Posts Tagged ‘thoughts’

Here’s a conversation that has never happened.

“[insert something bad that has happened] to me.” – Person 1

“I’m so sorry to hear! I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.” – Person 2

“Thank you. I appreciate it. However, it would be far more helpful for you to do something.” – Person 1


“No thank you. I am more comfortable thinking about your problem. To further help, before bed I will get on my knees, place my hands together, and ask someone else to offer their services to you.” – Person 2

“Okay. Thank you for doing the minimal.” – Person 1


“Are things any better?” – Person 2

“Yes they are. I figured it out.” – Person 1

“It’s because I thought about your problem. It’s also because I got on my knees, placed my hands together, and asked someone else to offer their services to you.” – Person 2

“No.” – Person 1

I hate when people offer me their thoughts and prayers; although they rarely do. If people really were keeping people in their thoughts they would be immobile. If ever happen to pray for me I would like to know the exact words you use–just for curiosity’s sake. Never keep me in your thoughts or prayers if death is involved. That’s weird. I will then become “that person with a dead person they knew” if you have me in your thoughts and your prayers will have something to do with a zombie. Or maybe a vampire. According to True Blood lore, if someone dies you can bury them with a vampire and they will become a vampire’s slave. And that television program knows a lot of shit about logic.

tonydanza(“Thoughts and prayers. Thoughts and prayers.” – Tony Danza lending a helping hand)

I used to carry around a notepad with me everywhere because I get great ideas all the time and needed to record them. Then I realized I had to wear pants 5 sizes too big to be able to carry the notebook comfortably in my pocket. I write very big. Using a small notepad was out of the question. I decided to get with the times and start recording the thoughts onto my phone. Although many have been deleted to make room for more brilliance, today I present to you notes I have in my phone. Most are things I either dreamed or strange things to say during a conversation. Welcome to my nightmare.

(What’s scarier, Freddy’s face or his fashion sense? I go with the latter)

“He’s telling the truth. A vagina has more holes than his story does.” I said this to someone in a dream and thought it was clever and still might

“Calling Polaroids roids” Wouldn’t it be funny if some jock bought Polaroids from someone thinking it was steroids? Or what about if he bought hemorrhoids instead? I slay myself

“Big Apple = Big Asshole” My opinion on New Yorkers

“Someone’s a prick.” Not sure who this was referring to but it was saved in the same place as the one about New Yorkers

“Even the dumbest kid has done more than Shakespeare” I think I was going to try writing a stand-up bit about how even people with Down Syndrome get to ride in cars while Shakespeare still had to walk everywhere. Hilarious, I know

“Things black people ruin” I never actually made a list. If forced to name three things quickly I’d say the movies, the NHL, and property taxes

“Posture is the key to beauty” I guess this was a reminder to myself to stand up straight. Too bad I would have to look down in order to read it

“Homesick, living alone” This was based around a standup bit I tried writing on how I live alone but still get homesick and how it must mean I just hate being around people. I still think it has potential but I’m terrible at wording, speaking, and being likeable

“Jack the Ripper comedy” Back when I wanted to write a comedy based around the Jack the Ripper killings

“Prom with cancer kids” Not sure what this means, probably some dream I had or someplace I wanted to steal money from

“Boogers in the dark” This was about how picking your nose must not be fun in the dark because you don’t get to see how wonderful they look

“Unfunny people never make themselves the victim” I was going to write a whole blog about this but it came out really bad. Simply put, if you’re never willing to put yourself down you’re not a funny person

“Midget/baby furniture, Dale Earnhardt” The first two go together because a midget probably would use baby furniture. I don’t know where Dale Earnhardt comes into this

“Invisawig” Based on a dream I had recently where I invented something called the Invisawig. It’s an invisible wig that makes the wearer feel like they have hair but they don’t have to be embarrassed about wearing a wig

Several years ago a movie came out called The Ring. People flocked to this film. Naomi Watts was a hot item. They heard a horse falls off a boat and drowns at one point. Adam Brody also made a quick cameo as did Joan of Arcadia. This was a movie that had everything we could all ever want. The problem, it scared me away from rings. All kinds of rings. I cannot look at a circular object without being reminded of that creepy black and white upside down chair movie. I hate black and white movies! Even more, I hate upside down chairs. I’m afraid someone is going to stick a leg up my butt out of revenge. I owe money to some pretty powerful and perverted people.

Onions sometimes come in ring form. They are deep-fried and delicious. Onion rings are very underrated. I remember I would get pissed whenever my mom or dad would pick onion rings over French fries for me to eat. Look at me, some fat kid upset he doesn’t get the fattening food he was looking forward to. I deserved to choke on my chicken wings. Not always does the fried onion come in ring form. Chili’s has the onion straws which are shaped like Scarecrow epidermis. Scarecrow epidermis of course meaning hay straws.

