays alone. Unless you’re a Siamese twin. I’ll bet that a Siamese twin never reads this. When I say Siamese twin, I also mean that both their legs have to hit the ground. I don’t count the ones with someone attached to their forehead as Siamese twins. As Doug Stanhope said, they’re people with midgets attached to them. I’m sure you know the TLC whore I’m talking about. You’re probably more confused as to what a TLC whore is. It’s someone who is on the channel TLC way too much. Usually they’re freaks.

(You monster)

My holiday woes are simple. I have to be in too many places at one time. Don’t tell me to go out and rent “Four Christmases” so I can have something to relate to. Reese Witherspoon hasn’t been cute in years and Vince Vaughn hasn’t been funny in centuries.

(“Vince Vaughn, very funny.” – Caveman, 10,001 B.C.)

There isn’t an extensive travel list that I have to go through. It’s just that I have to travel at all that bothers me. Christmases past I wouldn’t have to go anywhere. I liked those years. I would go into the front yard and play catch with my dad with my new football. Or if I didn’t get a football we’d play catch with one of my sister’s gifts. This year I’ll be at every corner of New Jersey over the weekend. I’ll be traveling 500 miles total in 3 days. I know, I thought New Jersey was pretty small too. I could probably get to the Carolinas for that mileage. I don’t know what I’d do there. Visit Raleigh? Get away with a hate crime?

The more I think about it there are Christmas images that beg us to all kill ourselves. Wreathes look like green nooses. Angels are everywhere and that’s what we turn into when we die. Look how cute most of those angels are! I want to be one of them. Then there’s that whole random Jesus aspect thrown into Christmas. I don’t get it either. Jesus is such a deathly image. He’s always on a cross looking like he’s in agony. We used to have one of those hanging above our house phone in my childhood home. Then we found out that we were the only family in the world that still used a landline so we threw it in the garbage disposal. I’m kidding. It was the trash. No way in hell would we have a landline but be able to afford a garbage disposal.

I’ve never known anyone to kill themselves around Christmas. Most suicides I know of happen around Thanksgiving. I never got that. That’s like killing yourself on a Monday. There’s still time. There’s still hope. Tuesday and Wednesday are the perfect days to kill yourself. All hope of having a good week might be gone and you’re too far away from a fresh start. If I ever killed myself it would be on a Tuesday at midnight. That’s called suicidal compromise. I would not do it around Thanksgiving either. Thanksgiving makes me hopeful of having a good Christmas. I already know this year will be pretty lame (how can it not be lousy with that attitude?) but that’s okay. Whether or not my Christmas is good or if I go into it with a negative attitude, it’ll happen. All over the world children will be eager and wake up early. I’ll probably rise around 10 in the morning and won’t talk to anyone until noon. Maybe a neighbor. And what would I even say to them? “Merry Christmas I don’t know you.” That’s exactly what I will say. Christmas has no boundaries when it comes to wishing someone to have a merry one. You don’t have to know a person to wish them luck. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. Connecting with others. Making someone feel special. Smiling for no reason other than the fact that you have something in this world.

I wrote this hoping to complain about how much I am not excited about Christmas this year. Instead I found its true meaning. Not worrying about how it will turn out. It’s still Christmas whether it’s a good day or not. That’s all that’s important. That it happens. Good, bad, or neutral. Christmas is coming. Don’t kill yourself until after it sucks.

(I’ll need a lot of acid if I want my Christmas to look a thing like this. Although Bunsen does remind me of my Grandma)

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight!” – What Michael Buffer should say if there’s ever a big Christmas boxing match