Refusing Maturity

THEY CALL ME GENO!

2009-06-04T09:49:00.000-07:00

Kinda wished they used a less played out beat. but it is pittsburgh. b94 probably just premiered this last week.

this is hilarious. WDVE never dissapoints.

THE CLEVE

2009-06-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

We encourage guests and fan alike to write something decent and depending on the quality it could be posted. Here's one I just got.

*Enjoy*

I was born in 1984. By the time I was 5, I had been alive for 3 of the greatest sports tragedies in the storied history of Cleveland disappointments. The 1987 AFC Championship Browns v. Broncos game, featuring Elway's 4th quarter comeback now known simply as The Drive, was my first taste. However, being 3 years young, I cared much less than I claim now. One year later, Earnest Byner lost the ball with 1:00 to go in the 4th quarter, again in the AFC Championship game v. the Broncos, yards before the goal line. Aptly, the play has been etched in stone as The Fumble. One year later, and you can't make this shit up, Michael Jordan broke left across the foul line, jumped 12 feet in the air over a little white guy named Craig Ehlo, and destroyed the Cleveland Cavaliers basketball hopes for 15 years. The celebration has become one of Jordan's most signature historical videos...sweet...and everybody gets a kick out of naming this The Shot.

But, nonetheless, I really didn't care because I was still addicted to Saved By The Bell and Salute your Shorts. I didn't start getting pissed over Cleveland failures until Jose Freakin Mesa blew a lead in the 9th inning of game 7 of the 1997 World Series against the Florida Marlins. Skip the 1995 series against the Braves, because Atlanta was one of the best teams of all time, but in 1997, I really believed the Tribe was a team of destiny and I was thinking, "man, it will be cool to go to the parade." But, history shows that we choked and Mesa was expelled from the city (this can also be attributed to a rape charge but honestly, they go hand in hand.)

Now, I am not saying that the 86 year Curse of the Bambino is anything to laugh about, or that Cubs fans can rest easy, but in a matter of 10 years, 4 huge debacles had left me primed for depression. Add to this that every sport was affected. The Red Sox didn't win a World Series for a long ass time but the Celtics more than made up for that. Throw in the Patriots and watch your freaking mouths Chowder-heads. The same goes for the Cubbies. Chicago, you had Michael Jordan busting out 50 points a game for 15 years. Shut your yappers. Cleveland had a river catch on fire and that was about it. Oh, and Bone Thugs shot some people on their way to making Let's Ride (sick song by the way).

Fast forward to 2002. The Browns are up on the Stillers 24-7 in the 3rd quarter. Kordell "Slash" Stewart had been held in check by Cleveland's finest and some jerry insurance guy named Tommy Maddox was subbed in. At this point in time, I was living in Pittsburgh and had a cellphone full of Steeler fan's numbers. 60 minutes later, I found myself sitting in my car, turned off, outside in the rain, listening to text messages and phone calls from all of the Pittsburghers that I had mocked earlier with a preemptive victory call. Note: I am not sure if text messages were around in 2002 but if they were, I was being bombarded. Kids, no matter how pretty you sit, never pre-victory call. The chance of eating your words is too risky.

SInce then, some mild disappointments have further numbed by passion. The Tribe was up 3 games to 1 against the Red Sox in the 2007 ALCS before Boston made Chocolate Chip Sabathia look fatter and more overweight than he already was and then crushed the pushover Rockies to win their second ring in 3 years. The Browns have had some colossal meltdowns and are currently pitching a reality tv show that is a bigger disaster than Heidi and Spencer. And the Cavs dealt with the small cocaine addiction and monstrous salary of Shawn Kemp, and his 15 illegitimate children.

Where am I going? Why does this matter? Lebron sparked a small glimmer of hope this year. I would have been thrilled to celebrate a championship for my 4th favorite Cleveland franchise, behind the Browns, Indians, and Lumberjacks of the International Hockey League. Would it have cancelled the past 23 years of heartache? Possibly. I would have at least pretended. But thanks to the city of Cleveland and all of the vibe it gives off, the Cavs fell short, being supremely outplayed by the Magic and didn't even get a sniff of the NBA finals. Wait till next year, you say? I've been convincing myself that this is the go-to line since Mesa circa 1997. I can't do it anymore. Lebron is leaving for New York in a year and I could care less.

So, I have some options:
1) Find a new city to cheer for. Proximity to Cleveland includes Pittsburgh, Detroit and Cincinnati. But I would be open to anything.
2) Sell my allegiance on eBay to the highest bidder and become, possibly, a Buffalo fan. I have seen this trend become popular with KC Royals fans.
3) Stop watching sports
4) Always cheer against Cleveland, ensuring an over 50% success rate.

I am open to any comments, suggestions, or ideas.

Chase

Disclosure: Chase is a part of the management group of the Style N' Substance blog, found at http://stylensubstance.blogspot.com. He lives in Beverly Hills, CA, has no pets, and enjoys living above his means.

sick beard, kid. sick beard.

2009-05-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

I love playoff beards. Except when half of the penguins can barely grow them because they are still going through puberty. But I noticed one fan in attendance who had an excellent beard.

I play real sports…not trying to be the best at exercising

2009-05-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

http://twitter.com/KFUCKINGP

Kenny Powers has a twitter page. I don't use twitter, its stupid and a waste of time. Theres a total of about 2 people I would pay attention to on twitter, one of them being Kenny. If you haven't seen Eastbound & Down I recommend drinking a bottle of detergent ,buying a bag of oxycontins, taking said drugs thus killing yourself.

Highlights of his twitter page include " At the height of my career I was jerking into $100 bills and had Asian chicks eating caviar off my sack. Aspire to this, kids."

Its a must see. Bookmark it and read it everyday. If you do the exact opposite of what he says you will be a great person.

the greatest human in the world

2009-05-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

click the link

Slanging Text

2009-05-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

The answer is Yes. You're child is definitely sexting.

Insert Joke about MLB being a joke, right here

2009-05-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

Listen, I love Manny, in a Ron Artest kind of way. He's like Ice Cube, you just like him and you're not sure why. It's no surprise that he's using performance enhancers. I mean I use them every Friday and Saturday and look at me.... I'm batting .300 with an on base percentage that would make pre-steroid Bond's question his sexuality.

Ad's, Ad's, Ad's...Everyone has AD'S

2009-05-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

Apparently there has been some hatred on the use of advertisements on this site. We get about 10 unique hits a day. Paris and Lindsay get more unique hits a day.

Unfortunately, the theme of the ad's is beyond our control. The folks over at google claimed "we will survey your blog and put appropriate ad's on your site". Well Mr. Style N' Substance, we have no control because we refuse to mature. Putting ad's on our site is right up our alley. So if you see a "WORLD HUNGER" ad, look the other way. I don't give a two percocets about what you guys click or don't click.

People can go anywhere for a news and blogs. People come to Refusing Maturity for the atmosphere.

*This site does not condone drinking and driving. Literally.*

creativity

2009-05-06T09:32:00.000-07:00

Swine Flu...Reallllly?

2009-04-28T17:15:00.000-07:00

I have not posted in months. What have I been up to? I'm not going to answer. Cause let's be serious. Nobody cares. For all you know I was solving the world's financial crisis with an ingenius economy stimulus plan revolving solely on lemonade stands and iguanas. Even if this was the case, it wouldn't matter, because according to every major news source, something called Swine Flu is about decimate planet Earth more than any variable interest rate that we can fathom. Apparently we're all screwed, and not even Dustin Hoffman can save us even though he solved that whole Ebola problem in a running time of 2 hours and 8 minutes...the majority of which he spent totally stumped and only really started trying when his love interest, played by a saucy Renee Russo, came down with the disease. Pretty selfish Dustin, maybe if you acted a little sooner Kevin Spacey would still be alive, but your merit is still duely noted. Wonder if you would've done the same Morgan Freeman? Guess we'll never know.

The same world that has survived countless pandemics and doomsday scenarios, including SARS, Avian Bird Flu, multiple solo albums from members of the band O-Town and the Keanu Reeves' religious sci/fi thriller Constantine, is now shivering in its pantaloons over Swine Flu. Well excuse me for laughing Earth but I am going to call bullshit on this one.

First, I'm no Scientist, but I am pretty sure that if you know what the hell you're doing you can live through any kind of flu. No matter what kind of animal is it derived from, the flu is the flu. Drink a bunch of OJ, pop some nyquil, man up and ride this mother out. When you get the flu and go to the Dr's they don't even give you medicine. They look you in the eyes and telepathically communicate you to start acting like a man.

Second, how can people still really believe that anything that everyone is saying is supposed to end life as we know it is really going to end life as we know it? Remember Y2K AKA "computers can do anything except read 4 digit dates so prepare for mass chaos?" The last time I checked not a single light went out. Not one, not to mention my Sega Dreamcast was still firing on all cylinders.

Third, do you know why there used to be worldwide plagues? PEOPLE USED TO BE F'ING GROSS. In the Bubonic Plague era people legitimately thought that by bathing the water you used was weakening your skin to prevent you from disease. Yes, WEAKEN. Why do diseases still spread in third world countries? Hmm...maybe the fact that people are still pooping in massive public waste deposits have something to do with it. Thanks for that update Slumdog Millionaire. Call me ignorant, but I don't think this is going to be a problem for us in America.

I am going to wrap this up so pardon me for being brief. But for the 11 people who apparently frequently read this blog. Please use your head and realize how stupid this. This will be mocked on South Park in no less than 5 weeks. Perhaps some people are going to die and have already died, and I am sorry to hear that, but in no way can you claim to be an intelligent dude and at the same time believe Swine Flu is take us down like sweet chin music.

I CAN'T READ GOOD

2009-04-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

"Internet porn, advertising and the celebrity culture lead them to sad, unrealistic fantasies about women...." - metro.co.uk news

He's SORTA of a BIG WHEEL

2009-04-27T08:27:00.000-07:00

Big wheel - not a child's toy. A man. A man who can walk into any bar, restaurant, lounge,club, pub or tanning salon and crush pink cookies at the push of a button. He's the guy you hate because he nails hot chicks by the bakers dozen and still comes across as a good person. He's like the World's Most Interesting Man's Son.

A conversation with a Big Wheel after another kill:

Friend: of course on Sat night broke out the Mac went through pics of the family
yes she saw pics of him..she was obsessed

me: technology and family

Friend: you might make fun
but it does work
my track record speaks for itself

The difference between a guy like this and everyone other non big wheel is simple. He at some point will probably hook up with the wrong girl and the boyfriend will drum his face like lars ulrich drums a drum solo.

Vendor Man

2009-04-23T09:05:00.000-07:00

The Greatest Stadium Vendor in all of the U.S.A.

Cotton Candy Man at Mellon Arena and also known as lemonade man at PNC Park. This guy is legend.

I bet this guy blew lines with Kevin Stevens in 1991.

there's a pube on there

2009-04-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

In a recent episode of "Important Things With Demetri Martin", he did a sketch about how people would never steal stuff from you if you had strategically placed pubes on your items. Brilliant idea. Thus spawning a business model like Orkin but with the exact opposite principal. Pube Security comes to your home and sprinkles pubes all over your things when you are away in case someone gets sticky fingers. Just imagine if you were gonna jack your friends t-shirt and low and behold a huge curly guy is on it. You are definitley not stealing it now.

Important Things with Demetri Martin

Wed 10:30pm / 9:30c

"I'll give her a tip....MY MUSHROOM TIP"

2009-04-14T17:02:00.000-07:00

So this past weekend, I went out for drinks with two of my guy friends and we enjoyed a couple adult cocktails while watching sports. The wait staff at Cabo Cantina was less than stellar. We had the typical waitress who isn't hot, but in a dark alley after a couple stiffies you'd probably stuff her. Anyways, this waitress sucked. She was slow with the food, slow with drinks and was basically making fun of us to our faces. "Guys don't drink mixed drinks with straws," that was one example. Secondly, the broad waiting on us had a "side car" or a "trainee". This is a fucking bar. Not Mortons steakhouse. You walk up to people ask them what they want and then go to the fucking little brass bar roped off section of the bar and ask some college dropout to make it. Repeat. So we had this little bitch side car who for lack of a better word, was retarded. One of my bros dropped a tortilla from his flaming hot steak fajitas plate and we let is sit there, naturally. Dumbass number one picked it up and hit me on the arm with it. I wasn't happy.

A las, I really hate waitresses who act flirty, act like you have a 12 inch cock and hit you on the arm with tortillas from a fallen tortilla dish. So if I ever run into this broad in an alley I hope I have that tortilla cause its gonna have to do.

(as you should notice, thats my herbie hancock and I worked the last part of my sig into a penis, enjoy)

Fingering

2009-04-07T21:07:00.000-07:00

have you ever fingered and saved your dirty finger for your buddies when you return, thus proving that you fingered?

slang for fingering: finger bang, blasting, give her a two seam fastball, slip her the dark one, playing a symphony inside her v, put my f in her v, priming the lawnmower, grabbing a sixer, checking her levels, repainting the inside of her vaginal walls, finger relations, dj'ing her vagina, spinning at the v.

fingering in public places like bars = murder on the dance floor.

Fingering. We've all been there. At least I hope so. I love fingering. Mark it down, April 7, Lester Loves Fingering. It's one of those weird things that no one talks about because well its kinda dirty. But it's not. It's just a private thing between to lovers. This past weekend I hit the Hweird scene and found me some weird stuff. I went to Winston's on Santa Monica Boulevard, a bar on the outs somewhat, it was cool like 2 years ago when Lindsay Lohan and Paris would frequent. Anyways, I walked in with two of my associates and we immediately hit the bar for supplies. After leaning in with my card, looking like a jackass because everyone is leaning, I bump into a blonde next to me with a decent mug, although I've been drinking beer,tequila,painkillers and red balls she looked decent. You ask me Sunday morning how she was I'll tell you 7. Not bad for me, 7 is serviceable. If I don't at least finger a 7 then I'm disappointed. Well I was saying retarded things like "You come here a lot?" And even though I've been there like 7 times, I quickly lied "Umm....no" At that moment I knew I had a chance at a wheel. She was blonde, she had some meat on her, but enough to grab on to and really mess with. Drinks were flowing, I had a whiskey in my hand. When I drink whiskey, one of two things happen, I almost get into a fight or I make out and finger. I was hoping for the latter. All of sudden I get the feeling, the feeling that I'm going to vomit in the next 2 minutes. I walk to the bathroom and did a fake dance kinda like Dan Akroyd in Celtic Pride walking though the club, except I wasn't going to kidnap Lewis Scott. I walk in and totally barf all over the seat, the little mexican bathroom attendant caught me. I was hurt, embarrased and hurt. But I had to get it together and save face. No gum, no mints, just me and puke breath. She asks "Are you OK?" "Yea, I'm fine? " I never looked back. By looking back I mean I just fingered her on top of her skirt. Pretty risky I know, but there's risk and reward. We kissed and we kissed some more. I know people were grossed out by my porn star kiss (holding her head with two hands and licking her face) but I didn't care. The clock struck 1:40 and here came the ugly lights. The moment in most guys life where two human beings began a night of lust and affection and reveal that the person is actually grosstown. Be careful. This moment can burn bridges, start revolutions and cause numerous rappers punchlines. Lights come on and ehhh, she looks okay. She's dece, at best. So I say "Hey, I'm gonna head over to Lubistch with my guy buddies , it was great meeting" She was caught off guard and I said "lemme grab your number" I did and I never looked back.

Did I finger? I don't know, wikipedia has a loose definition of on top of the clothing fingering. I need a ruling please!

Los Feliz

2009-04-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

Excellent usage of hammertime.

i'm from london

2009-04-06T10:46:00.000-07:00

http://stylensubstance.blogspot.com/2009/04/gentleman-among-gentlemen.html

The Glory of SNICK

2009-03-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

A funny thing happened to me the other day. I was reading something online and there was a reference to Heath Ledger and how he first captured America's heart as the social outcast from "10 Things I Hate About You." As fate would have it, I just so happened to have the DVD, so one afternoon (one that I was sure my roommates would be gone for at least several hours to be sure I would not be ridiculed), I threw it in the PS3, heated up a carb friendly meal (pool season is no less than 2 months away...act accordingly), and time traveled back to 1999.

