Archive for October, 2012

Apologies to all who have been missing me but as I am sure you are well aware Hurricane Sandy touched down on the Eastern Seaboard a few days ago. Many people have been affected by the storm and it’s going to cost a lot of money to solve these problems, money is everything.

Power is out in a lot of places still and a lot of things remain closed for business. Thing of it is, I am a complete pessimist. Pessimist is the correct word, right? The word for when you think people are complete babies about things? I was fortunate enough to only lose power for a few hours Monday night. Once it did come back on I went straight to bed because I need to sleep with white noise anyway and this allowed me to do so. Did I call people babies for getting upset over a deadly hurricane and now I’m admitting to needing white noise to sleep? Add hypocrite to my repertoire.

I’ll keep this brief. It pains my heart that a lot of people lost their businesses, homes, and a few people even lost their lives. With that said, this hurricane is not a national disaster. People will recover much faster from this than they will from let’s say New Orleans where people lost everything. Objects such as people’s homes, places they had memories at, and so forth may not recover but the people are safe and I think it’s important we realize having our own lives remain living (huh?) is what we should be grateful for most. Most people lost power, a few trees, and maybe at worse their summer vacation spot. It’s hard to feel bad when there are people in this world who have less in a lifetime than what some people lost in this storm. We need to realize the difference between inconvenience and tragedy. For some, this event was a tragedy. For most it has caused a huge inconvenience. Although at times inconvenience may feel tragic, we live in an amazing place where we have the ability and freedom to get over Mother Nature’s fury.

Hopefully my schedule, blogging and otherwise, will be back to normal in a few days. I’ve been reading some of your blogs via my phone but it’s a real pain to try to comment so don’t say anything too bad about me.

In the meantime I spent the last 2 days working on what I guess you can call a short story about the storm already available online for FREE. The fact I wrote, edited, and published this in 36 hours not only makes me proud, it also makes me yearn to be a person like real people and have more to my life than my own ideas and a laptop. In short, I have no soul and probably should have been killed in the storm.

Here’s the link to the one place it’s already available:

Surviving Sandy: A Battle Against That Deadly Whore Mother Nature

A few weeks ago I recorded a podcast with some friends I went to Community College with. We hadn’t seen each other in about 5 years. The only thing that changed was we all got uglier and angrier and they have debt because they continued their education. I know the word Podcast is almost as cringe-worthy as the phrases “A pedophile just moved in next door” or “Ladies and gentleman your new president of the United States, Sara Palin” or “The Hulk Hogan sex tape won’t turn off” but I assure you this was very professionally done. The equipment was great and because of that this was recorded while sitting on the floor.

I implore you to give this a shot. Put it on as background noise while you do something else like reading blogs or telling your kids to shut up. If you have a YouTube account it would also mean a lot to me if you left a comment saying how wonderful I was. I give them credit, somehow they made my voice sound tolerable.

Here is the YouTube link where you can listen to the first half. But the second half is actually really good and the last 10 minutes is basically an interview on me about my book and how much people hate me.

And here you can download the entire episode.

Some say the most important thing you can give another person is your virginity. I argue the most important thing you can give a person is whatever the newest version of Call of Duty is. Is that game still popular? The last video game I played was Madden 2004. I’m not exactly up to date on what the latest trends are in the video game world and in order to stay in the loop I usually go up to a dirty looking kid at the mall and ask him why he’s there. Usually it’s to buy the latest video game when it’s not to look at the smut at Spencer’s. The second most important thing you can give a person after a cool video game is time. Time is something we can never get back. Everything else is replaceable but time happens once.

Spending time with someone can always cheer them up if they don’t hate you. Old people are real big on this. They don’t care what you do as long as you’re present there with them. That’s how I know I’m not completely old yet. I don’t need to be present with someone to feel like they’re giving me time. Simply knowing someone is thinking about me satisfies me enough. Some couples are like this. I never believe someone when they say “It doesn’t matter what we do, I just like being near you.” I don’t even like being near me. You’re a liar. You really don’t care what we do? Okay, sit in the corner and face the wall while I watch a movie. We’re still together so you should feel as if I’m giving you the time you need.