(One time I got Burger King French fries and there was an onion ring at the bottom. My life went downhill ever since)

Another type of ring is the ovarian ring. I do not know much about this ring. Several health teachers in school tried teaching me about this. It’s basically used to prevent pregnancy. I don’t understand why anyone would ever want to prevent pregnancy. What are we, barbaric sinning pagans who have sex for pleasure instead of procreation? The only birth control I ever use is abstinence. The safest way to avoid having a baby, don’t have sex! Similar to the safest way to avoid a shark attack, stay out of the water!

(I remember this question being asked on Survivor about the sharks and only Johnny Fairplay got it right. Here’s the F, here’s the Y, I’m everything in between)

Speaking of rings and sex, there’s the purity ring. I hate the purity ring so much. I dated a girl who had one. I noticed her ring one time and asked what it meant. She would not tell me. Then I found out. Then we never spoke again. Purity rings are nice in theory. I just think it’s a little ridiculous that you have to wear a piece of jewelry to remind yourself what your values you are. It’s like my old hit list theory. If you have to write someone’s name down to remind yourself you want them dead, you don’t hate them enough to wish them dead. Some people go even crazier with these reminders. I know of a person who tattooed “Live” on her wrist to remind herself not to kill herself. Either that or she really liked the album Throwing Copper.

(Bald guy from the band Live whose album Throwing Copper caused many riots involving pennies being tossed at police officers)

I’m aware I have gotten older now that I look at a girl’s hands to see if she has a ring on it. I’m looking more for if she’s married more than if she’s saving herself for the wrong guy who will later divorce her. The big problem is I don’t know the difference between a purity ring, wedding ring, or NBA championship ring. I hate everything about finger rings. Have they done anyone anything good? Their only fun aspect is you can put it on then punch someone in the face and see your graduating class year imprinted on their forehead. The only time I have ever worn a ring was when I found it at the bottom of a cereal box. I could blow into it and hear a spinning sound.

(Didn’t Ace Ventura get punched with a Super Bowl ring? I really hope I remember the plot to AFI’s 12th greatest film involving Pet Detectives correctly)

Ring around the rosy is a popular game among children who cannot afford video games. Most of us know the dark history behind the game. It has something to do with Monkey Pox outbreak in the 1970s. I’m not exactly sure what. I do not pay attention to children games or Center for Disease Control history. The way this game is played is you hold hands and dance around in a circle singing about pocket pussies and someone named Ashley. I don’t know why I’m trying to write about this game. I feel like I got something wrong.

(Everyone in this picture is dead now or is so old they wish they were)

The more I think about rings the more evil they are. There’s ring worm. That’s something you get from being a dirty person who does not shower. Hula hoops are kind of like giant rings. I never liked the hula hoop. I never had the hips, coordination, or love for Alvin and the Chipmunks to enjoy this sham gift. It’s a fucking giant ball with a hole in it! That’s all a hula hoop is. It’s like they cut out the good part of the toy. There’s also that dangerous theme park game where you ride the carousel and grab a ring. How many kids reached too far, fell off, and had their skulls crushed in and bodies dragged along the dirt trying to get a free ride? A lot I’m sure. Nazis claim this is what happened to six million Jews during the 1940s.

(“Jews really want a free carousel ride. You know how they can be, always trying to save the money. What’s that? Concentration camp? My, that’s the most ridiculous thing ever!” – says the Nazi as he signals to his buddies to get the hell out of there)

I tried to write this with an unbiased opinion. Turns out I really do hate rings. Other than in fried onion form of course. Even the brass rings on binders have always scared me. Those fuckers are like bear traps. I hope I didn’t sway you either way much. But the topic of rings is like politics or religion. You shouldn’t be persuaded through a single blog post. It’s something you should learn about through life experience. I also hate wrestling rings. How do you fight someone in a circle? There’s no cornering someone. A real fight always needs some cornering.

“Mumble Mumble Mumble Mumble ring on it! Mumble Mumble Mumble Mumble ring on it!” – Beyonce “Spud” Knowles

Some argue what the greatest invention in the last ten years has been. People will say things like the iPod, the iPhone, or other products that are fun to smash. I have to disagree completely. My favorite invention is the 100 calorie pack. Bags of food containing exactly 100 calories, give or take if you actually do the correct math based on the macronutrients on the back which I have found when I have done can sometimes be off by a total of 30. These heroes of dieters have flown under the radar. They’re never on the cover of Life Magazine or making an appearance in Taylor Swift music videos. It’s time these desserts got their just desserts.

(This picture turns me on slightly)

Supermarkets are filled with 100 calorie packs nowadays. That was not always the case. Before you would have to get a Ding Dong and throw half in your neighbor’s mailbox to save the calories. Not anymore. Options have risen as well. I remember when these awesome inventions first came along we were very limited. Now every evil corporation under the sun makes these products. Even the Quaker Brand, who are run by vampires and never see the sun, have gotten in on the action. Options can make me nervous, but with so many wonderful ones out there it makes me jump for joy!