To my surprise it co-starred the enigma that was Alex Mack, which I was shocked and downright angry at myself for forgetting about. Granted nobody knows her by her real name, but if you were born from 1983-1987, were a dude (or a sultry lesbo), and had access to cable television, you at one time were crushing pretty hard on Ms. Mack. Whether it was her angel face or infatuation with almost always donning a cap, she had an iron grip on nearly half an entire decade of people's emotions. She was a goddess and why she still isn't famous is one of the greatest mysteries of my lifetime along with how Nickelback has sold nearly 7 million albums and did anyone really care where in the world Carmen Sandiego was?

After completing the film, I shot onto the web to see if I could find some more info on what happened to her. However, in the midst of my research, I was sidetracked by something even more ominous. That was the fact that "The Secret World of Alex Mack" was part of probably one of the most influential blocks of television of my lifetime. I am of course talking about SNICK, or for those of you who are culturally retarded, Saturday Night Nickelodeon.

Although Alex didn't grace us with her presence until 1994, SNICK got its start in 1992 with a rousing lineup of "Clarissa Explains It All," "Roundhouse," "Ren & Stimpy," and "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" Throughout the years other peaches like "All That," and "Keenan and Kel" replaced some really terrible shows...(I'm pointing at you "The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo," Inevitably though, as the talent of all the shows more than likely were entering their 20's and developing hard drug problems, SNICK closed up shop in 1999 leaving behind them a legacy that people like me who will surely never allow America, and for that fact the world, to never forget it's contribution to society. I would just like to take some time to give you my expert analysis on some of the shows from SNICK that touched my heart ever so.

(Note: SNICK actually went on until like 2004, but not in the same sense as we came to love it. It officially jumped the shark in 2000 when Nick Cannon began hosting the entire evening and just being his douchey self in general. How Nick Cannon had the street credit to have had a somewhat successful rap career and be accepted by the likes of R.Kelly and other members of the hip hop community is completely beyond my understanding. In fact, I'm pretty sure the majority of them don't know about this part of his career. Nick Cannon has about as much street cred as The Famous Jett Jackson. For Christ's sake, they're practically twin brothers.)

Ren & Stimpy: I watched this show when I was eight years old and thought it was hilarious. Why, it had to just be from the voices, because watching it when I got a little bit older (as in while I was higher than kite in college), the adult undertones were completely beyond any eight year olds' mind capabilities, unless you're the kind of eight year old running a heroine ring in South East Asia. Seriously watch an episode of Ren & Stimpy now and try to fathom how it was considered the backbone of a children's network. Three cheers to you Nickelodeon.

All That: Apparently this "Roundhouse" show was its predecessor but I never even knew it existed so that probably speaks on how influential that prized piece was. "All That" on the other hand gave us Keenan, and if "All That" would have never given him that chance to shine we would have never had his classic scenes from D2 where he couldn't figure out how to ice skate. (Another thumbs up goes to Disney for taking the black, urban ghetto kid and making him unable to ice skate, political correctness be damned). We can now see him not being remotely funny whatsoever on SNL, which I guess isn't that big of a deal since nobody has laughed at an SNL skit, other than the music videos, since 2003. His sidekick Kel on the other hand never enjoyed the same success. I mean when the peak of your entertainment career is "Good Burger" it's like being the fastest white guy at the Olympics. Kel's family is filthy rich though in real life so we shall only award him with crocodile tears.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?: First of all, the answer is a resounding yes. On to the analysis...

This show kind of chapped my ass. Kids used to come to school and boast about how sweet they were cause last weeks episode didn't scare them. These were like the kids in college who used to do nothing but talk about how cool they were in high school. In their case, they were probably nerds who were in the marching band or math league. If you were fortunate enough to be part of the "in-crowd" in high school you didn't go out of your way to make it known to complete strangers. You simply made friends when you got there and lived out your social life. So guess what, if you came in on Monday puffing your chest that the episode about the puppet coming to life didn't phase you, we all knew in reality you pissed yourself 7 minutes in and your Mom had to rock you to sleep that night while you wiped your quivering lip with your baby blanket.

Those were my three most memorable shows, I would throw Alex Mack in there but I don't remember anything about it. I think I just sat there and stared in wonderment as Alex took me on a roller coaster ride of feelings. Wherever she is, and whatever her real name is, I hope she is well and still bedazzling. Will she ever see this? Absolutely not, somewhere around 7 people a week read this thing...and I'll be damned if Alex Mack is one of them.

Why is Bono wearing eye black?

2009-03-18T15:49:00.000-07:00

Hot List: Week Three

2009-03-13T07:54:00.001-07:00

1. Super Donuts - Yeah, remember those? Franco Harris, really?click here.
2.Special Needs Students
3.PF Flyers 2009
4.V-necks
5.Shaking hands in the bathroom
6.Standing in the ten items or less line with a plunger and pepto bismol
7.At&T 3g reception

8."Thats what she didn't say"

9. Rec Specs

10.A Waxing Salon in Vegas called "Box"...Vegas, have some respect for the V. Thats the store Sign.

Emos: I’m Sorry High School Sucked For You

2009-03-11T17:19:00.000-07:00

I have seen quite a few movies in my time. I put this blame mainly on my father. Since the inception of home video, I have more or less had access to everything that has ever been offered to the general viewing public. My father is not a member of a crime syndicate nor is he receiving this merchandise in any fraudulent way. His profession just grants him access to this perk and he would be doing an injustice to himself and the family he loves so dearly, (until the reception of this month’s credit card statement…Happy March!), by not taking advantage of it.

That being said, because of this, I have an absolutely large, massive, all encompassing hatred for people who are movie snobs. You know them. The people who talk about how filmmaking is no longer an art, but a business. How the only good movies now are made by independent studios (which much to these moron’s ignorance, are all pretty much owned by the huge ones) and that if you are watching movies like Predator, which I’ve already previously bromanced about, and Me, Myself and Irene, you’re contributing to the downfall of western society.

We all know these people. The Emos and Debbie Downers of the world. The kids that showed up in middle school wearing Cure t-shirts cause they were too smart to dumb themselves down with the likes of 2 Pac and Chumbawumba, but apparently were smart enough to understand the inner workings and depth of Robert Smith’s lyrics which I’m not even sure Robert Smith even fully understands. They then went onto high school and set the record for most awkward moments of PDA in the commons area and editorials to the school newspaper on how cliques and popularity are so clichéd, while not even realizing that someone like them writing something like that is…wait for it…a cliché. The clever ones usually went on their way to some liberal art college that most of us have never heard of, those less fortunate currently make up about 72% of the employees at Apple Stores…only to have to work next to the 15 year old teenage bubbly girl they so hated.

What lead to this current rant. Let me explain. I was going to see a movie but in my haste forgot to charge my telephone. I figured I would stop by an Apple Store, conveniently located directly across from the theatre to quickly charge the phone and contact my viewing partners. Well apparently this is frowned upon, because one of the little minions came over and had a look on his face like my jacking of one of the 50 chargers they have hooked up would surely jeopardize the entire cash flow or profit of the entire Apple Corporation. This kid fit the description of the last paragraph to a T.

I explained to him the situation and asked if him if he could just turn the other cheek, he responded by removing my phone from the charger…this did not make happy. A conversation ensued mainly about what the problem was and how his ‘tude was uncalled for. He then went on to ask me what movie I was going to see and I answered. He responded “pfff…I bet you didn’t even read what it’s originally based on.”

This confused me. I began to wonder if how I presented myself in public would lead one to believe that I was illiterate. After figuring out that there was no way that was possible as I was dressed quite gentlemanly, I began to further argue with the kid. But what this little toolbox didn’t know was that he was at a complete disadvantage and what he was about to engage was about to shatter his world and quite possibly his dreams.

Due to my parents being basic polar opposites of one another, I had two different upbringings in one. My mother’s infatuation with the counter culture allowed me to become versed in the ways of these society haters. I also adopted the sports and masculinity culture due to my father, a man who didn’t understand the problem in watching mafia movies on Christmas.

I was some kind of hybrid. A mysterious blend of intelligence and wisdom that he had probably rarely encountered. I looked and presented myself like a person he would, quite superficially, immediately hate. But what he didn’t know is that I was light years ahead of him, even at his own game. If I can say one thing it is this. I am pretty well cultured. Yes, while I may be immature and lacking in common sense, I am actually quite intelligent when it comes to the world…I know, it’s SHOCKING!

Here is another great thing about the Emos. Most of them have no f’ing idea what they are talking about. They purely embraced this culture just to not be like the people they loathe, yet know nothing about it. Challenge an Emo. I am going to say that maybe 6 out of 10 are true to their ways. Because of my understanding of this, an impromptu Emo-Off took place. We talked movies, music, books, etc.

He said his favorite movie was Reality Bites…a movie I have maybe seen 15 times. I trumped him on the knowledge of it. We then got into mine. It was something he never heard of. Advantage: Meau.

Music: He claimed he was a huge fan of Radiohead (ty-pic-al). I simply asked him to name 10 of their songs…couldn’t do it. Advantage: Meau…by default and general carelessness on the part of the aforementioned tool.

Books: He said Catcher In The Rye. Which I have nothing against. It’s a timeless classic and I feel I relate to Holden more than most. Mine was the blockbuster though. IT WAS THE SHORT STORY OF THE MOVIE I WAS GOING TO SEE. That movie, I AM LEGEND (which ended up being nothing like the book and made me even more upset). He was destroyed. Beaten. And most importantly…embarrassed. I took my phone and left. I offered no parting words of encouragement. I just walked out with a little shit eating grin on my face. My phone also had apparently sucked out enough juice before his tyrade for me to turn it on and contact my party. If this was a seven game series this last tidbit would have been a blowout in game 4 with me already up 3-0.

What is the moral of the story? It is this. If you’re going to represent something, make sure you know what it is and what you’re talking about. If you don’t, I or someone like me will expose you for a fraud. This is not the only faux person I have exposed. I have a story about a group of young teens dressed up in punk gear waiting in line for a Good Charlotte concert that would make your head explode…but perhaps another time. Like next week or something.

Personal philosophy? Clothing optional.

2009-03-06T10:45:00.000-08:00

Week 2 Hot List:

1.brett favre real comfortable wranglers
2.www.bodyspace.com
3.using a Z when an S would do just fine.
4.spelling theatre instead of theater
5.jerking off into socks then wearing them a few weeks later after theyre clean
6.giving pounds (daps,fist) to anyone older than 30
7.telling people you're going to the bathroom then returning 15 minutes later

8.hair pomade > hair gel

9.adult beverages

10.dental dams

Chasing your losses: a Gamblers Tale

2009-03-06T05:28:00.000-08:00

Gambling is a recreational pasttime, or is itThe great Poker phase of 2005 is out, Chris fuckin moneymaker steals all the fat losers' who makes less than 40,000 dollars hearts. Anyone believes they can be a true gambling champion, if this donkey can win over a million dollars playing a game for 7 days. That summer, I was captured, and am still living captive today. That summer is known by many in the South Hills area, as the greatest summer of all-time.. the summer that we'll tell our grandchildren about. The Playas club was back in the burgh for the summer, no jobs, just drinking cheap beer on our parents tab, and a certain fellow whose parents left him at home for the summer. People tried to party harder than us, but no we partied soooooo Harrrrd. People tried to have a better party than us on certain nights, but we could steal the party, and the booze and create a bigger party. It was the gift that kept giving, until the daytime. We all gathered in the living room, watching the conductor play on BODOG. He would say things like Pocket SEVS SEVS, and raise his arm to the sky like the poker gods were with him. I was young, 19, taking all this in, hoping one day to climb to these extreme heights. He would allow us to play a few hands, while he took smoke breaks. That wasnt enough for me, I needed to create my own account.I did, and that acct is still live and active today. The poker phased out that year, but the gambling was just the beginning. Sports betting, was the single greatest thing I had ever made an investment in. I liked sports, I knew alot about them, I could pledge my allegiance to my favorite teams, it made every game exciting. I was having an instant high for 3 hours every night. Subscriptions to bettor digests, in hopes to make me more money were soon following.

That leads us to last night. A night that has played out like all too many...

No fucking way PennSt Basketball covers this spread, they have players that I could beat one on one. I'll Take Illinois -1 all day every day. This was a lock, there was absolutely no god damn way that the Fighting Illini would lose to Penn fucking State. They had lost to them at home 38-33, in the single most boring event in the history of this world. Yes more boring, than having to sit through Social Studies classes learning about Pocahonatas and John Smith and whatever they did for America. Illinois has Michael Jordans son for christ sake, even though he blows, he is still better than a guy named Cornley and Pringles?? The life of a gambler, having to deal with teams you hate so much, costing you ridiculous amounts of money. Your so sure of games like this, you put your fuckin rent on it. The life of a gambler, ruining households on a daily basis.When you're on a winning streak in Gambling, you feel like a jedi Knight. You're on top of the world, you fall asleep knowing that you just made more money in 2 hours, than you'll make over the next two weeks of work. When you lose, it haunts you, every night. Sleeping peacefully is out of the question. Every monring at 3:30 am, you wake up, and your mind is telling you, how the hell do you go against home underdogs. everyone knows the home dogs always comes through.Just stop? its not that simple, once your in the elite fraternity of gamblers anonymous, there's no turning back, until your eating poorage for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Which after three days of that, it might make you want to stop. But it didnt, and it won't. There is so much money to be won every night, hitting an 8 team parlay, for just 20 bucks, is gonna win you two geezys. Why not risk it, its only 20 bucks. Then your first team in the parlay loses, which is the equivalent to busting a nut while your still rounding first base. Back to the deposit box, another 20 bucks.. big deal, you'll throw a cute little 3 team parlay, just to get you started. Win like 120 dollars, then you're ready to get back into the batters box. The first two hit, its all down to the last and final game, CLANK, CLANK, CLANK. Illinois misses free throws, and blows a 10 points lead with less than 5 minutes left in the game, and you're left breaking video game controllers, and TV Remotes. You're not satisifed, knowing you're close, but just not getting the good luck. Now you're chasing your losses for the day, 11Pm NBA game, to make up your days losses. The NBA is a total joke, and you know you cant possibly pick this game right, but you have to pay the bet to make up your money. 2Am, your alarm clock rings, to check and see how it went. Clippers lose by 27. you took the Clippers to win the game. Broken Hand, shattered knuckles, not going to the dr the next day bc you need that copayment for tomorrow nights parlay.

Steel Panther

2009-03-04T15:02:00.000-08:00

A 80's tribute band called Steel Panther formerly Metal School are LA Legends. Besides being ridiculously good at guitar, drums and singing they are very funny. I happened upon a Monday night show with Vincent Vaughn in the crowd. The associate I brought wrote me this letter to review. The photo below is from the show.