(An ex-girlfriend of mine)

The thing about time that bugs me though is we give more time to people we don’t even know. We’ll spend more time listening to popular music recorded by some dead idiots than we will listening to our friend’s CD once. This seems really shitty to me. For instance, everyone I know will spend more time today reading other websites than checking out my blog. What the heck? I take this as their way of saying “Perez Hilton’s opinions and emotions are more important to me than the opinions of someone I know and can influence.” I go back to the waste of space friend I had who always made excuses why he couldn’t go into NYC to see one of my standup shows yet the following weekend he managed to go see the stupid wax museum. He was willing to spend more time staring at wax statues than making a friend of his feel loved. I have no regrets telling those bullies where he lived.

(A young Beyonce with a wax version of herself. They could be sisters! And by sisters I mean two black chicks, not actually related)

I always make sure I give people time whenever they ask for it. It’s become an important thing to me. A lot of us get caught up in how much time we have left to accomplish something then get frustrated because we don’t think it’s very much. There’s always time for everything though. Nobody is that busy. If you watch television you are not a busy person. If you go out drinking you are not a busy person. If you wipe yourself after a poo you are not a busy person. These are all luxury potential time wasters. The time we spend doing things to kill our minds, bodies, or cleaning our asses could be spent doing something so much more valuable.

The biggest problem people have with time is managing it. I’m fabulous at managing time. I have come to the conclusion that having time is the most incredibly valuable thing I can give myself. I could work more but then I’d have less time to enjoy life. There are so many things I want to do in life that I’m almost hoping I do run out of time to do them all. What happens after I do everything I want to do? I rot away until I die? It’s impossible to time things perfectly where your plane crashes right after doing everything you have to do in life. You should want to die with unfinished business. It sends a good message to everyone else how there is no time to waste and that you made good use of what time you had and could have used more.

(Mark Twain died before finishing a lot he had planned on accomplishing. The most important thing he never got a chance to get around to was learning racial tolerance)

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Unless of course you only read the first and last paragraph. If you did that here then you have a lot of extra time now to do something else. I hope you make the best of it you bastard.

Amazonians are gigantic women who live in the jungle and have lesbian tendencies. Plain and simple, they hate men. I got stuck walking behind a really tall, really wide, and really lesbian woman today. I hate walking and getting stuck behind someone wide and tall. I can’t get around them and I can’t look over top of them to see if they’re the one I should flip off or if there is someone more normal sized holding up the line.

But to keep things short and not get too into a topic I know nothing about, I just wanted for the sake of self-promotion to mention my book Satan: Little League Superstar is now available on Amazon. And as mentioned nearly 3 months ago when I published the thing (where HAS the time gone?) you can still get a free copy because I’m kind (desperate) like that.

Satan: Little League Superstar on Amazon

Satan: Little League Superstar on Smashwords for FREE sign-up then enter the code AG46L upon checkout to receive a free copy

All other links can be funder under WRITING SAMPLES>SATAN: LITTLE LEAGUE SUPERSTAR

What have people been saying about it so far?

“I can’t wait for the next one.”

“One of the best satires on little league sports I have ever read.”

“You don’t use enough commas.” – I went back and fixed this

“I feel bad that I haven’t read it yet.”

“I’ll get it once it’s on Amazon, I swear.”

If you fall into the last category, hop to it.

I’ve got many more projects in store to entertain you (waste your time) so stay tuned. Videos, viral marketing, more books, and so forth and so on.

To make things less awkward I’ll ask a question at the end. What have you been up to in your life lately? Me, I’ve been incredibly busy trying to escape the horror that is my everyday life through hard work, finding shortcuts, and tricking myself into thinking one day it will all work out in the end. How about you?

We all know the stereotype of the high school jock who continues living his glory days long after graduating. He still has his varsity jacket, talks about “the big game” all the time, and he’s gotten fat and gained a drinking problem. I used to think these people were nerdy screenwriters trying to get vengeance on the jocks who they wish they were in high school but I know for a fact people like this really do exist. Like aliens, people obsessed with their glory days are out there.

(An X-Files poster. And as my friend Rob always points out, how do they not believe in aliens when in the pilot episode they nearly get abducted?)

The person I will talk about here is someone I guess you could say I was “close” to. By close I mean one time he tried wrestling me. He climbed onto my back and to get him off I comically kept ramming him into the wall because I fight dirty. This man was a guy my mom dated. He was a guy whose glory days were far away into the past.