(Into their boyfriend’s arms, off bridges, or along side block lettering gays love to jump)

My old school favorites were the cinnamon muffins, the little chocolate bites, and the banana muffins. I totally forgot about the banana muffins. I am almost tempted to put some pants on right now and go to the store and eat a box. I won’t though. Too many people to run into outside my lowly apartment. I used to eat 100 calorie packs like I was the Pacific Ocean and they were Hawaiians paddling on a makeshift raft. These packs would be devoured by me. My lunch would consist of 4 packs of whatever ones I was in the mood for. Not realizing this was as healthy as maybe eating a whole donut instead, I managed to keep my ever-present sexy wet sponge figure. I’m sure I am not the only person to have a problem wanting to eat the entire box of 100 calorie packs. With all those strange addictions out there, I know I’m not alone.

Why exactly do I think 100 calorie packs are a great invention? It’s simple. They satisfy that need for something sweet in your mouth. Instead of getting ice cream, a candy bar, or an entire wedding cake like I have thought about doing, you get 100 simple calories you would probably exercise off anyway with a light 7 hour jog in place. People who jog in place are always big fans of 100 calorie packs. They also call them 1CP’s to save time. Not to be confused with ICP which stands for Insane Clown Posse. Insane Clown Posse fans frighten me. I don’t know a single one of their songs. They remind me of an angry version of KISS.

(Aren’t ICP fans called jugglers or something? Because clowns juggle. Clowns are also idiots who didn’t pay attention in school. I like that name better)

We’re in a time of fad diets and 1CP’s are there to help. I heard a girl recently talk about her fad diet. She said how today she could eat up to 8 bananas and could drink half a gallon of milk. The next day she could eat 12 ounces of steak, but she would have to also eat 5 whole tomatoes. This is no way to live. Did she ever stop and think this is insane? This diet works because it’s starvation. It has specific directions on what to eat which seems to be a lot of people’s problems. She’s not even all that overweight. I mean yeah she should lose 5 pounds or so if she ever wants a man to love her. But this diet is not the way to go. I had hidden in the girl’s YMCA locker room hoping to see some hot lesbian action. Instead I was privy to hearing how some people could hate themselves so much that they would fall for such a dumb trap. I’m pretty sure she gave up on the diet. She couldn’t make it through the day of eating 11 oranges and 2 and a half pistachios.

I hope 100 calorie packs stick around. Really, I do. I hardly eat them but I feel like they helped keep me from getting really fat. I’m sure others have had the same experience. There are so many wonderful products available too. Chocolates, pretzels, nuts, chocolates pretzel nuts, everything you could ever crave. I love 100 calorie packs. I really do. Probably more than any person I’ve ever met. They don’t judge me. I know exactly what I’m getting. 100 calories of deliciousness. If these grew from trees, Adam and Eve would have been kicked out of Eden the first shot they had. Could you blame them? Banana muffins are their own paradise.

(Too many nice things and too many lights on. These are always the homes where murders happen at. I would much rather have that banana muffin than ever live here)

30 days until the end of the world. I suggest loading up on these delicious snacks for your impending doom.

One day the world will end. No matter what you believe in this is fact. Something 6,000 years old, like earth, cannot possibly last too much longer. Armageddon is nearing. A homeless guy with a sign told me so. He believes that the end is nigh so badly that he was willing to take the door off his home and write about it in his own feces to warn others. Of course the door to his home is a cardboard sign. I think it used to be a Cap’n Crunch box. What he couldn’t tell me was how everything would come to an end. That’s my mission today. To scare paranoid people.

The most obvious way the world will end is like that movie The Happening. Flowers and trees will convince people to commit suicide. I don’t get how a patch of grass could ever control somebody’s survival instincts. What a bad movie. M. Night shouldn’t be allowed to make movies without ghosts. And Bruce Willis has to get shot by a naked guy in the bathroom in the opening scene to all of these. It’s the perfect formula to a memorable movie.

(From the film The Sixth Sense when Patrick Swayze suffocates himself with the palm of his own hand)

Actually, I think the most plausible way for the world to end would be a meteor. It happened before. Millions of years ago. It crashed into the Yucatan Peninsula which is located right next to Mexico. Darn! Poor meteor travels all this way to take out Mexico and it just misses. We’re probably due for a meteor to crash into us. Occasionally they do smash into earth and cause inconvenience. I know there was a bad one in Russia around 100 years ago. It burned down a forest. So a meteor’s impact is about as powerful as a man chucking a cigarette out the window into a pile of leaves. When did the power of a meteor decline so badly? You used to kill dinosaurs and The Flinstones. Get your act together meteorites! You’re an embarrassment to all things catastrophic.

Floods, fires, diseases, and volcanic eruptions are the boring ways for us all to die. Floods sound too thirst quenching. Fires can be prevented by stop, dropping, and rolling. Catching a deadly disease means you need to stop shaking so many hands. And the only volcanic eruption we need to worry about is the one in Yosemite. Supposedly that entire National Park is something called a super volcano. Don’t let the word super fool you. Usually super means good. Like Superman or Super Fresh. A super volcano does not rescue orphans or offer great weekly deals. It explodes then causes a chain reaction of other calamities. My knowledge of Yosemite may or may not come from the movie 2012. Best part of that movie, nothing bad happened to Africa. That’s where they say that they were going to head off to. I’m sure those Warlords will be thrilled to see John Cusack show up with the wealthiest white people in the world.