Somehow I had managed to find myself wedged between vince vaughn and a girl I had just previously urinated on. How I had gotten to this exact situation I was only vaguely sure of, but I knew I had a copious amount of the captain in me and I was witnessing the single, greatest rock tribute band in the universe: Steel Panther. There was commotion all around as the lead guitarist, suspended above the crowd as if he were a guitar god descending from the rock heavens in all his face-melting majesty, laid out a wicked solo while licking his guitar strings; it was later rumored that a few minds had actually been blown that night due to the aforementioned gravity-defying solo. As the "mind-blowing" guitarist returned to solid ground a couple edgy characters could be seen lurking in the shadows off-stage. The lead singer, who looked as if he had his own personal rain cloud hovering over his head, explained that this Monday night kicked off the start of Christian Audigier's week-long birthday celebration, excessive by anyone but paris hilton's standards, and introduced the man to the stage. After grabbing some random female from the horde of people below, the famed designer of Von Dutch, Ed Hardy and his own namesake brand apparel dramatically removed a pair of scissors from his pants as if, for that moment, he was king Arthur heroically removing Excalibur from the stone. And just like Excalibur, those scissors must have had magical powers with the way they so fluidly cut through the white ed hardy shirt the breathing mannequin displayed so proudly before the crowd. After numerous slices and criss-cross ties, the girl was wearing what now resembled an exaggerated version of fabric shark gills. Confusing the masses applauding the fact that the shirt now revealed more boob for appreciation of his "design skills", the fashionista bowed in gratitude and then two men, whom I presumed to be his henchmen/henchlovers, came to extricate him from the stage, but not before he managed to reach into his back waistband, pull out a black t-shirt, and wave it above his head like a streaker waving his shirt as he's being wrestled off the field by security. In a final gesture of showmanship, Christian Audigier bent back his arm and flung, ever so homosexually, the shirt he held above his head, I also believe his feet left the ground in what may have been a power hop in order to propel the shirt off-stage and into the crowd below. Noticing the merchandise flying toward my vicinity, I instinctively thought, "free shirt!" and positioned myself to maximize my potential to leave the club with one more shirt than when I arrived. As the garmet grew closer, I quickly scanned my surroundings for who would become the enemy I would have to face off with for the shirt. I looked down and saw the 17-year old we had bought drinks for earlier in the night laying on the ground waiting for the coroner to outline his body in chalk. He would pose little problem. I watched as the shirt inched closer to my hand and finally I had made contact. As I began to secure the shirt, I felt resistance on the other end. The girl who had walked in front of me while I was going to the bathroom in what I thought to be an unusually busy urinal, but in actuality was the crowd I had been standing in the entire night, also had intentions of grabbing that prized possession. There was a short-lived struggle, consisting of me lifting my arm up high enough so that she could not reach and her letting go, before I was able to officially call that shirt my own. In a city obsessed with skulls, tattoos, graphic tees, and anything associated with ed hardy, I had the one free souvenir from the night that also happened to be a personal piece of Christian Audigier's 50^th birthday celebration and consisted of all of these highly desirable attributes. Immediately I realized I had become a marked man; however, I was fortunate that vince Vaughn had ventured up on stage and was now signing rock you like a hurricane, providing enough entertainment for the entire crowd so that my acquisition of an historical shirt could become obsolete in the memory of the crowd. I continued to party with a blatant disregard for other people's personal space and/or human rights, at one point using someone's leg as my air guitar. Once the show came to a close and the masses filed out the door, I was approached by someone who I thought was a European offering 1500 euro for the shirt I had procured inside the venue. I quickly disregarding his lucrative offer, claiming I would not accept his currency and even if he offered me all the money in the world, his cash was of no good to me, for my currency was fun, and my wallet was overflowing. As it turns out, I had grossly mistaken the man's intentions, as well as his native country. This man was not European at all; he was from Spokane. The three flyer-sized cards that I had mistaken for three oversized 500 euro bills, were in fact just ordinary, yet well designed, flyers for the opening acts showcased that evening. Drunkenly, we found our way to the car and as I fell asleep with my face pressed against the passenger window supported by my newly acquired shirt, I recounted all that had happened throughout the evening. I realized the night was a very strong contender for best night ever and the shirt that you have on in that picture will always be the tangible reminder of my night with Steel Panther.

dropping the browns off at the super bowl

2009-03-03T07:19:00.000-08:00

So I'm taking a study break dump at this girl's place and I reach to my left for the essentials. If only i hadn't taken my pants off and unloaded faster than a kenny powers fastball, this all could have been avoided. There's only one two-ply square left and I just made the toilet my belated valentine and had my butt personally deliver the chocolate covered roses and heart shaped box. Obviously in trouble, I quickly scan my soiled surroundings: a hand towel, a two-ply square, my clothes, a floor mat and a candle (vanilla scented...average). I separate the two ply, double or nothing i thought to myself, and make my first attempt to clean up the Mrs. Field's cookie sheet of butts. Let's just say i wasnt using charmin extra strong and now i needed to wash my hands as well. So there i sit, my resources depleted and freshly turned into king mid-ass with the fecal touch, i had three options: hand towel, floor mat, or unrolled cardboard toilet paper backbone. As you well know, step brothers is one of my favorite movies. i recalled the scene in which brennan huff, first-time apartment renter, finds himself without toilet paper. This maneuver would have to do. Just as he did in the movie, i picked up the floor mat, turned on the sink and proceeded to cleanse my bottom with the wet floor mat. It was invigorating, but my impromptu bathroom renovations had placed me in a bit of a bind. I needed an exit strategy. I did what came naturally. Leaving her with the dirty work, I put the mat back down on the ground, walked out and said, "you're out of two-ply." i hope she does better on the test than she did with stocking her bathroom full of the necessities.

Goofy Beer Drinking Music

2009-02-27T09:47:00.000-08:00

Every week I'm planning on putting together a hot list. Stuff that is hot. Real hot.

1. strippers with knee braces
2. all black basketball referee shoes being worn at non basketball events
3. faxes without cover sheets
4. rhino linings
5. sneezing all over your hands and wiping them on your jeans
6. pubes all over public bathroom urinals
7. deep v-necks
8. regular v-necks
9. v-necks
10. drinking on boats

Pony Tails and Pump Fakes: Why Women's Basketball is a Total Joke

2009-02-26T12:06:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday night, my beloved Pitt Panthers, (who I have loved near and dear since the days of Ricky Ricardo Greer and VonTEEEEgo Cummings, so save me your bandwagon nonsense), were thrashed by the Providence Friars. If I could pick one team in the Big East that would hurt my soul the least by beating Pitt, especially while they are ranked #1, it would be the Friars.

Why? It's not because they have four 1,000 point scorers and it was senior night for them. Nor because they are playing for the of their NCAA bid. It's because friars ROCK. Why do they rock? Please refer to here and here. If you still don't understand why then I don't know what else to say to you other than your sense of humor is suspect. Their hair style, reputation for LOVING booze, all while being men of the cross is great. I am not even remotely one bit religious and I think they're some of the most awesome people alive.

Because of the magnitude of the win, ESPN showed endless highlights, which I couldn't argue against. It was fine journalism. At the end of Sportscenter, we frequently see the top 10 plays of the night. This was when I said enough is enough. Play 4 or 5 was some chick playing for Villanova hitting a pull up 3 as the half expired. Villanova went on to lose by 27 points, but apparently this was so exceptional for women's basketball that it garnered such a position in the top 10. If you are a women's basketball player and saw this and aren't embarrassed, then what the hell is wrong with you?

Women's basketball looks like it is being played under water. That's how slow the game is. I have said this before and I will say this again. If I played in the WNBA I would go down as the most dominant defensive player of this or any era. I am not joking. I am only 6'0 tall, on a great day, but I can say with 100% certainty the only way a girl could score on me would be by:

1) Total bullshit luck
2) Me allowing them to shoot an uncontested jump shot cause their family is in attendance and they've been embarrassed enough

I have also claimed that I could gather myself, and 7 other frequent male rec basketball players (we don't even need a deep bench), and we would EASILY take the WNBA title. I can say this while saying I am not remotely good at basketball anymore. At a time in my life, yes, now, not so much. Not much has diminished from my defensive prowless, court vision, screen setting, and passing, but my jump shot has eluded me since the summer after my second year of undergrad and my low post moves are about as cool as the kid who fell asleep first at the sleep over (thanks Danny McBride).

How do I know this? This is why. Girls are terrible at sports that men play professionally or in the olympics outside of 3, Volleyball, Gymnastics and track and field. I am not trying to be sexist, I am just stating fact. An average recreational male could dominate or be an all-star in any other of the sports. Here are some stories for you:

Freshman year of high school, the freshman basketball team. After a sub .500 season due to hilariousness and shenanigans while on the court, we are asked to scrimmage against the varsity girl's team so they can prepare for the playoffs. The girl's team was ranked #1 in the state, had 2 legitimate D1 prospects and were pretty phenomenal by women's sport's standards. We played by their rules, (women's ball, not allowed to have a vertical jump higher than 8 inches, etc.)

We didn't keep score, but if we did, we would have won by over 50 points. I am not exaggerating. And we were a mediocre, at best, FRESHMAN basketball team.

Lester's college life. He was a group of gentleman that played against his women's varsity team to prepare them for games. This was a legitimate program who is ranked in the top 25 usually. His tales of dominance more or less equate to what I've already said.

The 2002 US Women's soccer team. Arguably the best of all-time...they practiced against high school boys' teams.

I can go on and on about this. I know ESPN has to be politically correct but if I was a member of any women's sports team, college or professional, I would be embarrassed by our "highlights" every night. The same "highlights" that one could see performed by young boys who haven't even reached puberty. Can't they just have their own channel? Like the Oxygen Network? That things been around for years and the only men that watch it are either high and really confused by what they're seeing or gay (which I once again don't have a problem with so spare me).

Wahhh wahhh wahhh...Lisa Leslie can dunk. Candace Parker can dunk. You can't dunk! Let me say this. They are 6'5 and 6'4 respectively and they BARELY dunk a WOMEN's basketball. Do you have any idea what I could do with a women's basketball if I was that tall and had the same vertical leap as I do now, (although science tells us that with my body build it would be even greater if I was that height)? There would be 720's being attempted...that's all I can say.

Wahhh wahhh wahhh...you have to run an average of 6-8 miles to play an international soccer match. You can't run 6-8 miles! Let me be trained by the Olympic Development Program since the age of 12 and then ask how many miles I can run. Something tells me it would be a hell of alot more than 8. In fact, give me a treadmill and a month and half, I can guarantee 8 miles at a pretty hectic pace.

Wahhh wahhh wahhh...Jennie Finch went on a tour pitching to MLB stars and she struck some of them out. OK. Do you really think these gentleman were really trying? What would be the point of the segment if they were ripping gap shots off her? Let a major league baseball player get three at bats against Jennie (the minimum one sees in a 9 inning game), then let's see how it works out. Then allow this same process to be done at the high school level. Not too much is going to change. Except Jennie's demeanor.

So please, America and for that fact planet Earth, can we please stop pretending that there is such a thing as "professional" women's sports? This sick joke has gone on long enough. If you disagree and are a girl. Post a comment with your email address and I will contact you to set up a game of 1 on 1 / catastrophic blow to your self confidence. Good day.

Beef Jerky and Thinking Outside the Box

2009-02-19T09:10:00.000-08:00

So I met this girl through a friend in Las Veg ass. She was hot. Had big boobs. She was a Pittsburgh girl living and working in Vegas getting some experience. I won't say her occupation but she didn't strip or escort anything, she made an honest living. They weren't real, the boobs that is. I decided to put on some offensive moves. Wheel n' Deal if you will. She bit like a sea bass in the Bass Master Classic. Unfortunately, I rest in LA and this would be stressful as it would require long distance. We weren't official. We knew we had a liking to each other, physically and well, physically. For about two weeks we talked on the phone, poked the shit out of each other on Facebook and texted like 15 year olds. It was close to X-mas time and little miss beef jerky wanted to go home for X-mas and be with her family. Due to financial constraints she couldn't afford to be at home for X-mas for the first time ever. I, under the influence of mind altering substances for several weeks began to build this imaginary money tree in my front yard of my brain that didn't fucking exist. I offered to purchase her a flight home. I also should mention, she sent me a spicy picture via text message. Spicy enough that this picture induced boners (plural). The agreement of the flight purchase was that she didn't owe me anything. It was a friendly gesture and in no way did she need to repay with blow jobs or I guess the old fashioned way, money. A week passed. I really liked this girl. I wanted to visit her in Vegas and take her out to dinner, get her drunk so maybe she'll trip and fall on my wiener. I visited, we chilled and she also had the most amazing bag of homemade beef jerky I've ever had. After a short inquiry I asked her to order me some and I'll pay for it. After placing my beef jerky order (5 bags @ $15 a bag, a good price I might add) and going to the mall my brain did that thing again. I bought her 300 dollar jeans with gold studding on the back. She tried them on. They looked good. Good enough that my jeans now had pleating on them. So, now that I've spent over 700 dollars on this female I'm beginning to think the pussy train is making its stop at my station. After dinner we were a little intoxicated and I imagine things like this: two monkeys fighting over a banana in a small room. Instead it played out like an episode of the real world Austin. Maybe it was her rag? Nope. Her box was systems go. I began how any nation member begins in the sack, very aggressive. Immediately the shutdown is put in place. I get upset and roll over. I get more increasingly upset and decide to move to the couch in the living room. She didn't even put up a fight as to why I wanted to couch surf. Check minus. Basically I'm confused. I barely sleep. I considered at one point just leaving in the middle of the night and driving back. I see the jeans in the living room. She leaves for work early and I pretend to be asleep(classic guy move). I grab the jeans. I return them. I meet her at the mall for lunch and ask her about last night and in general her policies on hooking up. She says she likes to take things slow and doesn't really want a boyfriend. I wanted to say "You don't have to date me to let me check your levels...". But I didn't. I did mention the spicy picture "What about that picture?" Did you just wanna show me your new tan in a friendly way?. Once again she fails to have an explanation for sending naughty photos. I also didn't tell her I returned the jeans. The only thing that held the operation back is the fucking beef jerky. She ordered it from a coworker and they were already making it. I get back to LA and she immediately realized the jeans weren't there. I told her it didn't feel right. Her next question, "What about the beef jerky?". I sent her a check for the beef jerky. She claims she never got it. I don't know what happened. I wish I had something to show for this embarassing story but I don't.

Oh and I only made out with her once. 1 time. I repeat, 1 time.

Moral of the story: think outside the box and never let beef jerky come between a relationship.

Blogs of Note

2009-02-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

http://stylensubtance.blogspot.com/

A friend, colleague, associate, teammate and true gentleman is putting together a site in similar vein to refusing maturity. Please check out the site. Just don't let the Cleveland propaganda sway you.

Questionable Products

2009-02-17T15:57:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day Massacre

2009-02-12T13:46:00.000-08:00

Let me be the first to say that I really don't have a problem with Valentine's Day. My Mom used to buy me a tiny personal sized cookie cake from the now defunct Cookie Co. (bought by the conglomerate of baked sensations, Mrs. Fields), and I have very fond memories of eating it while watching re-runs of Mama's Family and refusing to go to bed.

I can see how this faux day really sparks a chord with some people though. But I will focus on one segment in particular. I am talking about those who are currently scorn by the opposite sex or same sex, if that happens to be your flavor of choice. Basically, if you've recently gotten your heart trampled on, February 1-14 is a 14 day period of pure, sitting through a 25 hour Fallout Boy concert, torture.

No matter where you turn, you can't get around some kind of advertisement reminding you to do something special for the one who puts a twinkle in your eye. The first and most obvious culprit is television.

Every commercial on every station (even ESPN), is either a direct reference to the day that shall not be mentioned or an indirect reference. Nonetheless, both carry a sting the Scorpion King can't match. We have our blatant slaps in the faces. The commercials reminding us to buy flowers, chocolates, cards, promiscuous but tastefully done lingerie, and what have you. These are the direct daggers the anti-cupid jettisons out of the television to the poor lonely soul sitting there on their couch, in their undies, with a plethora of Ben and Jerry half-pints within striking distance. The most common reaction to this commercial. "Oh, thanks for reminding me I am completely alone in this world and there is no sign of hope. I can't wait for tomorrow..."(sigh).

Then there are the sneak attacks. The stab in the backs if you will. These commercials won't reference the day directly, but don't be fooled. They are directly tied. I am of course talking about jewelery commercials especially the mother load of them all...Jared The Galleria of Jewelery. First of all, if you're buying your jewels at Jared there's a pretty big chance you're white trash and you're going for the first-price optioned piece. Yea, they try to be classy by showing a set of 3, the third being about 1000% more expensive than the first. But let's be serious, if you're dropping the $1,299.99 on a necklace you're probably not going to Jared. "He went to Jared!!!!" more like "My BF's a scumbag!!!! We're going to the Monster Truck rally this weekend!!!! I'm never getting out this cause he knocked me up!!!!" Second, at least have the courtesy to just be like "hey, it's valentine's day, extensive studies show jewelery remarkably increases the chance of getting bedazzled." Don't beat around the bush with these random moments of romance. It's not like some guy is going to come home on a random Tuesday in June (barring a birthday or anniversary), and set up some elaborate scheme to give his wife a tennis bracelet. It's not happening. Stop pretending like it does. When the emotionally destroyed see these they most likely have the same reaction as stated in the previous paragraph.

There are of course ways around this. You stick SOLELY to the movie channels. But Amanda Bynes' catalog is only extensive enough to get you through just a few afternoons. Where to turn next? Vid Games? But how many times can you drop a 5 goal game with Didier Drogba and still feel good about yourself? Listen to music...oh wait, most songs are about love, losing love or popping bottles (with the ones you love), you might as well just go back to the TV. The only thing I can think of is to read sports columns. That's your sure fire away of nut brushing with melancholy. So if you're a lady, time to buck up and start getting realllll interested in LeBron James crushing faces.