The first sign that my mom’s relationship with this man would be a mess was the fact they met at an AA meeting. A more loving couple could meet while executing a terrorist attack than at an AA meeting. The guy didn’t drive anymore because of all the DUIs he had. He owned a gigantic truck for work which was incredibly obnoxious. The only good thing was I could see it from 5 miles away and I’d know I should hide somewhere else until he left.

My mom first introduced me to him on an August evening. I hope if I’m ever divorced and have to introduce new girlfriends or boyfriends (you never know, I could become infected with the gay bug) to my children I do it differently. Everyone I know, whenever they start dating someone new, forces the person down my throat. Suddenly they’re no longer who they used to be. Now they’re one entity and I cannot talk to one without the other there to chime in. The guy seemed fine at first. My mom told me he played hockey for the Montreal Canadians at one point but for some reason this was never brought up and I could find nothing on the Internet about it. I asked him about this and he said he never ice skated in his life. Either my mom misheard him or he was the worst player ever and all history of him in the NHL has been erased.

(The worst wrestling gimmick ever, The Goon. I think my 4th grade class photo had the same background)

The guy’s main story he would always tell was about how he was a high school wrestler. Who am I kidding, this was his only story. He never even talked about any legendary matches. All he talked about was trying to sweat off pounds and ringworm. He still did have his varsity jacket too which is such a jerk thing. He’d try on numerous occasions to get me to be more physically active. He even bought me a silver insolated suit that could help me sweat extra to drop some weight. I think my biggest mistake was actually using and enjoying this gift. Scratch that. My biggest mistake was wearing the pants to the gym once.

(I see they’re called sauna suits. Screw getting your wife a trip to the spa. Buy her one of these and put cucumbers over her eyes and it’s the same basic concept)

Despite both were in AA, their drinking problems persisted. I’m not sure who the troublemaker was between the two, but if you put two addicts together one will probably break down and take the other with them. My mom’s boyfriend always insisted he would one day take us to his cabin in Quebec. The guy lived with his mother (I don’t live with her, she lies with me!) and still had a Canadian cabin? Why do I have a feeling this cabin was incredibly alone up there and in a town without police?

My mom knew how much we disliked the guy and one time they slept outside in the driveway in his truck rather than come inside because “he didn’t feel welcomed.” What about me who didn’t feel safe with some strange man who wrestles me in the house? I really didn’t hate the guy though. What I hated was invasiveness into my life. Between the ages of 13-18 my house was a revolving door of random people coming and going. I like to describe it as a soap opera cast where instead of killing off characters you’re replaced with new actors to play the same person. My family was clearly broken and having other people from broken homes entering wasn’t doing any good for anyone

My favorite memory of the guy though was when he explained to me what his life’s goal was, to teach retarded people how to play the stock market. Huh? First off if you want to work with retarded people you don’t call them retarded, you call them something nicer like mentally disabled or waterheads. I attempted once to record a conversation with the guy on how he would go about teaching retarded people to play the stock market. It turned into a drunken tirade about high school wrestling and would be pointless in searching for on my old computer. If the current state of the American economy suggests anything maybe it’s that he did achieve his dream. A lot of people who do run Wall Street are pretty retarded so kudos to him for destroying America.

(It’s hard for me to decide who I hate more, the retards pictured here or the entitled dummies outside with all the shiny posters whining about how they can’t afford everything they want)

I have made it no secret how much I love food. I have seen sandwiches I wanted to have sex with. Other than Swiss cheese or a bagel I’m not sure how one would go about doing “it” with food. I guess you could stick just about anything up your butt. Then there’s the whole question on how lesbians have sex. I’m not going to get into that. If I question someone’s lifestyle or how they go about things I will seem insensitive. I’ve lived long enough to know you’re better off being lost than asking questions so you understand things better. Scissoring aside, there are a few edible items however that I do not have much love for. Believe it or not, there are some foods I think are bad.

Ham: I do not like ham. It’s the only animal flesh I get a little sick thinking about. Hamburgers are great but it’s plain ham that grosses me out. It’s salty, pink, and I imagine it to be the way a tire might taste. What’s wrong with eating turkey on the holidays? Turkeys are much more obnoxious than pigs, let’s kill them and feast instead. I also seem to be the only person on earth who doesn’t like bacon. I think hot dogs are wonderful so it’s not my inner Muslim coming out. If you ever have me over for dinner and want me to go home hungry, serve up some ham.