(The African Welcoming Committee, headed by Joseph Francis Kony)

More recently it has been thought that computers may kill us all. If anything the computers will make us all sterile. We’re more likely to have a Children of Men on our hands than a Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. Can’t we always defeat them by throwing water or coffee onto the robots? I can’t even sweat onto a keyboard without it giving me problems. Some believe that it will not necessarily be big giant cyborgs attacking us. The more likely scenario would be that every electronic device breaks. We’ll be scrambling around to find solar-powered toasters. Probably start eating each other out of our lack of crispy morning treats. Pillsbury will be out of business. I guess we won’t care too much. The only way they’d be able to advertise at that point is via billboard. We’ll all be too busy unwrapping television cords from around our children’s necks to take notice of the latest marketing scheme.

There are more science fiction-type ways for the world to come to a conclusion. Things like alien invasions or nuclear holocausts. It would be kind of funny if we use our nukes to kill the aliens but it kills us all at the same time. Funny probably isn‘t the correct word but I‘m running out of steam here. The likely hood of aliens invading seems to me like it would have already happened by now. Aliens never procrastinate. A nuclear holocaust is very likely. I would place a bet that this is how the world will eventually come to an end. Is it wrong to gamble on the extinction of the human race? I’m over 21 so it’s probably legal.

(Say what you want, this is a gorgeous way for us to all die)

How do you hope the world ends? I’d mark out for a zombie uprising. The way you kill zombies always tips everyone off on how creative of a person you are.

It’s a good thing I am not the head of a major corporation. If I was then I would only hire people I knew and hot women. Maybe a few ringers too for an annual softball game against my rival company, GloboTek. Who knows though, maybe one day I will be the head of a major corporation. I already share a name with the head of Columbia Sportswear. Irish men all look-alike anyway. The transition will be seamless as I take his place. That is after he dies of alcohol poisoning or IRA bomb. I’m pretty sure that’s how all Irish people die.

I’ve always wanted an assistant though. A real yes man. Someone who tells me how awesome I am all of the time. For now I’ll have to settle for using my Home Alone 2 voice recorder. I’m kidding of course. My parents never loved me enough to buy me that recorder. That’s probably a good thing. Those things were recalled in 1995 after being linked to ear cancer.

(“Get out of here you nosey little pervert!” – the uncle in Home Alone 2 and Mr. Culkin when Michael Jackson snuck into Macauley’s bedroom via ladder)

If I did have a real life assistant though there would be many tasks for them to do. I won’t mention sex slaves because I don’t also want my sex slave cleaning my bathroom. That’s a bit of a turn-off. Like farting on a first date. Did she really think that would get a good reaction from me? Farts are hilarious. Never to be used in August in a car without air conditioning or windows that can be lowered. Cleaning my bathroom would be one of the most important tasks for my assistant. For some reason I’m a very linty person. I could make an AIDS quilt out of all of the black lint I find in my belly button. Are AIDS quilts black? That seems kind of gloomy. I’d imagine most are neon pink, the happy cheerful non-death color.

(AIDS quilts have such a Native American influence to them when it comes to the color schemes)

My assistant would also be required to drive me places. I hate driving. I get so agitated by everyone. I call all women with kids “mom”, all old people “grandpa”, and everyone else a “fucking whore.” Driving with me is the least pleasant experience one could have. Really, I’m a good driver. I’d go into why I’m fantastic but I don’t want to brag about all of the hit-and-runs I’ve successfully escaped from. I might make the driver wear a hat. I haven’t decided on that. Definitely if it’s a woman though. She’d have to wear a baseball cap. Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when girls wear “caps”? It’s so cute watching a woman pretend to be a fan of sports.

(Alyssa Milano likes her air baseball caps and air conditioning. See her nipple for further understanding)

Giving me encouragement is another thing that my assistant would do. While working out, they would shout out encouraging things like “You can do it!”, “Makin’ copies”, “Hi, I’m Deuce Bigelow”, and other lines that Rob Schneider is known for. My assistant would prepare many meals for me. They’d tell me how proud they were when I cleaned my plate and I’d laugh and ask for another manwich. Encouragement is the most vital of things an assistant can do for its master. Yes. My assistant will be forced to call me master. If it was up to me, everyone would call me master. It would make me feel more like the southern gentleman that I am.

(Southern Gentlemen always wear white. It lets us know they don’t have shit in their pants)

The rest of my daily chores would be accomplished with my assistant. We’d do laundry together and gossip about mutual enemies. Vacuuming would involve my assistant chasing me around with the Dirt Devil. We’d laugh and I’d know deep down inside that my assistant was only pretending to enjoy themselves in hopes of getting a raise. I’d joke that spending time with me was worth enough. They’d agree because they’re Polish and don’t want to go back to their home country.