The internet is a wicked shrew during this period also. Every ad you see has something to do with the day. Little hearts here, there and everywhere. They even branched out into search engine logos. You can't escape. It's an onslaught of misery.

The last and most horrible though, couples seem to make a point around this time of the year to exude their utter infatuation for one another. Walking around school this week I have seen more people walking hand in hand than a Red Rover game at Octuplet's Lady's House. There they are. Smiling. Giggling. Whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. For those on the opposite end of the spectrum it's like watching a continuous loop of the thing they currently crave most but can't have.

The worst part about all these things is it gives the beaten a false sense of hope. Their cell phone rings and before looking at the caller-ID there's a brief moment when they think it's going to be them. That they're going to want everything to be what it used to be. That they're sorry for whatever happened and at that moment I'm willing to bet that person is willing to forgive them, no matter how screwed up the relationship was. But it isn't them...it's your Mom reminding you to order more contacts, or something stupid and trivial like that. For 14 days every phone call, text, email, whatever, carries more weight than usual. The little notification, vibrate, or Pretty Ricky ring-tone is a tiny spark that maybe their life is going to be happy again. That maybe they can watch TV and not want to spike the remote every commercial break. Or listen to the sweet soothing voice of Enrique and think "wow, I'd probably kiss him right now" instead of "wow, I can't wait to get drunk tonight." But in most cases, they'll just be calls from your Mom, a text from a friend or an email asking you if you want to enhance your package.

I would honestly love to know what the suicide rate is for this time of year. I'm not saying that as a joke, there really isn't anything funny to be said about that. But, unfortunately, I am willing to bet it shares a little spike on the chart along with the holidays.

So in the end, I beg of you, if you're in this situation, just go laugh somewhere. Turn off your cell phone, stop logging onto gmail every 17 seconds and surround yourself with the stupidest people possible, rent an Eddie Murphy movie from the 80's or something along those lines, because being that sad isn't going to get you anywhere. I am sorry for being remotely serious, but enough is enough with Valentine's day. Let the other half live in peace.

Model Idiots

2009-02-11T10:16:00.000-08:00

I had a taste of the fashion world and my taste buds are still recovering. Its like that freezing cold youth soccer game you attended and some woman is selling hot chocolate out of the back of her 1999 Chrysler minivan. It's scolding hot. And you can't taste shit for the next couple days because your tongue looks like a piece of bologna. All over a youth soccer game. I digress. Fashion, models, dieting, drugs are all served in one big deli that only serves chipped or sliced bologna. USDA certified, stamp it, BOLOGNA. You might be asking what the hell am I speaking about? Well I'm talking about modeling. You know? Modeling. Guys, gals, men, women, boy and girl stand in front of a camera and model clothing, jewlery, their bodies etc. This world of modeling is absurd. I would sort of know.

One fine day at a party I was standing there enjoying egg casserole at a family gathering when a friend of my aunts mentioned "You're hot, you should model". Well, I immediately dropped everything and flew to New York and the rest is history. Not exactly. I began to make faces in the mirror. Giving different angles and different movements. I purchased a Vogue and a GQ to study on the competish. Yea these guys are cute, but fuck, I am sexy. I can do this. I happened to be in New York interning at a bullshit job which was a complete disaster. I had Mon, Wed, and Fridays off. What to do in the meantime? Well lets put your face where your balls are. Not exactly. I happened upon a coffee shop were a Open Casting was being held. I saw a couple of silverfoxs in line, what could be so wrong. I walked in signed my name and waited a few minutes. I saw girls that looked decent but by no means could they compete with Vogue hotness. These ladies couldn't have been the six man on the Rutgers Womens basketball team circa 2007. Okay that was racist. Well not really racist, regardless of color, orientation, these females were not good looking. I was called in. I walk in behind huge curtains and they have a table set up with three people behind them. For all I know these folks are editors of Vogue, casting directors of huge agencies etc. They ask me to "walk". Now a model walk is hilarious. Nobody walks like that. Ever. I walk and I notice the music is terrible. Its a mashup of George Michael and Chemical Brothers. Its 9:30 am, on a Wednesday. There are rules and no mashups before 10 am on weekdays. Anywho, I get a bunch of smoke blown directly up my asshole by a nice man named Gervin. He's a 34 year old african american man from Brooklyn, he seems to know what he's doing. Long story short, I think I've hit the jackpot and I'm being signed to a Modeling agency. In reality, I worked a fashion show, took some random photos with weird shirts on and made about 500 bucks in three months. Was I really a model? No. Thats like saying the mom who cooks brownies for bake sales is a baker. Just cause you got the uniform doesn't mean you're on the team.

What I'm getting at is this: anyone is a model. Anyone can be a model. Have you seen American Apparel ads? Have you seen ad's for plus sized women stores? All shapes and certainly all sizes. I recently ran into a female type at a local pub and 2 minutes into our conversation she said she was a model. I sized her up. In no way is she a model. Next, I asked what pays your bills. "Well, I work at a restaurant during the week" she said. Well no shit ladybug. The only modeling job she could get is those awkward photos of staff in IHOP or Denny's Restaurant menus. A friend of mine was showing me a picture of a girl on myspace. Lets call him Hercules. Now I once caught Hercules googling the phrases " Blonde" and "Brunette". He was Google image searching those phrases and looking at the pictures. This will give you the idea of how Hercules is. He shows me this girl who was supposedly a playboy model. I come to learn she was a playboy golf model. Basically, she was at a bar and walked around wearing goofy promotional Coors light or Drinkability t-shirts. Model? I think not. I vote for a reform of the word model. It's definition is very loose. Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Anytime a guy or girl tells you what they do, immediately follow up with "What pays your bills?". We are all models, some get paid, some don't. Hot, not, fat, skinny, husky you name it. We are all models. I say screw you modeling world.

Maybe I'm just bitter.

25 Randoms Part Deaux

2009-02-10T15:00:00.000-08:00

After reading Lester's fantastic piece I thought I should relay my own. Without further adieu:

1. I caught my father putting X-Mas gifts under the tree at the age of 7. I hid behind a couch for 4 hours. He tried to cover it up by saying Santa was in the driveway and asked him to help. I interrupted this and told him to not even bother...I'm still holding out hope on the Easter Bunny though.

2. When we moved into our old house my Dad filled in the deep end of the pool to six feet claiming it was for our own safety. I found out later in life that it was in fact cause he never learned how to swim. I now wonder if my Dad is half-black.

3. I got 1 share in Marvel at the age of 8 cause of my infatuation with X-Men cards. Two years later I wrote a letter to the CEO telling him that everyone thought X-Men was gay.

4. At the age of 7 I saw someone throw a curveball during a kickball game. We later burned that kid alive claiming he was a witch.

5. By burning him alive I mean with pulled down his pants in the middle of the hallway.

6. My first concert was New Kids On The Block. I'm not gay though. I think.

7. My first sexual encounter happened at the age of 13 and involved a mixture of half my parent's liquor cabinet. To this day I still don't understand why they had Corvossier in there.

8. I still think "The Wizard," was loosely based on my life. The supreme court of Maryland happens to think differently...

9. At the age of 18 I went to my first bar. I became so flustered upon ordering that I asked for a "Millebud." The waitress brought me a shirley temple and then told me to get the hell out.

10. My Freshman year in College a girl stayed over my dorm. The next morning my computer alarm clock played Akinyele - Put It In My Mouth. She never spoke to me again.

11. I've been in love. 3 times. In the last hour and a half. I'm an idiot.

12. I once called 911 asking them why there was construction going on outside of my apartment at 3:00 AM. They asked if there was an emergency. I responded if they weren't gone in 45 minutes there would certainly be one.

13. When I was little I was so bad in Church that my father once allowed me to bring a Gameboy so I could stay busy. My Mother caught me. A scene ensued. We haven't gone back to Church since 1993.

14. I saw Lester's freestyle rap battle. A lot more than three people have never talked to him again.

15. I seriously considered making an orientational DVD that would have to be mandatorally viewed if someone wanted to come into my apartment.

16. I refuse to believe that Willy Mays Hayes really won that race after waking up in the parking lot in the movie Major League. Oh wait...he was racing two white guys with mullets and terrible facial hair. This makes sense now.

17. My roommate got thrown out of a cab the other weekend for getting in a fight with a driver. The argument: Lord of the Rings is for fags.

18. I had the most spot on Prince costume of all-time for this Halloween. I proceeded to get so drunk I fell asleep in a chair in my living room. My friend undressed me and wore the costume out. He won a best costume contest worth $500.

19. My dream as a little kid was to sail around the world. I later changed that dream after everyone I met that sailed was a total douche.

20. My cousin hid my Sega Genesis once when I was 8 cause she was mad at me. I retaliated by releasing her pet rabbit into the woods. I still don't think I got even.

21. Mickey Mouse yelled at me when I went to Disney World as a little kid. What did I do? I karate kicked a total stranger in the face. This stranger was a girl no older than 3. I didn't think I did anything wrong cause I was dressed up as Daniel Son.

22. I tried watching The Land Before Time with my little cousin at the age of 19. I started to choke up at the beginning. My cousin started to make fun of me. I locked her in a closet for 5 hours out of spite.

23. I once ate 3 double quarter pounder meals at a McDonald's in Maryland because I claimed it was the best tasting food ever. I was higher than Rick James.

24. I had a class in college where I found out that we couldn't build the pyramids, even with today's technology. I explained to the teacher that they were built by Predators as an arena to test their manhood. I vehemently argued this for a half hour.

25. A little part of me died when I found out the plot of Cool Runnings was mostly made up. This was 5 years ago. I'm still not over it.

25 Random Things

2009-02-10T13:04:00.000-08:00

Facebook has been bombarded with this twenty five things about people. So I thought I'd share.

1.I got an autograph from Shaquille O'Neal at an Orlando Magic basketball game.

2.I was playing golf and a bird landed on my friends foot and I tee'd it up off his foot. Little did you know that Shooter McGavin accomplished that feet two years later.

3.One of my first intimate experiences was on a surfboard. In the ocean. At high tide. I was 12.

4. #1 on this list was my best lie of all time. I signed a piece of notebook paper "SHAQ" and everyone at school believed me.

5.I opened up a bike shop in my parents garage. This resulted in the neighborhood boycotting my services. Apparently, taking apart bikes and having no idea how to put them back together was a problem.

6.I had a lemonade stand on my street for 2 separate summers for a couple hours a week. Business was booming. Until I realized that nobody actually likes the lemonade. They just bought it because they felt sorry for me. I witnessed kids buying drinks then I saw them throw the cups out the window full :(

7. #2 is absolutely true. And by true I mean he swung and the bird flew away. I couldn't tell the difference between flight and getting hit by a big bertha.

8.I started a record company in 7th grade. I had logos, a geocities website and a staff. I tried signing a local act from the their basement but I had no idea what I was doing, all I had were logos and a geocities website. They didn't sign.

9. #3 never happened. I was 12. And trying to impress my friends. In reality I was making sandcastles, drinking kool aid and hanging out with my grandma. Picking up girls is a challenge with a kool aid mustache and your grandmother in a three piece. (she had one of those swimming suit skirts)

10.My first concert was Nine Inch Nails Further Down the Spiral tour. I was in the fourth grade. I saw my first live sets of boobs(plural). Well sorta live. I saw them on the jumbotron. Hence why I am the way I am.

11.I've never broken any bone in my body.

12. I can't whistle. I've tried and tried, dusted myself off and tried again. Nope. Not happening. Anyone give whistling lessons?

13.I once told a female that I was a bridge salesman. I travel the U.S and sell bridges. It was flawless. Until she googled me.

14.I had an intimate sleepover. I woke up and the bed was wet. After a quick analysis I realized it wasn't me who had wetted. It was my guest. Fast forward. My featherbed was ruined. So I went to BB&B bought a new one. Stuffed the wet one back into the new packaging and returned it for full refund. Me > Bed Bath and Beyond.

15.I ran naked at Harvard in Primal Scream. One of my friends watching tripped another naked guy. The naked guy went to the hospital. Naked.

16.I've never been in love.

17.I got into a freestyle battle at a high school graduation party over the DJ's microphone with other classmates. Three people still will not talk to me after my punchlines.

18.When I was 4 I got caught stealing gummy bears from a Walgreens. My neighbor saw me in the store with just socks on and holding gummy bears. I exited the premises. She caught me on the sidewalk and asked where my mother was. I said at home, cleaning. No charges were filed. Me > Walgreens.

19.I had an extensive collection of "Starting Lineups" sports action figures. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird to be exact. Street value today would be hundreds of dollars. My dad threw them out the window on the highway. He was confused.

20.Homeless people fascinate me in a really pissed off kind of way.

21.Alex Rodriguez and Roger Clemens may require steroids for Peak perfomance. I require whiskey.

22.I try hard to make it look like I don't try hard.

23.I can drive a stick shift while texting and making a right turn.

24. If Lloyd Christmas from "Dumb and Dumber" ever married Mary Swanson in the film then she would be Mary Christmas.

25. The only reason I liked going to Church was to put on dress pants and hopefully find a 20 dollar bill.

26. # 24 has nothing to do with me. It's just a fact. A terrific one.

Grand Theft I Think Not

2009-02-05T12:35:00.000-08:00

For the first time in about 10 years I saw a masterpiece of 1990's infomercials. It wasn't the Ron Popeil Pasta Maker, Juice Weasel, or Nad's Hair Removal. It was none other than our friend "The Club."

The most memorable part of The Club for me was when they froze it, took a hammer to it, and the thing still didn't break. It was indestructible. Not even Uncle Rico's van would have a shot at taking this dynamo down.

In its heyday you'd probably see at least one of these things a week. I guess people legitimately thought these things would deter the degenerates of society looking to take their ride in hopes of it funding their score for the evening or teenagers looking to take a joy ride. However, there was one problem with The Club...it was realllllllllly cheesy.

If you had one of these you were basically saying you were too cheap to haul out the $200 for a half assed security system and instead were entrusting the safety of your car to a $29.99 piece of oddly shaped steel with a standard lock on it. Note to everyone who bought one of these things...if a person knows how to break into your car they probably know how to pick the most simple lock of all-time. I'm not joking, I've seen more sophisticated systems on middle school lockers. Of course, I lived in a school district where most 11 year olds were bringing $400 CD players with 20 second anti-skip technology to school and enough pogs that would make up the GDP of the Bahamas. The weird kids probably had thousands of dollars in magic cards in their lockers. I'm not exaggerating. These little wizards would break out shoe boxes full of things and wage war on one another. So looking back on it, those locks were probably pretty necessary I mean, who wants to have their $50 pog slammer jacked? Or their super rare cockatrice card nabbed? Certainly not I.

Also, The Club would also be put on cars that had no business being protected. You'd see these things on Taurus' from like 1982. These cars couldn't have been worth a couple hundred bucks, and on the black market they were maybe worth $150 tops...who in their right mind would risk the incarceration and the following rape dodging of prison to steal one of these things?

As security systems began to come more standard on cars over time, sighting of The Club would disappear and rightfully so. I seriously haven't seen one until today since maybe 2001. And wouldn't you know it was on the most unwanted car in Oakland...and that seriously says a lot if you've ever set foot here.

The car had to be a 1990-1992 Honda Civic. It was once green, but rust had spread like a ravaging case of cancer on this thing for quite some time now. It's hood was mix and matched from a local junk yard and instead of a rear right window they had a trash bag held in place with duct tape. The windshield has a massive crack down the middle of it and all of the hubcaps were nowhere in sight. This car is not worth more than $100 there's no way. Applejack, my roommate, has a Mercury Mountaineer from the early 2000's that was loaded for its time and he said it's not worth more than a $1,000. And for some ungodly reason...this thing had a club on it.

I couldn't tell if it was a fantastic joke or the person was dead serious. Judging by Oakland, and the people who legitimately live there that aren't in school, except the elderly people (who are some of the kindest creatures on Earth), are not exactly the most fortunate of the bunch. However, by no means should they be protecting this thing. If anything they should pray it's stolen so they can file a false insurance claim saying there was $3,500 worth of electronic equipment in the thing a la Maurice Clarett. I literally thought about leaving a note simply saying "nobody wants your car."