(What fat kid ever would agree to be called Ham? Not only is it dead flesh, it comes from the token lazy fat animal, the pig. Maybe this is why Patrick Renna grew up to be a Scientologist)

Fried Calamari: There was a point when I loved fried calamari. It lasted about two months and now I literally want to throw up whenever I think about it. I would actually leave me house to get fried calamari from a local fish place. That’s right, when my parents were still providing me with groceries I would leave the home and spend my own money for food I loved it so much. I think what happened was I ate too much of it. The creepiest thing is this was the kind of calamari that looks like calamari, with the creepy legs and such. I’ve heard the average person eats 10 spiders a year while sleeping. Eating fried calamari is like eating two dozen giant spiders in one sitting.

(Fry this up and call it calamari. No one will notice the difference because people who eat so many fried foods are in denial about way too much already)

Spaghetti: I don’t hate spaghetti by any stretch. If someone handed me a bowl of spaghetti I would eat it no problem. I just think it’s a very overrated food is all. Baked ziti is where it’s at. You can put a piece of baked ziti into your mouth, blow into it, and a whistling sound will come out. I know, badass right? I know I’m going to sound like a dirty Guinea here but my mom made the best baked ziti with meat sauce. Eating plain spaghetti feels like you’re eating pure future bottom of the stomach fat. When I eat I like to at least give my body a shot at not getting fatter.

Ribs: Again, I don’t mind ribs but I really do mind having incredibly messy fingers. Chicken wings are different. I could eat chicken wings until the cows come home then laugh about how all the chickens were slaughtered so I had an appetizer to dip into my bleu cheese. I think I ate ribs once at a barbecue. It was in 2008 when everyone had Obama-mania. Ribs were all anybody had.

(Do you know how I know God isn’t black? He didn’t dip Eve in barbecue sauce)

Those Orange and Green Fruits in a Fruit Salad: Don’t you hate those fuckers at the bottom of a fruit salad? Fuckers is the only thing I know to call them. They’re some kind of melon. The worst thing about them I believe is they are the first thing the evil fruit salad creators put into the container. They’re always at the bottom so that way you buy your fruit salad thinking you’ve just got delicious blueberries, strawberries, kiwis, and watermelon. Then you get to the bottom and see these assholes sitting there completely tasteless. I don’t waste food very often but sometimes I will toss these out my car window.

Seltzer: It’s not food but Seltzer sucks. They try to give it flavors so you’re tricked into thinking you’re drinking more than disgusting flavored water. How about you just piss in my mouth instead? My sister once said at Six Flags that she was so thirsty she would drink Seltzer. I guess it’s an acquired taste that comes from having terrible DNA.

(One of the first pictures that came up when typing “Seltzer Fan” into Google. not only does he look like this, he’s waiting to see Vampires Suck, a film by Aaron Seltzer. Yuck)

Walnuts: I have had a nut obsession these last few months. I’ve been eating peanuts or almonds for lunch and every so often I’ll get pistachios to pull apart while I take a bath. I tried walnuts because I’m a fan of nuts and also think walls are very important. I was very disappointed. Walnuts taste like old people fingers. I have never tasted old people fingers in this lifetime but a psychic once took $10 from me and said I had tasted them in my past life. Wet walnuts are wonderful though because they’re smothered in a disgusting high fructose corn syrup ejaculate. Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of eating a healthy nut? It’s like those people we know who go to the gym 5 days a week and eat like shit. Has it ever occurred to them to maybe skip a few desserts and they’d actually see results?

How about you, what are some foods you hate? Don’t say cheese. I eat cheese by the block.

I’m about to grant another wish. Janice at Your Daily Dose wished for me to write-up a post based on a personal experience. The only catch was it has to be 100% true and can’t have any jokes. Does she not realize my defense against the world is humor? How will I deflect pain? This might be tough but I’ll do my best to keep the jokes down. She wanted it to be a true story because Janice is too nice to admit she thinks I’m a compulsive liar. Really though, a lot of silly things happen to me because I live in a cartoon world. I attempted to write-up one thing about loneliness but it was really sad and depressing and seemed like I was whining way too much. Instead I have decided to write about the one time I insist I saved a person’s life.