I may even take my assistant places. I’m not so cruel that they’d never be allowed to leave the apartment. Rarely will they be allowed, but for celebrations like my birthday or my half-birthday they’ll be allowed to leave to attend the party. Of course they’ll have to do all of the planning and setting up. They’re my assistant. Not my thing to worry about. I’d also love for my assistant to go out to bars with me. They’d hype me up to women. Maybe put a few roofies in drinks and I could swoop in and knock them out of the hand last second. I’ll be a hero. The ladies will swoon over me and my assistant will drive us all back to my place while we make-out in the backseat. I know all bugs are supposed to have a purpose. I don’t know what ladybugs do other than hide in bathrooms. At least roofies can help me look like a cool dude.

(Collared shirt, sunglasses, and one of those cloth hats picnic table hats. So cool)

Please apply if you think this would be a good job for you. I would mostly enjoying a female as the maid outfit I purchased seems to be made more for that of a woman’s body. But I will not discriminate. As long as you’re willing to do whatever I tell you to do we’ll be a perfect match.

*This blog post has no affiliation to the one similarly done by A Gripping Life a few months back. I am terrified of being sued.

We all do terrible things. I’m convinced that we were all made to be immortal but eventually we do something so bad that we earn death. Our entire lives we’re told what’s good and what’s bad. For the most part our moral codes are the same. We know stealing is wrong and eating carrots is good. But what if what’s being stolen is bread for a starving family and what if every time a carrot is eaten a terrorist gets his pilot wings? Those are just two lame excuses and justifications that people may try to make in order to do a bad thing.

 (Bruce “Scorpion” Diamond, a once fierce competitor in Immortal Kombat, was moved over to Mortal Kombat due to his excessive demanding tone for people to “get over here”)

I try to make as few excuses as possible. It’s hard on me because I really don’t want to do very much. If I really didn’t mind making excuses I would do it a thousand times more than I do already. Can’t go out today, my knees hurt. Sorry I’m late, I was busy trying to come up with a solution to the abortion problem. There’s that old phrase “more excuses than a pregnant nun.” At least a pregnant nun can always go with immaculate conception. As long as the baby doesn’t turn out Brazilian (I think we can all agree that God isn’t Brazilian) her boss would have to believe her. If he doesn’t believe her then it’s because he believes the impossibility of immaculate conception in the first place. Therefore he denies the story of Jesus’s birth. So if you’re a pregnant nun reading this, feel free to use my argument.

Excuses are mostly for children. They can get away with a lot because they have sweet faces. You can also get away with hitting a kid. The children are our future yet we’re allowed to smack them. Isn’t that really sealing your fate of having the plug pulled on you 5 minutes into a coma? What separates us from children is that adults try to justify their errors. They give a reasoning behind why they made a mistake. Children don’t think that far ahead. They go to bed before 9 and actually like waking up at 6. I think it takes getting 5 hours of sleep on a consistent basis before you learn to justify being a bad person.

I always like to hear people’s justifications for using drugs. They say that marijuana is “from the earth” and that it’s “natural.” Plutonium is from the earth. Smoke that. Admit it, you only smoke pot because you enjoy it. Something being natural doesn’t mean you should do it. I don’t see anything natural about turning a coke bottle into a bong. For that to happen you need plastics, the invention of soda, and large corporations to distribute that product. You’re such a hippie yet you don’t realize how much capitalism it takes for you to forget about how your homework stress. Shut up and admit you just want to be lazier than when you are sober.

 (If a picture of your bong involves product placement then face it, you’ve sold out)

The best is when we get caught doing something we know is wrong. When a cop pulls us over for speeding we try to give some bullshit story about how we didn’t notice how much fiber was in our breakfast and that we really need to get to a toilet/Burger King floor. At least that’s what I would do. But I’m a good boy and never speed. I wouldn’t know what to say other than roll over and present myself to the cop and let him rape me for trying to get somewhere quicker. It’s the same reason why I would never cheat on someone. Eventually I would get caught and my only justification I could make was that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Then how about I clean out my brain with a shotgun bullet if I feel so confused? I hate when people say they “weren’t thinking.” Of course you were thinking. You were thinking about your own needs and wants. Whore.

Why do people even need to make excuses or to justify their behavior? Because we judge one another. If nobody was there to judge then people would do what they want and be happy. That’s not a good thing. If we didn’t have judgmental folk like myself then everyone would be fat unfunny sexual predators. It’s up to us to remind lesser humans how lousy they are so they don’t go out and become worse than they already are. I know if I wasn’t afraid of being judged I would be a terrible person. I would rarely shave, always be naked, and insult everyone I could. Not that I don’t already insult a lot of people. I would hide less behind a computer screen when I do it though.

(In the past warriors had shields to protect them. In today’s world we have the ability to hide our IP addresses)

To sum it all up, do what you think is right. Believe in what you do and you won’t need to make an excuse. It seems like too many people try to explain why things are the way they are. They say they like Backstreet Boys better than N*Sync because they were around first. No. Stop. Just say you like them better. You’re still a little queen, but at least you’re being less dishonest. We’re too caught up in doing our best not to make mistakes. There’s no need to worry sweetie. Everyone makes mistakes. Admit to them and you can move on. Don’t say that it’s the way you “thought it was supposed to be done” or other lame things I use.