If is a joke, then check plus sir. You made my Thursday. If serious, you're about as cool as the kid sitting in the booth next to me right now who has one sleave rolled up to reveal some kind of tat on his forearm. It's either an ocean scene, some sort of ancient scribe, or just a giant stamp reading "I failed life, but I listen to alt-rock so it's cool."

Hope everyone has a lovely weekend. Adieu.

Surrounded By Jagoffs

2009-01-29T12:10:00.000-08:00

Jagoff - adjective, Pittsburgh slang for an asshole, idiot, or moron

The city of Pittsburgh is a magical land. We have a STUNNING sky line, Troy Polamalu, an area consisting of 25 blocks where 4 out of 5 establishments are bars, and a beautiful Baseball park that just so happens to be home to the 16 straight losing season Pirates. But perhaps Pittsburgh's greatest asset is the language of its natives. To go into depth would literally take hours, as Pittsburghese, as it is called, has several different words that can mean several different things.

But the crown jewel of our mother tongue is the word jagoff. Pronounced "Jahhhg-off," this word is reserved for literally any kind of insult toward a human being. Basically, if this person is causing you distress in any form, whether it be physical or mental, you can call them a jagoff and they'll get it. I usually reserve it for someone acting like a nincompoop. By the way, I don't know why it went by the wayside, but nincompoop is way too hilarious of a word to not be used on a daily basis. For example, it can be used this way. "I can't believe that Kelly got preggers, what a nincompoop!"

Well anyways, I would like to tell you about the day I ran into not one, two, three, but FOUR jagoffs within a matter of a few hours. I rose in the morning and got dressed to go to a Doctors appointment. I will not disclose my symptoms because of the Doctor/Patient Non-Disclosure Act that I have no right or power to enforce, but nonetheless, what is ailing me is of very little importance to this story or to your day in general. Like I was saying, I'm on my way to the Dr. I pull out of the garage and reach the stop sign at the end of my street. Unfortunately, I did not reach it quick enough, because an early 90's Buick Grand Park Avenue, driven by a man that I estimate to be 865 years old, was crossing the intersection traveling at about 17 MPH and was just close enough that I didn't have enough time to zoom out in front of them. Let's call him Jasper just to spice things up.

This angered me greatly. If there is nothing I can't stand more is when people like Jasper still take it upon themselves to drive. I don't have a problem with the elderly, I really don't. I find their facetious and whimsical ways quite hilarious. That is, unless they are on the road. I doubt any old people are reading this, but in case they are I just want to tell them something. Catch a ride with someone under 65. I know it's a sense of pride thing but I am begging you, for the sanity of all human beings driving in the US, pick up your rotary telephone and call your grandson Eddy and ask him if he can take you to your Dr's appointment or the pharmacy, since these are the only two places old people still really need to go. You can be independent in so many other ways, whether it be a shuffle board league, a highly competitive and very high stakes game of bridge, or dominating Jeopardy in the commons room after a desert of sugar free Jell-O, but please stop believing you can still operate a motor vehicle efficiently and safely.

Well back to the day, so I'm cruising behind Jasper he suddenly stops the car. He gets out of the car and opens his trunk. I am completely befuddled by this maneuver and stop mainly out of curiosity just to see what he's about to get himself into. I was waiting for him to pull anything out of that trunk. He could have broken out the Arc of the Covenant and I wouldn't have been shocked. However, Jasper proceeded to pull a full length push broom out of his trunk and starts brushing the snow off of his car. First of all, how in God's name did he get that thing in there? While the Park Avenue is recognized as having superb trunk space, by no means do I believe it can hold a push broom that could easily be put into a production of Fiddler on the Roof and wouldn't miss a beat. Secondly, why didn't Old Jassy do this while he was in his driveway? Why did he wait until in the middle of a highly traveled road?

Well apparently those behind me didn't take kindly to Jasper's idea and began to lay on their horns. Among hearing this, Jasper became quite enraged. Enraged to the point that he threw down his push broom in disgust and just lifted his middle fingers into the air. I was absolutely appalled by Jasper's actions. Not only was he clearly in the wrong, but by no means should the elderly be acting in such ways. Old people aren't supposed to get angry like that. They are supposed to be absent minded, and brush such an occurrence off as a mistake. But Jasper was absolutely irate. After his finger flashing tantrum he picked up his broom and went back to work on his whip. Realizing that at his rate of pushing it might take anywhere between 4-7 days to clean his entire car, I decided to go around him and you know what I saw in my rear view mirror as I drove away. Jasper's right middle finger directed solely at me. Part of me wanted to stop the car and just ask him what his problem was? Why was he acting like this? Did he not have a banana for his wheat bran this morning and his day started off on the wrong foot? Did he not get enough sleep because he was having night terrors? Just what the hell crawled up Jasper's patooty?

I took it upon myself to be the bigger man and just proceed to my Dr's appointment. Jasper had demonstrated behavior that was beyond inappropriate for the situation and I did not feel bad for him whatsoever. There my friends is jagoff number 1.

So I'm on my way and begin to realize that I am about to enter Beltzhoover. Beltzhoover is a land of jagoffs. While some that reside there are good at heart, Beltzhoover is a collection of Pittbsurgh All-Stars. They pride themselves in poor hygiene, riding around in cars that only passed the state inspection cause their cousin Donny is the part-time manager of the garage they took it to, and knowing where to get the best "fish sammich" in town, and being complete assholes to people who have achieved more in life. It doesn't matter how you approach them. An All-Star will be a total jerk if they can figure out you're from a better place.

I reach the the Dr's office, sign in, and take a seat in the waiting room. At the moment I am the only one there, my appointment is at 11:30 and it's about 11:20. After sitting there for 5 minutes and reading through a stimulating pamphlet about acid reflux disease, three jolly citizens enter. Two were middle aged, one man, one woman. They were helping a little old woman to her seat. I immediately wondered if she had any ties to Jasper? I wanted to ask her about that Park Avenue of deception but I bit my tongue. I gave her the benefit of the doubt that she had no connection to him. By their dress and demeanor I could tell that they were locals.

After eavesdropping on their conversation I am to decipher the following:

1) They are brother and sister taking their Mom to the Dr. (she didn't drive, check plus)

2) This old lass is in pretty bad shape

3) They dude also had an appointment

At this point it's about 11:30 and I'm waiting on edge to get seen. There was nobody in the reception area and there were like 3 Dr's names on the sign outside, surely this wouldn't be taking any longer. I was wrong, and to makes things worse I was about to witness quite possibly one of the dumbest conversations ever held by two people.

The sibling pair went on to talk about some of the most random topics of all-time. The first was when the brother mentioned "ya know what? I wish I knew a place that made a great home made soup." After hearing this I almost cracked up. What the hell does soup have to do with taking this poor old woman to the Dr? Also, what establishment is he going to that he's consistently being served a bowl of Campbell's? Don't most places have/make their own soup? Even the little diner's of Beltzhoover? Actually, wouldn't they be more inclined to make their own soup because it would be cheaper? Instead of looking at her brother and commenting on how stupid he was she went on to AGREE. They literally then had a 10 minute conversation about their favorite kinds of soups. In case anyone was wondering, the girl's was split pea (realllllllly?) and the guy decided that he liked stew better than soup, thus making the entire conversation completely pointless.

So right now it's about 11:45 or so and I can't be called back soon enough. The next topic of discussion delved into the death of somebody they knew. They began to start talking about why the guy went to the hospital. The man informed her that he went because he was having trouble breathing. Obviously, this would be a condition for someone to seek medical attention for. The girl then propped up like the kid everyone hated in elementary school who looked like he or she was having an aneurysm while raising their hand to answer a question they knew the answer to. The girl, who had a look on her face like she discovered the secret of life went on to say the following. "I bet you he ultimately died from lack of oxygen. Am I right?" NO SHIT SHERLOCK. The dude went to the hospital because he could barely breathe. What did you think was going to happen once he got there? They would knife him and let him bleed out? They then went on to reminisce about this guy and how awesome of a dude he was apparently. At the end they looked asked their Mom what they thought about they guy. She just lifted her head up and then hunched back over. You could tell she was just thinking, "holy shit, I raised two of the biggest retards around."

This take us to about 12:10. At this point I am literally pissed I'm being put through this torture. This last one takes the cake though so I'm kinda happy I didn't miss it. The man went on to explain that he's been up since 3:00AM. What was he doing up since then? I mean obviously other than solving the world's financial crisis? Well here's a direct quote. "I didn't do too much. I had 2 cups of hot chocolate downstairs, another one upstairs and I took a handful Xanax. You think we could stop and get a bite to eat on the way home? You know, something small or light?" This was probably the most random morning that a person could have. Never would I have thought that hot chocolate and Xanax would be used in the same sentence, but I guess I'm not spending enough time in Beltzhoover. So back to his inquiry about getting some food, the sister then asks if he had the money to pay for it. The dude then went into how she knows that he doesn't have enough cash and that it should have been common knowledge that a food stop was going to happen after helping take Mom to the doctor's. After all, every good deed does deserve a reward. They began then to argue like children about whether or not they would stop to get food. The Mom just sat there with her head in her hands. I really think she just wanted to die right there. Enough was enough. The sister agreed that she would take him to Wendy's but he could only order off the dollar menu. At this point I was called back...ladies and gentleman, jagoff two and three.

I got a prescription that I need to start taking immediately so on my way back to my place I stopped by a CVS. This is where my final jagoff interaction of the day would take place.

I presented the tech my papers and she said she could have it filled in 20 minutes, I figured what the hell and plopped down in a chair. As I sat there a lot of people were coming in to pick up prescriptions. As we all know, this isn't always the smoothest of processes. After a short while a line forms, it was also about 1:00 so people were probably stopping on their lunch break. But then she walked through the door...clearly this woman was not employed. There she stood in the back on the line. She was wearing sweats, some knock off brand of skater shoes and an Oakland Raiders starter's jacket that was so disgusting that the white stripes on the arms were now an off-set yellow.

Well as I said earlier, it was taking a little while to get through the line. This did not please her. As the minutes ticked by she stood there with terrible body language and muttering obscenities and insults under her breath that were clearly audible to everyone around her. Everyone was just looking at this lady like she was a mental case. There's no way in hell she could be emotionally stable. After taking a closer look at her I was able to figure out exactly what was happening. This lady was high. Like super duper, I'm at Mardi Gras who gives a fuck high. Her pupils were the size of pinheads and she could not keep still even if she was offered a lifetime supply of barbiturates.

Well apparently this was taking too long, and after the completion of the next customer she stormed her way up to the front and demanded to be next. The other people in line were pissed, they'd been waiting just as long. When they asked her what the hell she was doing she responded with such classy phrases as "fuck off Obama," (directed at a black guy), to "back up off her face" (although nobody was, to use a one of her terms, "up in it,") and was then challenging people to "do sumpin." She directed this to a line of people whose average age was probably 62 and one was in a wheel chair. One little old gal had a look on her face that read, "Did she just ask me for a pumpkin?" However, I would have given anything to see my man in the chair (that had stickers on the back that said "Spank me...I'm naughty," and "Mean People Suck," beyond awesome on his part) gun the thing and shatter not just a leg, but also her ego and general sense of entitlement even though she clearly represented the worst that society has to offer.

Nobody wanted to deal with this crazy lady, not even the pharmacy tech. She was then leaning over the counter screaming for someone to help her. Ultimately a young woman came over to assists her. She asked politely, "how many I help you?" Crazy bitch then said "yea, I'm hear to pick up my prescriptions. Davey and Davey Jr. (last name)." These were obviously going to be the names on the prescription bottle. Actually the more I think about it, this degenerate may not have even realized that Davey is a nickname for David and legally named him that. The tech then asked for her ID and the birthday of the two people she was picking up for. She shot back the birthdays, and what exactly the prescriptions were she was picking up. And what do you know, her son, who was born in 2004, was somehow already prescribed Adderall. Now I'm no drug abuser, but I am aware, for reasons that I cannot get into, that there exists a market for the acquisition and abuse of prescription medicines. I also know that Adderall, if taken in a certain way, will make you do a hell of a lot more than focus.

The tech went on to explain to this wildcat that the prescriptions she filled up were already filled a week earlier and then insurance she presented last time was not legitimate. This really sent the she-bitch into a tizzy. She went on to accuse the tech of calling her a "pill head," and by the looks of her and her actions I think it's safe to say that the tech was making a sound judgement. She kept spewing more venom including phrases like "don't fuck with my son's shit," and "Do you want Davey to come down here?" as she would hold her cell phone out to taunt the tech. I for one could not be anymore excited to see this Davey character and was praying the tech shot back at her challenge with a yes. This same scene took place for a few more minutes. Ultimately, the lead pharmacist, or at least the tallest of one of the bunch came over and asked for the idiot to either present an insurance card or get the hell out. CVS was now out for blood. Crazy eyes already took them for the proverbial loop last time and they wanted the co-pay they were entitled to. Obviously she claimed she left it in her car. The pharmacist then asked her what plan she was under. She sat there for a moment to think about it. She then said "Hospital Inc."...at this moment I had to put the hood on my jacket over my head. That was the best she could come up with? She could raffle off literally one of the thousands of insurance companies in the US? This last sign of disrespect was the last thing I would witness as my name was called to pick up my pills. I walked up, signed a sheet left a $10 and got out of there. I was fully prepared to go home, turn on the TV and see a hostage situation taking place with the caption "Davey shows! Takes 15 captive. Demands those to stop hatin."

...upon getting in my car and driving away I looked at my clock. I woke up at 10:15. It was 1:38 and I had already run into four jagoffs. I don't know if this will ever be topped.

Our house....in the middle of the street.

2009-01-29T11:19:00.000-08:00

I've been living in California for almost 19 months and everyday I'm presented with a situation that constantly boggles my mind. I would
google this topic but it feels stupid. I would wikipedia this topic but how does anyone really know whats true on wikipedia. Well the United States Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD)
defines a "chronically homeless" person as "an unaccompanied homeless
individual with a disabling condition who has either been continuously homeless for a year or more, or has had at least four episodes of homelessness in the past three years." Well, according to that definition I am homeless. I've had numerous episodes of couch crashing and floor hugging on weekends after having a couple too many soft
drinks at a local club or bar. Well what I am getting at is several things. Homeless people are all over the continental U.S. I'm sure
Hawaii has homeless too. I mean can you picture a hawaiin
bum? My only thoughts on how one would look is a haggard version of Palamalu cross with Nick Nolte fashion
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/graphics/packageart/mugshots/noltemug.jpg

Anybutt, if you've ever visited California or seen a South Park
episode you've deduced that California has tons and tons of homeless. I see the same homeless all the time asking for change or looking for some help. In several ways they show this: witty signs "why lie? I need a beer" or pathetic signs "Ninjas killed my family. Need money
for kung fu lessons". What grabs me the most is that what if nobody ever gave them money. Wouldn't you think the homeless would become
homeful? I think a great documentary would be a guy who thrusts himself into the life of a homeless man. Screw the shows "Man vs. Wild" or "Survivorman", I want to see "Homeless Man" on the discovery channel. No food. No money. No water. No toilet. What the Homeless man
should get is this: One nike air cortez, a shopping cart, a 1994
Seattle Supersonics Starter Jacket with holes and a pair of dress slacks from Sears with vintage washing a la Abercrombie and Fitch. Then drop their ass off in the middle of downtown Los Angeles (theres nothing there except more homeless). The rub is this: the homeless man will have no contact to the outside world. He must work his way out of the homelessness to win $50,000 and a trip to Guam.

Second thing about homeless people. I'm not attacking them, I'm merely making social commentary about an aspect of most American cities that many people don't address on a day to day basis. Call me an asshole thats fine. But my brother was homeless at a point and he's now living in an apartment and just had a baby. So kiss my grits. Homeless people in Buffalo, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, NYC and Baltimore
are far more tougher than homeless in California, Arizona and Florida. Why? Well the weather. I was at the Steelers game when it was 10 degrees and there were homeless posted up on the street corner like Shaquille looking for change. No gloves, no timbs, no beanie hats. Just 1994 Seattle Supersonics Starter Jackets, British knights and
wrangler real comfortable jeans. Take a LA homeless guy and throw him in the Pittsburgh winter homeless scene and the guy will change real
quick. Sun, sand and rich people = homelessland . Why should I, a self respecting citizen be accosted at most corners of the street in
Hollywood by men and women for change? And if and when I don't give them change, they give me tons of 'tude. Fuck you then bum. Its cold in Pittsburgh, go be a bum there. I bet you 20 bucks you don't last a week.