This story took place about 8 years ago. I had either just started driving or only had my learner’s permit. This is important to the story. Like in Breaking Bad when Ted slightly trips over the rug, it comes back to be very relevant. It was summer and I know this because I was home. Not that I was normally out during the other seasons but it was still light out and I had nowhere else to be.

Ever since I can remember my mom was always in and out of hospitals. It was always either because of kidney stones or depression. No matter how many therapist or psychiatrists she saw, no matter how many different medications she was on, no matter what strange treatment she underwent, she never got better. I was introduced to those daily pill boxes by her and would know what day of the week it was based on where the pills were. She had a gigantic flowered bag where she kept all her pills and I blame this on my hatred for flowered patterns.

(I’d rather look at an x-ray of my brain and see a tumor than have to see another flower pattern ever again)

I always associate the saddest moment in my life with visiting my mom on Easter Sunday at the hospital then getting in the car and my older sister playing Mad World, the most depressing song ever. I was probably 14 or 15 at the time and had my own things to be depressed about. Visiting your mother in what was basically a mental institution on the holiest of Christian holidays added to it.

I always knew sometimes when my mom would take her pills she would act loopy. On this particular day she seemed a little extra strange. She came upstairs from the room she spent most of her time in (the room formerly known as the messy room even though it was still quite messy) saying she wanted Rita’s Water Ice. My mom loved Rita’s Water Ice so this wasn’t strange. It was how she said. The way she looked at me let me know something was a little strange.

(Everyone enjoys Rita’s Water Ice! Even these what I am sure are upright citizens…)

I didn’t want any Rita’s because ice cream is better. Still though, my instincts started to tell me something. I can’t even describe the feeling because it was so long ago and I’ve never had the feeling before. My Spidey sense was tingling and I told my mom I wanted to go for the ride with her. Rita’s wasn’t very far away so it wouldn’t take too long.

We hopped into my mom’s van and she began driving down the street very emotionless. Our street wasn’t a busy one by any means safe enough when she swerved slightly back and forth each house we passed. It was when she almost drove into someone’s driveway instead of making a right turn that I told her to stop and pull over. She wasn’t sure why but I made her get out and switch seats with me. If she wanted Rita’s so bad I would have to drive her there.

To Rita’s we went and by this time I was just annoyed with her. I didn’t want to help her get her frozen treat, partly because I was in a bad mood and partly because I wanted to see if she could actually do it in the state she was in. She managed to get exactly what she wanted, whatever flavored Gelato that was. I tried asking her what was wrong and she never really had an answer. She felt fine.

It wasn’t long after this happened when my mom checked herself into AA or alcohol rehab. I’m not sure which programs she was in or when, I lost count. Everyone I’ve told about this made it seem like it was new big deal. It’s as if she didn’t have a problem. I would guess the mix between her pills and the alcohol is what made her behavior so strange but I’m not a doctor, just someone who goes with this most basic of instincts.

(Unlike Sharon Stone, my basic instincts do not involve flashing my privates)

A few years after this happened my mom called me up and told me how proud she was that I didn’t drink and that I wasn’t fat anymore. Not exactly my life intentions on making my parents proud but I’ll take it. This is a big reason why I don’t drink and watch what I eat. It’s not so much about making her proud as it is it’s something I should be proud of myself. It makes mistakes she made with her decision not for nothing.

I like to think this was some magical thing I did to save a life that was clearly in danger. I don’t know what to make of it. Chances are she wouldn’t have died because it was such a short easy drive but who knows? It’s at least good to know when someone I care about is in danger that I can see it immediately. My mom lived about 7 more years after this and although they weren’t her happiest years they were still years that she may not have had if I wasn’t able to know who my mother really was.

Sometimes I never know when to stop. Back in high school I was making out with this girl and she kept telling me to stop. The more she yelled for me to stop the more I kept going. Things got a little out of hand. I couldn’t believe what I had done until the peyote left my system and there was no girl; I had imagined the whole thing. I didn’t know when to say when with peyote. You always need to know your limit with everything in life. If you don’t you may end up raping a made-up person. When it comes to telling stories, I never know my limit. So instead of dragging everything out like I probably could, I will do my best to quickly tell you everything I learned during my recent vacation to Los Angeles. The quickest way to do it and most likely way to get people to read it, bullet points!