“Excuse me while I whip this out.” – a black sheriff making an excuse for pulling out his junk. No need to do so sir, we all know it’s because you want to brag.

OMG did you hear about–followed by anything is how all gossip statements begin. Unless it’s a deaf person gossiping. They probably don’t gossip much. All gossip comes from eavesdropping. All a deaf person can gossip about are colors or fonts. Blind people would be really good gossips. Like that awful superhero Daredevil. Oh look he’s blind. So inspirational for a blind kid. Too bad blind kids don’t see comic book movies. If I had a blind kid who was misbehaving and he asked me to buy him a comic book I would give him something boring like a car manual. He’d hang out with his friends saying how cool the Hobgoblin is and they’ll make faces at him as he rambles about things he made up. Stupid made up blind son of mine.

I’m somebody who enjoys a good gossiping session. Deep down inside, I know it’s wrong. But around that deep down inside I know it’s enjoyable. Gossiping allows us to bond with others by shitting on mutual acquaintances. Some of the greatest friendships of all-time have been formed through gossiping. Take Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden for instance. Oh wait, they weren’t friends. The war in Iraq was started under false pretenses. George Bush, you’ve just been burned!

(George Burns really needs a practical joke show with that slogan)

The first time I remember gossiping was on the school bus in 2nd grade. Okay, maybe it wasn’t gossiping. But I remember sitting next to my friend whispering curse words into each other’s ears. Still, that one kid in our class was scientifically speaking a bastard so maybe we were gossiping. I don’t really know when I first gossiped. When you’re young there’s not much to say. People with ducks on their underwear usually don’t have very interesting lives. What kind a 2nd grader really gossip about? Which girl in the class poops the longest?

I’m older and more experienced now which means I can gossip easier. Children are more honest so they will tell you how fat you are while over your friend Matt’s house or they’ll instant message you in a cruel manner saying how her brother told her that you were fat. Why did both of those girls have to grow up to be hot too? Stupid bitches. I’m sure they gossip plenty. That’s why women get murdered. They gossip way too damn much.

(The cast of Gossip Girl. All 8 of these women look like they should be killed. Yes, any guy who looks like that is clearly a woman)

Sometimes I feel like I’m a gay man or a woman. I don’t cry in public, wear spaghetti straps, or go out of my way to get a fat-free dressing (actually that one I might do) or do any of the other ridiculous things those two minority groups do. I think it’s my ability to gossip that makes me a viable candidate to befriend women. I guess I can be catty at times. I feel like such a bitch when I get with “the girls” and criticize others. When I say “the girls” I mean any group of friends. I only tend to make friends with other highly critical males and we have our little circle of bashing. We always make sure to insult gay people as much as possible. That way nobody things that behind our fat-free yogurts or fuzzy navels that we might be one of them.

(You know you’re a tough guy when Nathan Lane is one of your friends)

But maybe I’m not so much a gossip as I am an insulter. Gossip to me represents more than hate. You can gossip about someone because they embarrassed themselves, you’re jealous of them, or they did something incredibly stupid. My gossiping starts and ends with saying how much I hate them and why what they’re doing is wrong. To be a true gossip girl you must also be public friends with whoever you’re gossiping about. I don’t so much gossip about people I know and like as much as I join in on the fray whenever I hear certain names mentioned.

Do you gossip? What are your feelings on gossipers? If I didn’t have these questions here, would you have said something completely different? Do you not think that these questions were already implied and that you’re just wasting your time reading this last paragraph?

Imagine me sitting in a chair, possibly dressed nicely. I have a tie on because ties let you know that a man doesn’t have to treat a woman nicely. He can pay for sex if he wishes. That’s how much of a hot-shot I look. Perhaps I have a Bluetooth on too. I’m not talking into it. I’m too stupid to figure out how to use it. Sometimes I go out and walk around the park pretending I’m talking to someone. My made up friend Rico isn’t on the other end and the joke I’m pretending to laugh it doesn’t exist. I’m a crazy person trying to look cool. My pants are fancy, my shoes actually laced, and I’m wearing false teeth over my real ones to look more presentable. Try getting into an argument with dirty natural teeth. You probably won’t win. You need some milky whites to attain a flawless victory.

Why am I dressed up so fancy? Well because today is a serious day. One year ago today my mom passed away. I’ve been debating for a while whether I should write anything about it. It doesn’t really go with the theme of this blog, you know, shit humor, but if there was anybody who appreciated shit humor it certainly was my mom.

I didn’t know exactly what it was that I wanted to write about here. I figured it was a safe bet to write about some of her favorite things. Mostly what we enjoyed together or that one of us pretended to like more because it gave us some bonding time. Or in some cases we really didn’t just want to say how stupid the other one was for having awful taste.

