Posts Tagged ‘wishes’

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.

Art at Pouring My Art Out wished for me to basically write a post devoid of jokes involving race, sex, religion, or abuse and it must not have any outlandish opinion to it. In other words, he wanted me to write something nobody would ever want to read. He did however say it should be about happy things or at least I think he did. So here’s a post about happy things without any insults to anybody. I feel like throwing up. What’s something that makes everybody happy? Animals! Here are some things about my experiences with certain animals. It’s completely appropriate for children too as there are no insults or foul language.

(This post can be enjoyed by everyone in this picture)


I grew up in a home with pussies. We had three pussies in total. The first two were named Stephanie and her brother’s name was pronounced “Stah-Shoe” which I am told is the Yiddish name for Stanley. I’m scratching my head too. The third cat we had was named Briscoe after the Bruce Campbell show Briscoe County Junior. At least we watched the show.

Stephanie’s strangest quark involved her sleeping habits. There were only two places she ever slept, in the “messy room” on an old air conditioner and on my bed. She shed a lot and I have always been allergic to cats so I always tried convincing her the air conditioner was better. Still, it was nice to know I had the most comfortable bed in the house in a room with a door that could not shut.

“Stah-Shoe” was a tough cat. By the time I could have memories he only had one good eye. He was always getting into fights with other cats in our old home in Edison, New Jersey which I am told was a tough neighborhood. He was a black cat who purred louder than anything else. He was probably the most cuddly of the cats I ever had ownership over. He also has the highest kill count if you’re scoring at home.

Briscoe was more my older sister’s cat. My mom did not like him very much. He always peed in the corner of the living room and was a general annoyance. In a lot of ways he’s exactly like McGwire the Dog, more of a pest than a companion. I think this is what happens when animals are overly babied. Briscoe was still a nice cat who never minded being picked up and swung around the room. At least, he never said it annoyed him.

(Little pussies are my favorite)


It seems like every dog I meet is a male dog, never a bitch. I prefer bitches. Female dogs usually like male humans more and vice versa. I had mastership over one female dog in my lifetime, her name was Baylee.

The first time I met Baylee was when I came home from school one winter day in 2nd grade. She was extremely thin at the time after the abuse she endured. Baylee sat on the couch and when I opened the door her head poked up. It was love at first sight. By far she was the coolest dog ever. She had bad hips yet was still a great athlete. I could throw balls to her and like Air Bud she would hit them up in the air.

Baylee was a great companion for a young boy. She even somewhat understood soccer rules. A dog comprehended that she was supposed to block a ball from going one way and that she was trying to push it in the other direction. McGwire the dog still doesn’t understand his heavy breathing is the least sexy noise to wake up to. I miss Baylee.

(Two bitches playing Frisbee together)


In America it’s illegal to own an ass. Asses, otherwise known in children’s books as donkeys, are not great pets. I’m not exactly sure why. Has anyone ever tried it? I think we need to give them a chance.

There’s not much I can say about these animals. Nobody goes to a zoo to see them. I know asses are important in some countries where they are used as transportation. In America their only purpose is to run for public office and screw over the kind people who live in this fine country.

(Check out these adorable asses rubbing together)


Some people wake up from the sound a cock makes. It sounds like “cock-a-doodle-doo!” I think we have all at some point in our life thought about quitting our jobs and working on a farm. I know I have. There’s something about living on a farm that seems so pure and beautiful. Your biggest responsibility is making sure you’re pulling your weight.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen a nice cock. Whenever I do see a rooster they’re always scary. Aren’t emus just giant roosters? Emus are the scariest animal on the planet and yes I’m including Megashark in this debate. I don’t know if I would ever want to wake up from a rooster cawing. I prefer my phone alarm because at least my phone doesn’t creep me out.

(Three cocks just hanging out doing their thing in a public park)

There you go. A nice post where I did not degrade anyone and managed to keep everything completely family friendly. If we learned anything here it’s to never trust me to grant you a wish with a positive result in the end.

Losers rely on wishes to get them through the day. I never make wishes. When I see a star in the sky I do not make a wish. I try shooting the star with my gun. I’m an American. It’s what we do. When I blow out the candles on my birthday cake I do not make a wish. In fact I never blow out the candles on my birthday cake. Each year I kidnap a Jehovah Witness and forcefully make them do it. If I’m feeling really cruel we get a blood transfusion afterwards. Wishes are not for me. However, today is your chance to make one.

Wishes are popular among the Middle Eastern people. They have these blue ghosts called Genies. Personally, I prefer the Djinn over the Genie. Djinns are evil Genies. The film Wishmaster is all about them. This used to be my favorite movie. At one point a man wishes for a million dollars. As soon as he does, his mom signs over an insurance form in her son’s name then hops on a plane. The fucking plane blows up right after! Another woman wishes to be beautiful forever. She is turned into a manikin. The best wish came in Wishmaster 2: Wes Craven Needs More Money. A prisoner wishes for his lawyer to go fuck himself. Guess what literally happens?

I used to not be so cynical about wishes. I used to go to the mall and toss pennies into the fountain. I made so many wishes my family had to sell their bodies on the streets and to science. Sometimes we were selling our bodies to both. Have you ever spent a night as a prostitute with test makeup on your face? I have. To me wishes have become the Atheist’s Prayer. I never get an Atheist who makes a wish. You’re denying the existence of a God yet you think there are Wish Fairies out there? I think I should start a religion based around Wish Fairies. They’ll be like angels only louder and more obnoxious.