-Never buy a sandwich at the LAX airport. They cost $11 and are worth about $10 less. Despite everyone else in line being shocked at the price it would still be a faux pas to put the sandwich back on the rack then do a walk of shame to your seat empty handed.

-If you walk on glass on Venice Beach you can get away with being racist. You can also get away with putting on a terrible show that takes 10 minutes before a disappointing finale involving a Jamaican man jumping off a chair onto the glass. I missed a guy playing the piano with his penis for that dumb glass walker.

-Traffic isn’t as bad as everyone says it is, but this might be because I live in the most densely populated state in the country. Right now a baby is sitting on my shoulder like a parrot since things are so crowded.

-When you see someone beautiful, they most likely live in Los Angeles. When you see someone hunchbacked with a hair-lip and are not Mexican, they are visiting.

-Compton looks a thousand times nicer than the town I live in now. I’m not saying I’d ever go there again. All I am saying is I can’t for the life of me understand why in such a beautiful place you can’t at least get out of your car to shoot someone.

-You have to pay to park everywhere full of white people. However you do not have to pay to park after 8pm on the street right across from the Chinese Theater. So generous of those gentle giants to the Far East.

-People there react to rain the same way people in the south react to snow, they go completely insane and cut the fattest person they can find open and use him for cover.

-Everyone seems very helpful. I know the reputation for LA is that everyone is “fake” but I’ll take fake people every time if it means always getting proper directions.

-Doing a Hollywood bus tour is a waste of time and money. My sister and I managed to see everything for much cheaper on our own. The best part was we didn’t have to sit on a dumb tram while pedestrians laugh at what dorks we are for needing a celebrity fix.

-Wealthy people can somehow manage to live on tall winding mountains. I could never do that. The dope I saw standing in a trash can begging for money has a better home as far as I’m concerned.

-The Jurassic Park ride stinks. It’s so unexciting that the guy sitting next to me held a can of Monster the entire ride and didn’t spill it. If the ride was any good I would be complaining how inconsiderate people are.

-Paramount Studios is really pushing the TV show Happy Endings. Also, nobody on the studio tour has ever seen a single episode of Happy Endings.

-I can go to maybe five different comedy clubs in New York any Saturday night and know some major headliner on the show. I can go to maybe five different comedy clubs in Los Angeles any Saturday night and only know the Asian guy from MadTV.

-I could throw a football the length of the Santa Monica Pier. I could probably piss from one end to the other too.

-As long as it’s not rush hour, you can get anywhere in the city within a half hour or so. When it is rush hour, you can get anywhere in the city within a half mile in a half hour.

-Indian people love hoarding hotel bananas.

And there you go. Everything I learned on my trip with the subtlety of naming just about everything I did. If anyone asks, I peed next to Joseph Gordon-Levitt and saw his dick shadow.

I think my favorite part of the entire trip was walking through the set of Community. My second favorite part was when the airport security man asked me to empty my pockets when they were already empty. He literally thought the bulge in my pants was a large role of quarters. I have never been more flattered.

Everyone reading this right now eats. Knowing what I do about you, you probably eat way too much. It’s fine. I eat a lot too. In the last year alone my eating escapades have included an entire box of cereal three times in one sitting, an entire roasted chicken in one standing (sitting would have only delayed eating time), and most happily my adventure eating an entire stick of butter just because I could. Maybe the butter was actually two years ago but I’m mentioning it anyway because I’m trying to impress women here. The way to a man’s heart is by being impressed with how much he can eat. And that’s what we’re going to talk about today, the eating habits we have from the time we’re birthed to the time we tragically die skydiving at age 90.

(Last Wednesday I was sick so I ate a box of waffles and a box of Wheat Thins because you’re supposed to starve a cold and feed a fever. I had a fever. I had to make sure to feed it)

When we’re first born we can’t eat much. We either suck everything out from a tit (oh to be a baby again) or have crummy mashed fruits and vegetables. I think it was 4 years ago when I actually bought a thing of baby food to taste it. Very disappointing. The baby on the label looked much happier than I was. I don’t remember eating at all when I was a baby. I do remember seeing one picture of me at around 3-4 when I wasn’t fat. Really, a picture of me not looking fat was the rarest thing on earth. Indiana Jones would have risked his life to find this relic. I must have been a bad boy and was denied food for a while because there’s no other explanation for why the boy who had to be tempted with candy to finally use the toilet would look so slim.