Professional Wrestling

I don’t know how much my mom really understood about the WWE. At times I think she didn’t realize it was scripted or that The Undertaker was not dead and actually named Mark. She’d yell at the TV that what the bad guys were doing wasn’t fair. She always rooted for the good guys which annoyed me because I’m a smark, someone who roots for the bad guys. I’d almost want to punch her when she’d clap for HHH beating someone else. I hated HHH. His nose is gigantic and he’s a backstage goon who refuses to lose. Her favorite though was The Rock which I can’t argue with. Weird thing is neither of us watched wrestling when The Rock was popular. I think she mostly was into looking at him in tiny underwear more than anything else. One year for her birthday I got her a set of action figures of The Rock. Her last birthday 2 years ago I bought her a collection of “The Best of The Rock” a 3-DVD set. I mostly bought it because I wanted to watch it first then give it to her. I don’t think she ever did watch it, but that was probably a good thing. I never realized how much he lost. Mostly to that big nosed asshole HHH. Fuck you and your initial moniker.

 (Next year Wrestlemania should take place inside his right nostril)


This was another thing my mom paid attention to because I want into. We even got a dog and named him after Mark McGwire we were so into the 1998 season. More on that piece of shit dog later. We’d watch Phillies games together all the time in the late 90’s. During those years the team would lose about 100 games a season. You don’t need to know a thing about sports to know they weren’t very good. Her favorite player was the Jewish catcher, Mike Lieberthal. I’m not saying the team sucked because they had a Jewish catcher and their star pitcher was a Republican whose son had ALS, but I don’t hear it argued enough that they probably should have signed more Puerto Ricans. The last baseball game we watched together was during the 2009 World Series. I so totally could have hooked up with a girl that night who was into me, but I couldn’t let my mom down. We needed to see the Yankees buy their way into another championship. I don’t regret it at all. That hot chick probably would have tried to change the way I dressed. My mom once told me she was proud of me because I always wore clean clothes. It didn’t take much to impress her.

 (Mike Lieberthal rookie card)

The Popcorn Zoo

Last year on Mother’s Day my sisters and girlfriend (my girlfriend, I don’t share her with my sisters you creep) went to the Popcorn Zoo. I’ve mentioned it before, but I will repeat to you that it is a zoo of abused animals where you get to feed them popcorn. I know, holy fucking shit right? This exists! You can throw popcorn at bears and watch them eat it. The best animals there are the deer. They used to have some that had three legs. I have fed three-legged deer movie theater snacks. How many people can say that? Probably like a couple million because the zoo has been around a long time, but still I bet no one in Australia has ever done that. Have you ever seen a map? That’s a big place. I have done more in my life than everyone in Australia. My mom’s favorite animal there was Ferdinand the cow. He sent my mom a postcard one time because she made a donation to get him a bell or whatever it is cows need donations for. Feeding animals and not having to pick up the poop afterwards is one of my favorite things to do. That’s why the Popcorn Zoo will always be a place near and “deer” to my heart. Get it? Because I mentioned deer–

(Me feeding a goat a nutritious snack)


My mom would always rush home from whatever she was doing to catch the reruns of her favorite shows. I don’t think she watched a first run television show since the Ron Perlman shows Beauty and the Beast was on while I was born. Her favorites were King of Queens, Two and a Half Men, and Wings. What a Three Stooges combination of mediocrity. Strangely enough the only one of these that I ever watched a lot of was Wings. I kind of got into it too. It’s about two brothers who work for an airline on Nantucket. I know this sounds like the beginning to a dirty joke, but I swear it was a pretty tame show. Basically it was Taxi but with airplanes. They even had a silly repairman played by the bad guy from Spiderman 3 who was also the bad guy in George of the Jungle. Isn’t Thomas Haden Church also a prick in real life? You’d think with the last name church at worse he’d be a con-artist.

 (This is what cool people looked like in the early 90s. Y2K should have destroyed us)

McGwire the Dog

Lovable, sweet, adorable, and exciting are a few words I would never use to describe McGwire the Dog. When my mom passed the family was left wondering what we should do with McGwire. It was unanimous that we’d put him in the garbage disposal and blame it on a black guy who broke in. Then we realized none of us are fancy enough to own a garbage disposal so he came to live with me. He’s okay I guess. When I came home last I could smell him immediately. Sometimes he smells so bad I want to pour sour milk on him to make things better. And to torture him a bit for waking me up and being an overall fatass. He licks my couch a lot for some reason. It’s not even like there are food remnants there. I think he’s just trying to annoy me for when I sit down and my arm rest is soaking wet. But I guess he’s all right. He snores really loudly which gives me some background noise. It helps me avoid from being able to think. It helps keep away some demons.

(He looks like a fat deer on a giant lesbian shirt)

Those are just a few of the things my mother enjoyed. I could go on forever really. She liked bounty paper towels, Leslie Nielsen movies, and not using the Internet. Really, my mom probably didn’t go online since 2004. She used prepaid phones like a drug dealer and had no clue who the Chocolate Rain Kid was. She lived very simply. The only thing more I could have wanted from her was more time. One more conversation, one more trip to the movies together, one more blabbering voicemail that went on for 6 minutes about a joke on the Nick Swardson show that I didn‘t know existed, and one more of everything else I loved about her. I have a good memory and not much had to be blocked out involving her. She yelled at me twice that I remember and apologized after both. One time was because I was eating chicken instead of helping with the Christmas tree setup and the other was because I couldn’t match up a pair of black sweat pants with the black tuxedo that Alfred the Butler wore on a shirt I had which contained all of the Batman characters. I was only really nervous one time about sharing something with her. It happened when I was suspended from school for 9 days my junior year of high school for making a parody of the school newspaper. To be fair it was a book that she gave me that inspired my troublemaking ways. When she found out that I had been suspended from school there was no yelling. She high-fived me instead. That’s how I knew I had an awesome mom. She had never met the principal and even she knew he was an asshole.