To follow through with my goal to become a more loving person (I know right, seems like I’m pretty far off here doesn’t it?) I have decided to grant each person reading this one wish. Something simple, free, and easy I can do to make your life, my life, or the world a better place. I’m serious about this. Anything you desire I will do as long as it follows the guidelines below:

-Your wish must not cost me or anyone else money. I’m not an official Genie. This means I’m not Union Certified. I have to pay outrageous taxes on anything costing money.

-Your wish must deliver kindness into the world. Even if your wish harms someone else, as long as it brings some good to an equal or greater number of people I will do it. Hey, some people have to be collateral damage here. I’m new to this granting wishes thing.

-Your wish must not involve a drastic change in my life or anyone else’s, at least not immediately. For instance don’t wish me to adopt a child. I’m bad enough at finishing milk before it expires. A child will end up microwaved under my care. Let’s start with something simple.

-Your wish must be within reason. I have very little reason. I can’t really explain this one further.

-Your wish must come from your heart. If you do not have a heart you can wish for a heart. I would not suggest this. The Scarecrow wished for a heart and he was accidentally shot by a farmer a week later who thought he was a trespasser.

So make your wish! You only get one. I also have right to refuse your wish. I swear I will do whatever your wish ends up being, even if there is no proof. Maybe I can even blog about the mishaps that ensue when I fail to make the world a better place. I’m hoping at least one of you wishes me to put an object of mine inside an object belonging to someone else to give us both a great amount of pleasure. I think you know what I mean.

I have a lot of sick fantasies. Most involve girls from high school, duct tape, a dark room, VA VA DOOM!!!, and me in a rabbit costume. Others are more realistic and much sicker. How sick? You be the judge.

Sick Fantasy Number 1:

I want a debilitating injury or illness that leaves me hospital bound. Thinking logically, I don’t want this. I don’t want the pain or fear of having something seriously wrong with me. It’s a terrible thing. Thinking illogically, this is a thought that gets me hard.

Being in the hospital means a lot of great things. For one, I don’t have to go to work. I don’t mind my job. It’s just the waking up and going there that’s annoying. If I’m hospital bound, I don’t have to go through that stress of dragging myself out of bed so I have enough money to pay for the gas to–get me to work? Shit. That doesn’t make sense.

I’ve ever spent much time in hospitals. I have no memory of ever spending the night in one. Television and movies have tricked me into thinking hospitals are fun places. All desks have lollipops and all nurses are sassy. It seems like fun. I can lie in my bed and write all day long. I haven’t been in a hospital since the Internet was readily available. I can only imagine how much fun it would be now to be there recovering after a car accident. You could play The Sims all day long and nobody will think you’re wasting your time on a fake life instead of a real life. You’re sick. All is forgiven.

In 3rd grade I had a project due that I was struggling with. It involved a lot of gluing, not my strong suit. I remember silently wishing that I would get hurt and not have to finish it. A week later I broke my leg. My teacher said that I didn’t have to finish the project if I didn’t want to. I lucked out that time. I had an injury that I recovered from easily and got out of working with construction paper for a week. My true sick fantasy didn’t come true, but I got what I wanted out of it. An excuse to be unproductively lazy.

Sick Fantasy Number 2:

I guess this is the same as my first in a way. I still want to delve into it to try to convince myself that it’s something I would like. Delve is the correct word, right? When you want to dip your hand into a topic? You only ever delve into ideas and thoughts. Nobody delves into a swimming pool or a pair of underpants. We really need to use the word more.

Onto my fantasy, I want to be in a coma. Actually, I don’t. Or maybe I do? I’m not sure yet. I think it would be kind of cool though to be one of those people who are in a coma for a few years and then comes out of it. You know, if I had a baseball hit me in the head right now and didn’t wake up for 5 years, so much would be different. The president might be someone I’ve never even heard of. At least one celebrity that I like will be dead. A new genre of music will exist for me to hate. I’ll get to fast forward through the bullshit of it all and go straight into the future. Time travel doesn’t exist? Ask those who have been in a coma!

I know this would never happen. My family wouldn’t be able to afford it. That’s funny in a sick sort of way. Most people who survive long stints in a coma come out of it with gigantic medical bills. They have to spend the rest of their lives paying off the bills. Liquid steak is expensive. Here you are, a medical miracle who survived all those years on life support and they slap you with a huge bill that your stupid family has given you because they thought it’s what you wanted. The worst thing about being in a coma would be that you could never write a book about your experience. It would just be “One second I was studying for my mathematics final at university, the next I was turning 40.” Living with a coma might not be as much fun as I thought. I still wouldn’t mind it. Using the logic of numbers, if I sleep for 5 straight years then I won’t have to sleep for the next 5. Imagine all that I can get accomplished!

Sick Fantasy Number 3:

This might be the most common one and the only that another human being can agree with. I want to live in a post-apocalyptic world. I don’t mean a sad version of it either. I mean a cool Mad Max one. I want to wear spikes on my shoulders. Have to fight cannibals with big swords that I don’t know the proper name of or where I got it from. That’d be so badass.

After the apocalypse, law would no longer matter. I can do whatever it is I want and know the thrill of what it’s like to kill a bad guy on a motorcycle. I think that would be really neat. I mean, I have to die someday. Why not it be with the chance to experience a present day society and that of one after nuclear holocaust?

I know how I’d want to die too. I would want to be fighting some bad guys and they’d kill me in front of a good friend. Possibly someone I have mentored. He’ll vow vengeance and go on a historic mission to claim that vendetta. He’ll kill a whole army of bad guys in my honor. I’d probably get a school named after me or a statue made to my likeness. Too bad at that point schools will be brothels and statues will be steel sex dolls. We can kill the earth, but we can never kill the human libido.