How about Extreme Makeover Homeless Edition. This would be huuuge. Hell, even the Kardashians picked up a bum on the street and got him a
new set of teeth. What would be so evil about gathering all the top bums in America and seeing who can win? On TV, in the media and in movies we've exploited pretty much everything. Saved By The Bell did a homeless episode (where the new girls dad is found brushing his teeth in the men's bathroom at the mall). But that itself is whats wrong with the problem. It's merely another episode in providing money to the big executive producers. Why don't those jackasses at ABC do some real home
makeovers for people who are veterans, diseased, unemployed and mental
disabled? Well, because, it wouldn't help. Two months later 50 percent of those helped would be back in the street doing what they want because they choose that path. Mentally challenged or not, the funding
and resources available are simply not enough to have one change his ways. If every person in America didn't give homeless money, there
wouldn't be any homeless. Mentally disabled, drug addicted, domestically abused or not, they choose that road. As the movie Trainspotting said "Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose
a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines,cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering
who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking
junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to
do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin'
else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?"

......would you stop to drop change or just stop for a change.....

Just like Peter Pan, its time for the homeless to grow up.

Worst. News. Ever

2009-01-26T20:12:00.000-08:00

Alright, my week was going just fine until I was alerted of the following. Some stupid asshole said it was OK for Rob Zombie to make another Halloween. Not only do I have no power to stop this from happening, but it starts shooting in like a month. So even if I did, it's already too late. The wheels of fate have already been set in motion.

People may be wondering, what is this unnatural obsession with the movie Halloween? Are you a serial killer? Are you a fanboy? That answer to this is laughable. I am quite possibly the biggest pacifist on planet Earth. My mother was a devout hippie. Non-violence has been drilled into my skull since a very early age. As well as her pushing marijuana on me over booze. That's right. My Mom blatantly contradicted every guidance counselor currently employed in America. Mother of the year material for sure. In fact, based on my memory, I have been in 5 legitimate fights my entire life. Four of which were all at riots and it was a matter of defending myself or being ghetto stomped. The other was against my old man. I will say my record is 4-1. My only loss coming against my father due to the phenomenon known as Dad strength and him choking me out. I have sent the tape to several organizations though and his tactics are still under review.

I am also no fanboy. I wear normal clothes, mainly jeans and tees and have never once attended a convention solely devoted to the Halloween franchise. I have talked to members of the opposite sex without pissing myself and can even sometimes get one them to like me enough that I get to take them places to have fun at, like restaurants and bars. Don't worry guys, sure this will be on the expansion pack of the next Sims game.

The reason I am obsessed with this movie...I am literally scared shitless of Michael Myers. Scared enough to the point that I've hated Halloween night since I was 6 and if I see someone wearing a Michael Myers mask I genuinely feel uncomfortable and avoid going near them. I tried to solve this problem by being him one year for Halloween, I was 15. My mask came in the mail and I had a Carhart zip up that was pretty spot on. I put on the mask and looked in mirror...and I pretty much had a nervous breakdown. I then threw the mask in a closet, never to see it again and went to the party as a mechanic. Needless to say I did not win best costume.

You can point and laugh at me all you want. But the majority of people I've talked to about M-squared agree. Granted they've gotten over it, but most feel that his creepiness is off the charts. Like creepier than Tom Cruise or Joaquin Phoenix trying to start a rap career. That is except my roommate Applejack. He claims to fear no man or woman, real or fictional, or anything else tangible for that matter. He said he didn't even cry when he was born, he just looked at the Dr and kind of gave him a look like, "what's the deal dude? I'm naked."

Some can say that Michael isn't scary because of the numerous sequels that came out in the original series and how completely horrendous they were. I don't care about these. I don't really acknowledge they exist. Granted I've seen them, but even I have to take a step back and laugh at them. However the original one...nothing comes near it and I don't know if anything ever will. If the original one is on TV I can't change the channel fully knowing that I won't sleep that night. I own like 3 different versions of the DVD. For whatever reason, I keep watching it. Maybe I think that if I watch it enough I won't be afraid anymore. Well that hasn't happened yet and I've probably seen it 50 times. A couple years ago my roommate said he was going away for the weekend. That weekend just happened to house the day of Halloween. Needless to say I was quite perturbed. Halloween night ended with me being so high that when I came home I slowly cracked open every door in the apartment (including closets, pantry, and cupboards) and threw an empty pizza box inside. My logic was that if I didn't hear the pizza box hit the back wall he was in there and I was screwed. I was 22 years old.

However, after seeing Rob Zombie's "re-imagining"of the original some of this faded away. I saw Rob's other movies and they were average at best. His movies basically focused on white trash people that are psychotic and kill people. That's the gist of all his movies. But I figured there was no way Halloween could have this element...apparently I was wrong. I even had a little excitement going in. I remember seeing him on Jimmy Kimmel Live and he said he was going to "make people afraid of Michael Myers again." Then I went to go see the movie...he basically ruined everything that John Carpenter set out to do.

For whatever f'ing reason, he gave Michael Myers a back story. He explained that he was a troubled little kid that tortured animals, was picked on at school and had an abusive step-father who...wait for it, was a complete trailer park all-star. Oh and his Mom was a stripper too. Thanks for that tidbit Rob. The only person he loved was his little baby sister and then he escapes later in life and tries to find her. The original just started off with Michael as a little kid just murdering his sister. It then goes 15 years later where Michael is being brought to a hearing on his trial. His Dr, Dr. Loomis explains that he never once said a word while in there and just stared out the window with "the darkest eyes." Of course they get, there, shit hits the fan and Michael escapes only to return to his home town and start stalking some rando girl and killing anything that interfered with it. You had no idea why. It was just happening. There was no reason given and then at the end you have no idea where he is. It was just evil. The definition of psychotic. You didn't find out why he was doing it until all the sequels...if you showed a little kid the original Halloween, as my asshole cousin so did to me, it would traumatize them. It was the boogeyman coming to life right in front of your eyes.

That was what made Halloween so scary. People saw that movie and thought that it could happen. It touched on those that walked among us, who we didn't know who were there, that could at any given minute do the unthinkable. It's the same thing that made people poo their undies about Silence of the Lambs. There are some nutjobs out there. Take a look at what happened at VT the other weekend or on a Greyhound bus a couple summers ago. People just randomly decapitated other people. No reason. No motive. Just felt like cutting someone's head off.

Why did this piss me off? Cause Rob Zombie went out of the way to try to make something already completely awesome better, something that didn't need to be done, and in return he just totally fucked with my childhood. It was like the day I found out unicorns weren't real. I thought they were an endangered species until I was 20. I'm not kidding. I will give you the names and phone numbers of people to confirm this. In a way, Rob's version made me grow up a little bit. This is something I have no desire of ever doing. If I happen to surpass the age of 45, which I believe is quite in jeopardy, I hope to act like Royal Tenanbaum. If I am dooped into marriage and children through the cunning and trickery of the opposite sex, I hope they are prepared for me laughing at reruns of Family Matters like it was comedic gold, watching The Goonies 5 times a year and wondering aloud how the kid who played Chunk didn't become a billionaire, not disciplining my children for anything less than hardcore drug use or using a deadly weapon, and high fiving them for misbehaving in gym class. I will never forget the day my gym teacher called my Dad at work cause I was screwing around. I told her no to do it, but she didn't listen. My father cut her off immediately and just said this, "Listen lady, I work in the real world. If my son ruins a dodge ball game I one, don't care and two, find it kind of funny. I locked a nun in a closet for 7 hours when I was his age. If you ever call me again I'll ruin your life." He then hung up. What did that even mean by that last line?

So yea Rob, I kinda have a problem with what you tried to do to me. Also, how in the HELL are you making a sequel? The movie ends with him getting his head blown off by a .357 from a foot away. I mean, I'm no gun buff but what could possibly be left of his head? The largest piece would be 5 inches long or roughly 2.5 times larger than Wall Street's throbbing member. Come on dude, you can't be serious? Can you just go back to playing power chords and screaming into a microphone while the disgruntled youth of America hops up and down in front of you? Was that not taking in enough cheese for you?

You know who told me about this, my Dad. Even he was like "hey, did you hear that Zombie guy is making another Halloween?" This man hasn't seen a movie in the theatre since Rocky Balboa and that was probably the first he'd seen in theatres in 10-12 years. When we asked him why he went to see it he said "I just need to know how it ends." This man, who knows nothing about recent movies despite working in the home entertainment segment of them, answered it all for me. "First one made money. It would be idiotic not too." I can understand this, but can't it be drawn to a point. A system needs to be set up so something like this doesn't happen. So something that is already perfect or close to it doesn't get a makeover hoping to relate it to another generation. This dude basically took the Mona Lisa of horror movies and spray painted all over it and now we're giving him matches and a little tank of gas.

I know this isn't what I usually write about but this really just bugs me. And you know what sucks, I'm definitely going to go see it. And it's going to be horrible and it might once and for all make me look at Michael and turn the other cheek...something I never thought possible. "How could you Rob Zombie?" - (little girl voice from Anchorman, with accompanying fist pumps and hairstyle)

Panerarchy: The Code of Silence

2009-01-22T12:03:00.001-08:00

Twas a Thursday and all was going well. I woke up at around 9:30 AM and treated myself to a grape Gatorade G2. May I also say that the new "G" commercials that premiered a few weeks ago are absolutely sensational. I especially love how they somehow raised Jackie Robinson from the dead and made him look like he was 25. Who knew that sorcery would one day help make an awesome commercial. Well played Gatorade...well played indeed.

I was still riding high from the premiere of Lost the night before. Did I remember any of the plot? Not really. Am I intelligent enough to know what's going on. Not even close. But I can't pull myself away from watching that show. Everytime an episode ends I sit there in astonishment like the first time I saw a boob in a movie. It was Caddyshack, I was 5, and I was awestruck. My mother ultimately caught me continuously rewinding it so I could see Lacey Underall nude over and over again. Perverse you say? Certainly not, I was simply a curious boy exploring that wonder of on screen tots.

Anyways, after some sitting around it dawned on me that I had an assload of work to do. I got dressed, got in my car and started heading for campus. It then it dawned on me...I had forgotten to eat. This happens about 3 times a week so I was ready to make due with the current situation. I inevitably parked my car and decided to walk into Panera because it was the closest place in walking distance that I would enjoy. There was some kind of bizarro Mediterranean place in between, but one can only eat so many grape leaves and hummus...plus it was cold and Panera just rocks at soupcraft...which is of course the art of making soup.

I walked into the place and to my discretion, it was packed. Like wall to wall human beings. And then I overheard the music playing over the loud speaker and how absolutely atrocious it was. When I walked in a Creed song was playing. Creed people! I stood there trying not to have a seizure from excessive toolness. While standing there it came to me that the person responsible for this playlist may be the most musically inept person alive. After Creed, Mariah Carey - Heartbreaker came on and that was then followed by Rascal Flatts. Pick a genra broseph. By this time I had gotten my food but there was literally nowhere in sight to sit down. It then dawned on me that there was additional seating in the back so I made my way through a sea of sorority girls, disgruntled emos and meatheads to my destination. I plopped down and guess what song decided to come on now.

Black Eyed Peas - My Lumps. This DJ had gone far enough. I refused to take anymore. I took out my iPod, plugged in the earphones and threw on my oldies playlist. While sitting there eating my glorious creamy tomato soup and turkey sambo I was graced with one of my all-time favorite songs. Spencer Davis Group - Gimme Some Lovin. I first fell in love with this song the first time I saw Predator. Despite being one of the most badass movies of all-time, the soundtrack while they are flying in the helicopter was the absolute tits. The scene crescendos with this song blasting in the background as Arnold (who was clearly snubbed by the academy for this role, as well as his performances in Total Recall, Running Man, Conan and Kindergarten Cop) and his mercenaries touch down in the jungle to do battle with probably the most hardcore beast in cinematic history. I could write a 10 page paper on how manly the movie Predator is. I'm not kidding.

Every time I hear this song I cannot stop from doing one or a combination of the following. Tapping along flawlessly to the rhythm, dancing (which basically just involves tons of clapping), singing along and / or humming. Since I was in a public place I just went with the tapping. The song was just getting to the second chorus when I got a tap on the shoulder. It was a girl, portly, homely looking and dressed in sweats.

"Can you stop tapping your fingers, I'm trying to study." I looked at her with total puzzlement and then began to inquire just who the hell she thought she was. If she had said please I probably would have felt bad and stopped. But the magic word was not used so she had whatever was about to come to her.

I simply informed the girl that she was in a fucking Panera, at lunch rush, and if she needed to study there was literally two libraries within a quarter of a mile. I spared her the comment that she could have used the cardio. The girl went on to explain to me that the back room of Panera is there for people to study and you are supposed to be quiet while back there. REALLLLLLLLY???? You're sitting in a room listening to Fergie and her cohorts rap about ass and tits but it's my finger tapping that is preventing her from studying. I explained this to her but she refused to listen. I then asked where was the sign that said I can't make any noise while sitting back there. She then said this:

"It's an unwritten rule. Everyone knows about it and respects it. You're not supposed to be in here tapping!"

This just caused me to start laughing. Unwritten rules? Secret codes of ethics? Universal acceptance? What the hell was all this? Was this really something that isn't proven but just known? I was waiting for Nicolas Cage to pop out with a treasure map and tell me there was a mountain of gold right beneath my feet.

She just kept insisting that I stopped the tapping. I told her she had no business telling me this and that I don't live my life adhering to imaginary vowes of silence. She then threatened to get the manager. Yes, that's right, the MANager. Since when on Earth does the manager of Panera have the ability to have my tapping cease and desist. He's not a law enforcement official by any means, yet alone a secret-law enforcer. This just made me laugh harder. I could not believe by any means that this place was intended as a study room, yet alone my behavior was prohibited in the area. After about 30 more seconds of bickering, the other person in the back room, the last of us finally chimed in. He was an older man. Black and had a phenomenal winter cap on.

"He's right toots. You can't tell the boy what he can and cannot do."

I immediately thought that this guy was the coolest man I've come across in many years. Not only was his ensemble of coat, slacks and hat absolutely outstanding, he literally called this girl toots. I haven't heard someone say that in 15 years. I was furious that it took 24 years of life for me to cross paths with someone so awesome.

A truce was ultimately reached. She left Panera, presumably to waddle her way to a real library, and I stayed to finish my food. I got up to leave but not before looking back to my knight in shining armor and gave him a little head nod. He shook his head yes and raised his cup in a cheers. I wasn't expecting anything less...

Wedding Weekend: The Finale "True Love and Gangster Rap Sing-A-Longs"

2009-01-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

My general state of mind on Saturday morning could not really be put into words. In the past two evenings I had maybe gotten 4 hours of sleep and probably drank somewhere in the range of 50-60 drinks. I am not saying these statistics to boast, I am a humble man and am not here to gloat about how much booze I can throw down on hardly any rest or how many women I have sieged, or how I once beat After Burner using only 3 quarters at our local mall arcade at the age of 7. I also won the Blockbuster Sega Genesis Championships for the southern Pittsburgh area when I was 10 but that's neither here nor there.

I am relaying this information to you to express just how terribly my body was probably doing physically. But more importantly, one must understand what happens to the brain and the signals it sends out from this kind of catastrophe. Drinking is a depressant people, we learned this in Health Class in our high school years in between how weed will make you spontaneously combust and how promiscuity will lead to a certain death. When I woke up that morning I did not feel "sweet" or "rad," I felt like I had been simultaneously dumped by Cindy Crawford circa 1992, Allessandra Ambrosio and a young Mark Wahlberg all at the same time, and they were all leaving me for someone I knew was infinitely less cool than I was. Needless to say, this is not the best of moods. Being that I am not really an intelligent person when it comes to my general health the only thing I could think to do was to immediately start drinking again, to get back to zero if you will.