(Lifesavers are what my mom gave me once I finally took a dump in the real toilet. I don’t remember how old I was but I was old enough to remember her sitting on the tub’s edge staring at me as I let my chips fall)

Once school starts eating becomes more of a social thing. At a young age we eat to survive and block out the pain of not having every toy we want. In elementary school they made us sit with our classes to eat lunch. I guess they thought this was safer than having kids run around all over the place. Then scientists did tests on the food they were serving and realized they were killing us with cardboard pizza. I bought lunch 4 days of the week I was such a foodie. I only cried once about lunch because it was chicken cheesesteak and my dad told me it was regular cheesesteak. I cried so hard I was hoping they would send me hope. God forbid I try something new. And guess what, I actually liked chicken cheesesteak! That’s what I miss most about kindergarten, crying and getting sent home which I did very often.

When middle school started we got to pick who we sat with. Or I can put that another way and say the girls got to choose not to sit anywhere near me. The cafeteria food was a bit better and they had real Dominos every Friday. For I think $8 you could buy an entire pie. The key to this was not bringing lunch on Fridays. You would befriend a rich kid who nobody liked and would have cash to buy an entire pie. Even I have never finished an entire pizza. Toward the end of lunch the person you’re taking advantage of will see he has a lot of food left. Not wanting to be wasteful he would offer you a slice or two. My friends caught onto the strategy me and another fat kid used every Friday. He was actually poor. I was just a master of manipulation.

(Stupid Matt would grease himself up and carry an empty bowl with him in hopes people would toss pizza into it. Stupid kid. You can’t eat pizza from a bowl)

I only ate lunch in high school the first two years. The lines were so long that it wasn’t worth it if you weren’t first in line. I usually spent lunch doing homework. My time at home was the time I could eat. This was also around the same age when you could go out with your friends and eat. I think I went out for pizza once with a friend. My dad took us then he went outside to smoke because at least his cigarettes couldn’t grow up to be queer like he was certain I was on my way to. The worst was always going out with your family to eat and seeing classmates there without adult supervision. You’d always have to pretend your parents weren’t your parents; they were kidnappers who happened to have the same hairlines. I remember at Pizza Hut telling my parents to call me Scott because I was so embarrassed of a kid whose mom drove a school bus of making fun of me.

After high school ends you’re pretty much on your own when it comes to eating. Your parents toss you out on the street with a bag of bread and an egg and flip you the bird then send you on your way. At least this is what my life was. Adults have strange eating habits. Adults either have no shame or all they do is have shame. I’ve seen hot girls eating in their cars. My hand to God’s nose or however the saying goes, hot girls! What’s a hot girl doing eating in her car? That’s where creeps like me eat. Look under my car seats, there are pieces of food I haven’t eaten in months. I guess it’s better than what other adults do. Adults who attack any piece of food they see like they’re some starving mouse. I never want turn into someone without dignity.

(You’re so beautiful! Put the cake down! You’re going to end up working in my office if you don’t and your life will revolve around the monthly birthday celebration)

I’m not sure what really old people do foodwise. My only inkling is my grandfather yelling at me to keep my elbows off the table. Does prune juice still exist? I know geezers like that stuff because when you get to a certain age you drink foods that in their solid form resemble your face.

Every year thousands of people go missing. They’re abducted by aliens, kidnapped by Mexicans then sold to Colombians to pay off an ancient Aztec debt, and others spontaneously combust in the shower (that’s why there’s no evidence of a fire or burnt clothing). Like a magician I will be doing a disappearing act. Not for long, a week perhaps. I’ll be on vacation/holiday/a whore seducting spree, whatever you want to call it. All that matters is I will be absent from all blogging activities until I return from vacation/holiday/all the whores in Los Angeles are swooning over me begging to taste my pimp hand again. I’ll let you know if I’m alive in about a week.

When I get back I plan on talking about the trip along with a lot about food and destiny, mostly food and never the destiny of food. Food’s only destiny is to become poop. End of story.

And while you’re off missing me, check this out The Tim Boyle Day of Excellence