Who am I? What’s the meaning of life? Why are people always whispering and laughing as I walk by them? Questions I ask myself every single day. Let’s stick with the first one. The other two are difficult. The meaning of life could be as simple as there is no meaning. That’s a bummer. As for why people are laughing and whispering around me, jealousy. Yeah that’s right. They’re talking about how great I am and don’t want to say it out loud so it gets to my head. It’s cool. If I was always being told by every female admirer how sexy I was I might have syphilis. Mostly girls with syphilis find me sexy. Something to do with it causing insanity.

(Al Capone died of syphilis. I so could have gotten him in bed)

When someone asks me who I am, usually I say “Fuck off” and they beat me with their gun again. “You ain’t getting a word out of me you pig with a badge” is what I say next. It’s a much deeper question than that though. For a moment, I want you to think of your name. Whatever it might be. Sherry, Lewis, Bram, or one of the other names that human beings have. Doesn’t that blow your mind? What your name is and what it represents is you. Everything. It’s all encompassing and it’s you. This works best while late at night and in bed. Try it. You’ll be fearful of going to sleep based on all of the bad things you have done or years you’ve wasted.

Certain words can define a person. Certain characteristics can as well. I’ve narrowed them down for you. I’m all about self-discovery and helping others reach inner peace/demons.

The first identification you can have as a person is whatever you job happens to be. For instance if your job is police officer then you might at times identify as one. The movie Taxi Driver had a line from my dead brother Peter Boyle. His character Wiz said something like “You have a job. You become the job.” I agree. I think that’s a really good route to happiness. As the Geico advertisements I hear on the radio say quoting Mark Twain “Make your vocation your vacation.” If you don’t like your job you’re fucked. It’s so easy for Mark Twain to say that too. All he did was sat in a cabin and write books. He wrote children’s books with the N-Word in it. What an asshole! You know you’ve got leverage when you can get away with that. Go to the book store and get a Paddington Bear book. I’ll bet you anything there’s not a single racial slur in it besides the first page. Hey, even children’s books have to start off with a bang.

(“Paddington Bear was late to work yet again because that towelhead refused to pick him up. Paddington promptly flipped him the bird” – First Page of Paddington Bear Takes Manhattan)

You can also identify yourself by your religion. I hear people say “I am a Christian.” This bothers me because I think you should give yourself more credit. You’re more than a Christian. I don’t think faith should ever be your number one identity you have for yourself. It feels to me waving your religion around is a little flamboyant. And doesn’t the Bible hate flamboyant people? It’s great that you have faith and are happy with it. I just don’t need that to be the main thing I know about you. Being a Christian, a Muslim, or even an Atheist (I forget the other types of religions out there) doesn’t make me have any idea of who you are. Some of all are good and some of all are bad. Faith isn’t a card where you get to do whatever you want. Most people don’t really want to know what you do with your Sunday mornings. Find something more important to identify yourself with like “Good Person” or “Curer of Cancer.” When religion is the first thing someone brings up to me all I know is that they’re a recovering addict or have been boring their entire life.

(Or you could be like Stephan Baldwin and be both)

A third way to identify yourself as is your relationship to others. You can be a father, a mother, a child, a brother, a sister, you know the rest. I think it’s mostly mothers, fathers, and grandparents who identify themselves in this category. Who calls themselves a cousin? Everyone in the world except for me has a cousin. It’s not a special thing. This is probably the most dignified way to identify yourself as. Anyone can become a telephone repairman and it’s very easy to show up to church then call yourself religious. Becoming a parent is easy. Being one is the tough part. I’m not a parent nor will I be any time soon barring a big mistake, a new direction in life, or alien abduction. I was told the other day that aliens are going around raping people and that this is common knowledge. I must have been hiding under a rock of logic when this was discussed in school.

(E.T. tell you not to phone home. This be yours and his little secret)

Of course, the best way to identify yourself is as an individual. You don’t really need a tag. Sure, I’d love to have a great job where I could say what it is and identify myself as. Right now that’s not the case. I’m probably not going to see Jesus in toast any time soon (I don’t eat much bread) and even if I did I think I’d have more important things to take care of before gloating about my faith. You know, like helping others. Someday maybe I will be a father. I could see myself identifying as that. Even so, I’ll need some other kind of identification for my kid’s sake. No kid wants to be able to brag to their friends that their dad is a father. They want to be able to say he’s an assassin or a rock star football player. For you non-existent child, I will do my best to discover who I am and put a simple one word label to it.