It was 10AM, I phoned over to Wall Street's room where he was staying with Daleman, C-Dog and Shanman. I knew they would all be up, C-Dog was doing the bride's hair and had to be at the church by high noon. Wall Street explained to me that in some kind of illogical move, that I don't remember happening whatsoever, I purchased two cases of brew just for this situation. Was this true? Did my subconscious really drive me to do such a thing? Why don't I remember doing this? Does this mean I'm an alcoholic?

Nonetheless, I took this news the way I did when I found out Lemieux was returning to the Pens in 2000...pure joy. In a matter of 12 minutes I took a shower, got dressed in my formal wear, woke up Erk who was on the pull-out sleeper and sprinted across the parking lot to Wall Street's suite.

The wedding didn't start until 2:30. We literally had three hours of solid pre-game time to get appropriately lubricated for the love ceremony. The morning was spent ridiculing Wall Street, per standard process, reminiscing of how cool we were in High School, per standard once again, and jamming out to techno remixes and R&B masterpieces. For some reason I was wearing my trusty ski goggles for the majority of these festivities and cheersing to the fact we actually survived the hellacious snow attack probably occurred somewhere between 25-40 times. At one point Usher - My Way came on and I literally thought my heart was going to explode, that's how happy I was. Happy to be with my pals, to be alive, for my boyish good looks, for Troy Polamalu, for the Wu-Tang Clan. That's the thing about booze. The high is great...but when you come down, especially from a bender such as this, the pain cuts to the core of you.

We wrapped up everything around 1:50. We decided that would be best because nobody had literally any idea how to get to the church. Our ensamble rolled out of the hotel like a whirling dervish. We finished the last of what we had in our cans in the parking lot as parents from our childhoods looked on in complete disgust. But we didn't care. It was a glorious day to be alive.

The ride to the church would have probably taken the average person 10 minutes to get there. However in our state, we were nowhere near average. We placed our fate in the hands of Mr. Icer, one of our good best pal's Dad and followed him. Why did we choose Mr. Icer? Was he renowned for his sense of direction? Was he a descendant of Magellan, Cortez, or one of the other notable explorers of the past? The answer is no. He was blocking the only way out of the hotel parking lot.

The trip to the church was like running through a hay maze. It consisted of 3 U-turns, none of which were legal, several pauses at intersections not knowing if right or left would lead us to witness true love, and the questioning of the possibility that Mr. Icer was doing this because he knew so many cars were following him and he thought it would be hilarious.

We finally arrived at the church. It was 2:20PM. The wedding was starting in 10 minutes. One of our other pals, McChillen assured us that weddings never started on time and we had nothing to worry about. We looked at her as if she was on crazy pills. You're meaning to tell me that the start time clearly printed on the invitation and further more on the wedding itinerary was a lie? A blatant, upfront lie? And why was she privy to this information? Becuase she had ovaries? Exquisite surgery enhanced breasts? I needed to know...but unfortunately my inquiries were brushed aside.

We walked into the church, that looked like giant barn, and made our way to where we would witness the union of a man and woman. We were told to sit on any side. My natural inclination was to be a jerk and sit right in the middle of the aisle. But I knew the groom's family quite well and did not want to ruin something this important. Plus my father, who was in attendance, was eyeballing the living hell out of me as soon as we walked in. He knew I had been up to no good. Upon sitting down and looking around I tried to figure out just what kind of animals were housed in this place before it was converted into a church. The ceilings were probably 3 stories high and upon going through my rather extensive knowledge of the animal kingdom I could think of no beast that would requite such living quarters. Was this place intended for dinosaurs? Was Jurassic Park actually a true story? Was Samuel L. Jackson really in that movie or was I just hallucinating the last time I saw it? Right after asking myself all these questions I realized something...I really had to piss. I looked around to see if I had enough time. I saw no movement, the time to act was now. I stood up to make my move when I heard a voice.

"What the fuck are you doing?" It was Erk. He had apparently been sitting next to me this entire time.

"I gotta take a whiz, I can't hold it." I replied

"Why the hell didn't you go at the hotel?"

I didn't bother to answer him. It would have made perfect sense to drain the reservoir before we left. But I was me, sense does not agree with me. I learned of the location of the lavatory and slow jogged my way there. The more quickly I made it the less people would notice. This didn't work out well though because I saw our old High School athletic trainer sitting on the end of an aisle. I naturally though it would be a good idea to stop my route and catch up with Trainer Joe.

"Joe, what's up man." I then slapped him on the thigh for some reason.

He looked at me like I was completely insane. I read his eyes, they were saying "you've got to be fucking kidding me the wedding is starting in 3 minutes." I then remembered I better hurry the hell up. I am not going to describe my urination because I feel it would be in bad taste.

I emerged back from the bathroom and as soon as I made the entry way to the church I was nearly knocked over from the force of the eye daggers my father was delivering. These thigns were traveling with the force and velocity of a Nolan Ryan fastball. I had seen this look before. It was during a 6th grade basketball game where I was so uncontent with my teammates play I took myself out of the game and then refused to go back in. To further express my point I took of my shoes and claimed I broke my ankle. I then looked into the stands...nothing but eye daggers. I made my way back to my seat and I felt like everyone in the church at this point was staring at me. Or it could have just been my Dad, he was dishing out eye daggers like free samples of Orange Chicken in front of Panda Express. I just thought in my mind, "awkward..." and eventually made it back to my seat.

"Was I not supposed to do that?" I turned to Erk and asked.

He said nothing. His disdain for being seen with me was evident.

Literally seconds later the ceremony began. The little flower girls came running by and did an all around bang up job. Then there was the procession of the bride's maids, all were smokeshows in their own right. It then dawned on me that I was surely going to embarrass myself at the reception, thus eliminating the small chance I had with any of them. This made me sad. Then out of nowhere, everyone stood up. I was extremely confused and followed the crowd in fear of embarrassment. Then it dawned on me that the bride was obviously next. The song playing on the organ in the background gave it away as well.

I'm not going to say anything about the ceremony except this. It was beautiful. For a brief second I felt a semblance of maturity and felt good that one of my good friends, if not my best, was happy up there. In a way I was sad to let go of him, but I knew he was going to where he wanted to be. I imagine this is the same kind of feeling that parents get when they send their kids off to college. I will probably never have this experience, unless a prophylactic malfunctions, then I guess all bets are off. Although at one point of my life I was literally 100% sure I was going to marry Kathy Ireland. I was a rambunctious tike at the age of 7. Cute as a button. She was in her mid to late 20's, the cover of the 1992 SI Swimsuit Issue. I still remember the "She Reigns in Spain" tagline under the title. My parents, my friends and society in general refused to accept it, but it didn't matter nor did I care, it was the purest love that could be. It was destiny...so who knows, maybe I'll find a Kathy Ireland some day.

We got out of the wedding and returned downstairs for a small gathering before we headed back to the hotel. I turned the corner and once again was struck dead in the chest with eye daggers. There stood my father. He did not look happy. I tried to maneuver around him, but his athleticism and overall quickness cut me off. The man has moves like Barry Sanders and he's nearly 60...it's unfathomable. He still can't swim though...what an idiot.

My father was upset with the following:
1) I was clearly under the influence of alcohol and/or recreational narcotics
2) My choice of dress (a stylish black suit but with a pink shirt and outlandishly looking blue tie)
3) My hair length

Let me be the first to say my father could possibly be the Saddam Hussein of hair length. My hair was not remotely long. If I was in the military it would require a slight trim if any at all. One time I let my hair grow for an entire semester plus the summer. I cut it out of fear that I was inadvertently killing my father. During that period he was put on medication for high blood pressure and overall bouts of fury. I couldn't even talk to him. He would only talk to me through an intermediary much like when 2 elementary school children are in a fight. This was all over hair length...can you imagine if I was gay? He'd probably raise an army and occupy Canada. I'm not joking whatsoever. If you are laughing please stop.

Thankfully, a fellow father came over and struck up a conversation. He even commented on how good I looked. Quick sidenote: there was no humanly possible way I looked good. The wedding was on January 10th. My last test was on December 10th and at that time I was a svelt 6'0 203 lbs of muscle and emotion. Before I left for the wedding I weighed myself again. Would anyone like to take a guess at the result? Well here is the answer. 221. At first I was very excited. Only a 4 or 5 inch growth spurt could amount for this kind of weight gain. With my height at 6'4 or 6'5 I could easily hold a press conference annnouncing myself eligible for the NBA drafy. I broke out the measuring tape...the results were less than optimal to say the least. I was still 6'0. I was probably standing in front of the mirror making the McCauley Culkin face for 3 minutes after realizing what I'd done to myself in one month. How many delicious holiday baked goods did I consume within that time? How many slices of Honey Baked Ham? Did I eat a child unknowingly? I'm not eating until the NCAA Basketball Tournament.

Anyways, I thanked the fellow father and said I was going for something sophisticated, yet flashy. The look on my Dad's face after I said that was probably somewhere in between the face Dad's make when they find out their teenage daughter is preggers and their wife has been cheating on them with another woman. We shot the shit for a few more minutes before I was alerted we had to leave. I looked at my Dad, gave him the puppy dog eyes and simply asked for a $20 bill. Why a $20? I had no idea. We still had more than enough beer at the hotel between all the rooms and it wasn't like we were stopping for food, I guess I just felt it was necessary. He looked at me, shook his head and then it came, that little smirk and giggle. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh guy and handed it over. Poppa still loves his baby boy...

We got back to the hotel and began partying in Wall Street's suite yet again. The same scene unfolded as previously and before we knew it it was 4:00. Knowing that shuttles were offered to take us to the reception absolutely everyone in our party was Nick Nolte mugshot wasted. Control was lost. We couldn't be stopped. We called and was informed that the next shuttle was available at 4:45. Taking McChillen's "Nothing at a Wedding Starts On Time," thesis into account we figured we'd be golden. Oh how wrong we were...

The Shuttle called and said he was in the parking lot. When he saw the motley crew that stumbled out of the hotel he probably wish he called in sick that day. We all crawled into the shuttle, clearly not large enough for the number of us but we didn't care. This was like Nam. Nobody would be left behind...although I openly petitioned to leave Wall Street. The driver, a kind man, said nothing and just got in and began the trek to Receptionville. On the way there, there was screaming, singing, laughing, yelling. It was basically Times Square on New Year's Eve confined to a church van. And then for whatever reason, I still don't know why, call it inhibition if you must, I did the following. I made my way to the volume knob and turned it down all the way. Everyone looked at me like I had J-Lo's ass growing off my forehead. I then said, "everyone, time for a sing-a-long." I then proceeded to start rapping Raekwon's - Ice Cream flawlessly. For those of you who don't know the song please click here

Everyone sat there in total shock. Complete shock. It was then followed by insane laughter and people saying things like "you're out of your mind," and "oh my God," and "I want to sex Mutombo." However, I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I was legitimately pissed that nobody joined in. I simply asked "Do I need to return to the chorus? What's the problem?" This just made them laugh even louder.

We soon entered the reception and the bomb was dropped. Our nameplates were the only ones still there. Everyone was already there, including the bride and groom. I don't think anybody else did but I glared at McChillen in a way that would cause a small child to explode. Her theory was completely bullshit...hogwash if you will. We gathered our name tags, (we were all conveniently at the same two tables, who would've thought?) and made our way to the dining area. Everyone was already having too good of a time to notice us. Thank the heavens. And wouldn't you know it, our tables were located all the way in the back, as if they knew this very scenario was going to happen. And who could blame them. With our track record I was surprised we were allowed to sit in the same building.

The reception is mostly a blur, but from what I can recall the following took place. Everyone hating the bartender cause he was a bitter old man. Me giving the flower girls an estimated 7500 high-fives. Forcing Dad's to rip shots of Maker's Mark and then seeing the look on their face. Smoking an array of cigars and rehashing memories passed with those same fathers and ultimately a full fledged dancefest that was more than likely extremely inappropriate for a wedding. There was also a party at the hotel when the reception ended at 10. But I remember none of it. I was told I tried to drive a car and backed into a van only to pull back into the parking space, turned off the car, got out, dropped the keys on the ground and just walked away in shame.

I don't know what time I went to sleep, but for reasons unknown when Daleman called Erk the next morning to leave I had already laid out my return home outfit on the floor next to me. The ride home was not memorable except for the following conversation I had with a gas station attendant in the middle of nowhere:

Pan: "Do you have a bathroom?"

Attendant: "It's for employees only."

Pan: "Well I hope you have a hose then, cause I'm going to just puke on the side of your building."

Lastly, it is not right to act the way humans did in these three wedding posts. However, amongst us it was absolutely hilarious, and by the end I think even the parent's hearts were warmed. That being said. Congrats to the happy couple who shall remain nameless for the sake of sparing them the embarrassment of being associated.

A Letter From an Old Associate

2009-01-14T10:46:00.000-08:00

I received a telegram today from an old pen pal...heres what he had to say. By the way its graphic but lots of lessons can be learned from a man who would do something like this....

"Hollyweird Confidential"

Peter Pan,

I had a 4-some with three phillies*. I request that we keep this story hush hush because I don't want this to spread. Guys don't tell on other guys, it's Nation Guy Code. It all began on a lovely Saturday in Hollywood, California. I began medicating on California's finest herbal remedies and deciding what to do with my day. I began to listen to really trendy music, inventory my latest spring fashions, text a few girls I probably shouldn't, and check myself out in the mirror.Whoops, that's Bananaman. Any who, I find out from a K-Dog that 5 girls want to hang out with a couple cool cats like me and our other roommate Charles. They apparently like to smoke grass and drink, and also apparently get really weird. I grab my LA Looks Super Hold Gel and begin the night with a shot of tequila to loosen up the joints. We arrive at 11:30 Pacific Time and the first girl to greet us looks like a cross between Mila Kunis and that hot Mexican girl in your 5th grade class combined with fake tits. I walk into this apartment and first realize that these girls are huge stoner's, there's two bongs on the table, needless to say the place looks like Murray's basement after a New Years Party. I'm then introduced to the other females, one looked like a more tan Kirsten Dunst, the third was a half Filipino, half Jew and half Mexican (I know it adds up to 1.5 but that's what she said and I believed her). Charles brought a bottle of Julio Garcia Tequila and then we proceeded to get sauced. While the saucing stage is underway, bongs and joints are being passed around and my eyes are redder than Wall Streets belly after catching a few too many rays in the tanning bed. I begin to fall in a haze and get drunk, so naturally I begin to insult the girls about their choice of music and clothing. I go up to the roof on request of one girl saying "OMG lets go on the roof to the pool!" So I go to the roof and this is when things start to spin out of control. Instead of ripping off my shirt and jumping in like normal, I grab a chair poolside. The Dunst floosie and the 1.5 ethnicity girl sit next to me as we share a stick of medicine. They begin to make out. Then something weird happens, a part of my body begins to get a little chubbier than the rest of my body. Next thing I know I'm triple kissing these two betches. The kiss was spicy, very spicy, something similar to The Notebook. We proceed back down to their apartment and I'm invited directly into Slut Headquarters. I sit on the bed as we try to remake our rooftop magic. Meanwhile, the Kunis/Hot Mexican Hybrid is in the living room with K-Ant and Charles. I'm in the bedroom with Dunst and the 1.5, Charles and K-Ant are trying to wheel n' deal the Hybrid. While I'm ass naked on the bed, these two girls are enjoying a lovely box dinner of each others own box. I'm fingering both girls while one is taking rips off my beef bong, and boom, the door opens and it's the hybrid. She's like "OMG" and runs out of the room. The girls stop, and they look at me and shrug, I say in a Wayne Campbell voice "Game On". The one girl says "Do you want to me fuck me?". I immediately say yes, and she goes to her secret tin to grab appropriate protection. Mind you this secret tin was the size of a gift cookie tin you'd get from Mrs. Fields. Inside this museum of condoms was Magnums, ribbed for her pleasure, strawberry flavored, vibrating rings, I can go on and on. "Which one do you want "she says. I say "Ribbed….. for your pleasure" and I giggled like a loser always does when he thinks he says something funny. She likes my choice and slides it onto my semi which will soon graduate to Boner University. I start jamming this girl's hard drive with my Trojan virus while the 1.5 tongues my balls, yes tongues my balls. I forgot to mention one minor detail, I took a horrendous poop at 9:30 and on a scale of 1-10 I probably cleaned my ass a 5. So we're looking at least a 75 percent chance of a bacon strip on these girls white sheets. I try to forget this fact so I keep plowing through this girl like Miley Cyrus plows through acne medication. Next, I hear the door open again and it's the Hybrid. She says "fuck it", takes off her clothes and jumps into the pool of Carlos. She mutters to me "I have a boyfriend, so no funny business", 5 minutes later my finger is remodeling the inside of her vaginal walls. Some boyfriend. I didn't bust any nuts, I was so fucked up that it was utterly impossible. To be quite honest, 3 girls were way too much to handle. Try smoking an 1/8th of weed, ripping 8 shots of tequila and then having three hot sluts fuck your brains out. Any takers? I ended up passing out naked and I woke up at 8 am and I noticed the sheets had been marked by a vicious little brown friend. So I got my stuff and got out of there. All I could think that the girls said to each other the next day was "Who the fuck was eating bacon in my bed?!?" So for the wrap report: 0 spitters spilled 1 fart laid (while they were eating each other out, hopefully not listening) 0 loads busted 2 beat up vagina's from a dick inside of it 1 beat up vagina from a finger inside of it 1 sore penis 1 bacon stripped set of sheets 4 people claimed it was their First group session 1 true ridiculous story Phillie – a female, not to be confused with Philadelphia sports.

Wedding Weekend: Day 2 "A Perfect Storm That Even Clooney Would Bow To"

2009-01-13T14:27:00.000-08:00

The last thing I remember before we left that fateful morning was this. A semi coherent Shanman leaving for work in full business regalia, (we would later discover his day was spent baby sitting his niece...he clearly works his fingers to the bone). He was talking to C-Dog, the only female compatriot of our crew, he said the Cleve was about to be blasted by a storm of ice, snow, doom and more ice. Myself, sleeping on his hardwood floor with my head gently perched on a air mattress occupied by Daleman, simply just laughed in my head. Shanman was no prognosticator, yet alone a Meteorologist. He claimed the Penn State Nittany Lions could "hang" with the USC Trojans. I mean honestly. Who, outside of Happy Valley and their cult following, didn't see this thrashing coming. And I won't hear anything of how PSU made it close in the fourth. By that time the Trojans were as interested in that football game as Michael Jackson at a Post Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Contest Orgy. I pulled out my iPhone and saw a small system about to hit Ohio. This was no demon that the Shanman spoke to C-Dog about. I brushed it off and waited for C-Dog to finish cooking breakfast for everyone. Which I am very appreciative for because a stomach full of eggs in the morning is what lead this country through such tribulations as WW2, The Red Scare and Rob Zombie's remake of Halloween.

Breakfast was served, but Wall Street had already beat us to the punch. He selfishly filled his plate with an unproportionate amount of Eggs and several slices of toast that we clearly did not need. Beach season is closer than one thinks, and carbs are the destroyer of beach destinies. In fact, Wall Street took so much food that poor Erk didn't even get a plate. For what we were about to go through it could have been truly catastrophic.

A decision was made to wait for Shanman to return from his viewing of The Little Mermaid, I mean work, before we all left for Columbus, the site were the vows would be read. But we were the three crew. We were a pack of strays. The freedom fighters of this important journey. We took it upon ourselves to forge ahead ASAP. So once again, myself, Daleman and Erk raced to my car and sped off into the horizon, not turning back for anything. Love, fortune, safety, Shamrock Shakes...our eyes were set on Columbus. This move nearly costed us our lives...

The first flurries came at approximately 110 miles from our destination. Daleman, once again behind the wheel, sneered at them like Michael Jordan everytime a white man dared try to D him up. Surely these trivial babies could not stop us from reaching our destination just as Craig Ehlo never had a shot of containing MJ on any given night, yet alone Sundays. I blasted such greats as Whitetown - I Could Never Be Your Woman and Whitney Houston's - I Wanna Dance With Somebody...no flurry was taking us down, not with those songs like those blasting from the sound system. We still don't know what we did for sure, but our actions must have unsettled the powers that be and before we knew it we were thrust into a flurry of wintry mix. I pulled out my phone again. Surely this must have been a fluke. The system I saw on the phone this morning could in no way produce to death that was coming down from the sky. I got to the radar page and my heart sank into my chest like it did when I heard JT was leaving NSYNC. The system had literally quadrupled in size. It clearly had some kind of unprotected sexual encounter with another system, it's growth rate was unlike anything I had ever seen. And worse yet, we were driving right into the eye of the storm.

The skies got even blacker and the snow fell even harder. At one point, in order to see what was in front of me I retrieved my ski goggles from the back seat. It was literally that bad. I had no idea how Daleman could operate without them. He must have the eyes of an eagle and the heart of a baby sea turtle, because any mere mortal would have surely turned back. I thought to myself, do I say something. Do I recommend pulling off to the side as several other sedans were choosing to do. And then I remember Clooney. With his perfect jaw line, dark yet mysterious eyes, and Zeus like voice. He knew on the other side of that wave laid freedom, hope, and a shit ton of money for all the fish he caught. But he was not driven by greed, he was driven by pride, and so was I. I buckled down, threw on some classic rock and was ready for the worst. I looked over at Daleman and he just simply nodded...the same scenario I just described clearly went through his head as well. And we plowed onward to C-Bus.

At the eye of the storm it was like a scene from Dante's Inferno. If Hell is real it would look like the middle of this snowstorm. (For those of us unfamiliar with the Divine Comedy, the seventh circle of Hell, the deepest and most terrible part of the place, where the devil himself presided, was not a shitshow of fire and brimstone. It was a frozen tundra that the likes of Lambeau Field has never seen. And you all thought I was a fool for that last statement...God I love undergrad electives) I couldn't go any further without alerting the group behind us, who had probably just left, what they were getting into. I thought of those who traveled the Oregon Trail, and how so many more would have made it if the wagons ahead of them alerted those of the treachery the laid ahead...it was also one of the greatest computer games ever and probably has more of an impact on my generation's lives than any lesson they learned in grammar school. The following is a verbatim text conversation between myself and Wall Street:

Pan: "Heed my warning. If you are taking 71 the roads are treacherous. Turn back, we've already gone too far. Only Travel in 3's. We're in the eye of the storm. Prepare for hell's harvester. Buckle down the shit. Keep sales tight. Pay the Indians to ferry you across the river."

Street: "Shanman already has typhoid fever. I'm not sure we're gonna make it."

Pan: "Erk was bit by a rattle snake. We traded a wagon axle for a bottle of elixir near Chippewa Pass. The buffalo have seemed to disappear. Morale is low. We Refuse to travel at nothing less than a breakneck pace."

Street: "We're near the eye. It's like the movie Twister and I'm the girl from Mad About You."

Pan: "I'd feel a lot more safe if Bill Paxon was with us. Micro burst at mile marker 169. We're bunking up at the La Quinta. We found a gentleman's club, safe lodging and friendly people."

Street: "Get the Three Crew suite at La Quinta. I need to find out more about this gentleman's club."

Pan: "I heard they take their bottoms off there. None of that side shot bullshit."

Street: "Shan says do not change lanes on the oregon trail no matter the situation."

Pan: "Skies are clear. We've hit the continental divide. It's all downhill from here."

...and at that moment, it was if we were on the other side of that wave the Clooney failed to climb. Except we were driving on route 71 and not sailing in the Chesapeake Bay, and Shooter McGavin wasn't busting a nut over a meteorologist will see this once in his entire career or never at all. I never liked McGavin, not even when he tried to go family friendly as the dad in "Leave It To Beaver." I was too wise for his trickery even at 13.

The rest of the way it was smooth sailing. The sun even broke through the demon clouds every so often as if to say, "yea...about that..." We reached our destination at the lovely Town Place Suites by Marriot. We checked back in on the other cars. They were over 80 miles away. Mother nature was still putting them through their right of manhood. Naturally instead of worrying or waiting, the three crew headed to BW3's or for those of you not down with abbrevs, Buffalo Wild Wings. We arrived and were informed that we were in time for happy hour. 16 oz bruisers would only cost us one and a half junior bacon cheeseburgers. We took this deal upon ourselves and ordered a feast, despite the fact that the wedding party was hosting a party 3 hours later that offered a plethora of free food. We ordered everything they could throw at us. Wings, jalapeno poppers, pizza shooters, tuna ticklers, all of it. Everything tasted like victory...

The rest of the group arrived a few hours later. Wall Street was in tears over the gauntlet of frozen hydration that was thrown at him. We thought about taking him to a mental hospital, he was clearly on the brink of a psychological meltdown. We held back though. A man such as Wall Street should be left to figure things out on his own. After all, with the state of the financial market, none of us felt we owed him anything. We partied in the hotel rooms until about 8:45. Being that we didn't want to be rude and because most of us by this point were passed the point of inebriation, we left early for the party. We couldn't be the ones that showed up late AND boozed. It would be very un-lady like, and after all one of the nine of us was indeed a woman.

As parents began to come pouring in we were all getting more and more uncomfortable. We were supposed to be responsible and by the looks of us we could be trusted with nothing. I spent my evening yelling lines from Will Ferrell movies and asking the football coach from my High School how on Earth he had the audacity to fail me in gym class in 10th grade. He once threw me out of class for wearing black socks. What he didn't know was that my iguana had died a week earlier and it was a sign of grievance. Einstein, (that was the gentle creatures name), lived his life to the fullest and was nothing less than a gentleman. He once climbed into the Christmas tree and lived there for three days. He was clearly overcome by the holiday spirit. Upon my inquiry Coach walked away and just laughed to himself. Clearly he didn't have time for people the likes of me. But when it's all said and done he'll be the one explaining himself in the afterlife for not respecting those who passed before him...RIP Einstein, wherever you may be.

The Wedding Weekend: Day 1 "Cladeisha To The Champagne Room"

2009-01-12T22:31:00.000-08:00

Our first move was to the great city of Cleveland where we were welcomed with open arms from a young Shanman. The three crew, consisting of myself, Erks, and Daleman took abrasive action and left at 3:30PM. Why was this abrasive the rest of our party wasn't leaving til 5:30. We had to do this to what we felt was poor planning and overall hazardous conditions. Something dawned on me that I would need my ski goggles. It was an omen from the God's.

The three crew hit the road with a sense of purpose and pride. Despite it being my own car I was way too childish to not be in charge of the music. I sat shotgun, iPod attached and my iPhone charging. Why do I own both you ask? Sheer irresponsibleness in regards to money. Plus my iPod is engraved with a quote from the Renaissance, so eat it. I manned the mp3's and shot out timeless classics. From Led Zep, to Warren G, all the timeless classics were covered. This put our spirits in a sensational mood as we raced North West. However a problem went astray, the car's navigation had sent us through treacherous passes. Instead of utilizing the highway system, it shot us down Ohio River Boulevard, in peak hours, which nearly negated our advantage of early departure. "How could you do this Talulah?" I asked her aloud. She never responded...the GPS didn't have the guts to say one god damn thing.

We finally grew near Shanman and felt best that we should call. He then ran off a list of accouterments he had gotten for us. A bottle of vodka, captain, 12 beers. We immediately began to protest, how in the holy hell did he think this was enough. He then went on trying to claim he spent $600 and would not spend any more. We ran the math. Unless prices had somehow inflated 500-700% while we were in the car there was no way the Shan's estimates held any water. We asked if we were being charged room and board, which was ridiculous because there would certainly be no turn down service, and he said no. Again the numbers made no sense. After lengthy negotiations we got him to get another 12 pack (4 more people other than us were coming). We told him we'd be there in 15 minutes...he then claimed he had enough time to go to the gym and get a sweat in. Feeling another word war we let him go, only to ridicule him unmercifully in the privacy of the car.

The rest of the group followed suit. We consumed the booze and decided to go out locally, in Cleveland heights then head to the booming metropolis itself to get a taste of its sure to be stellar night life. So away we go in the cabs. After 20 minutes and a fare of $30 we reached our destination only to find only 6 people in the bar. We expected this though. Shan's ideas weren't always the best and his reputation as a host was even more poor. We went to another bar where we were approached by two women claiming to be models, heirs to the Goodyear fortune and willing to drive us anywhere we wanted. Firstly, I caught on right away. This is how. These girls were no models. If they were models then I was Buzz Aldrin or Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand. They looked like tanning bed crispers. The Goodyear fortune, also obviously bull kaka. A quick iPhone search produced the real heir's name. We were about to be dooped by two semi good looking girls into a limo and taken to a strip club, I knew it. And guess what the first things they said were when we got in. "Let's go to Christie's!" What was Christie's it was quickly answered by our friend Goldilocks. "It's the mecca of strip clubs. It's literally a castle. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen." We pulled up and Goldi was dead on. It was a castle but not the castles of our yesteryear. One with a beautiful princess at the top, guarded by an evil sorceress or giant King Koopa. No, this castle held the dreams of broken men. Smut. An off smell of roses and candy and ATM surcharges of $12. This was no castle in my book.

What took place inside there can't be imagined. So I'll write it out in detail. As soon as you sat down one of these scorpion women would approach you (one actually even had a scorpion tattoo), make small talk, flirt, rub and then drop the old "how about a dance line?" Within three minutes a blond girl with fake zooters and legs that stretched to St. Louis was on top of poor Goldi in minutes. He couldn't pull out money fast enough. More and more came, soon there was 3 on him. Had Akon's "Right Now" hadn't ended any sooner he would have been suffocated by zooter and ass. The next move was made by Wall Street, he grabbed me and pulled me up to a seat right next to the stage. A small little one came over shook her ass in our face, licked various parts of her body and then pulled back on the elastic strap on her shoe looking for her tip. "What, no bottoms?" She shook her head no. I don't know if she could speak English yet alone debate Wall Street. He tossed in a $1 and walked away in disgust. We left shortly after, the sketchy cab man agreed to take us back to the civilized world for $40. The ride was an argument between Goldilocks and Wall Street discussing "side shots." Goldilocks was claiming that they would slowly slide away their g-strings, giving you full view of their vaginal holocausts. I mean, I didn't want to know what those things looked like. Sleeves of a wizard for sure. Wall Street saw nothing of the sort and said things like "that isn't how things are done in the big leagues" and "I have a tiny peener."

We ended our night at a little joint called Giuseppes where all the stops would be pulled out. Shanman, fully knowing that the girl he was talking to was with her boyfriend, laid into a little filly so thickly that it almost could have been made into a Ne-Yo song. He was touching her face, leaning into to whisper, other hand firmly planted on the thigh. All while her BF, North Face Man, looked on in total disgust. As we saw what was happening our group sat in a booth and began to make things even worse. We would scream for Shanman to kiss her, touch her, take her home. North Face Man was ready for war but he was outnumbered. He knew he had lost. Another conversation sparked up on the other side of the bar between Daleman and a lady of the Orient. The debate, Cleveland's nickname. She claimed it was "C-Town", Daleman, "The Cleve". We clearly took his side and you should to. The "Cleve" makes so much more sense. "C-Town" is a blatant copy of "A-Town" which is the red headed step child nickname of Atlanta, we all know it's true crown lies with "Hotlanta." This girl's intellect was obviously not worth our time, which is funny because I was fully expecting to be outsmarted by an Asian as they've been doing so since I lost my Around The World flash card championship belt to Tomoya Takami in 3rd grade. He could also kick a kickball over the school. THE F'ING SCHOOL.

Anyways we left to discover a Jimmy Johns was open across the street. About six of us got sandwiches, I also got a chocolate chip cookie. Nothing says DONEZO like a baked good. But instead of eating this food we all did something different. We simply took our wrapped sandwiches and beat the living hell out of Wall Street with them. The last straw was me rubbing the rest of the cookie in his hair and sticking my Jimmy John's sticker on the back of his head (which he didn't remove for about 2 hours).

We got back to Shanmans apartment and were making a lot of noise playing the game Thumper. I'm not going into the details of it. If you haven't played Thumper yet by this time in your life then hogwash. Get off of World of Warcraft and live a little. Anyways, the Shanman emerges and screams the most idiotic thing I've heard in some time. "There are doctors, nurses and legal people here. Keep it down!" My response was this. "Dr's make the money. Hire all the nurses. Start cheating on their wives. Wives get angry. Wives hire lawyers. Get half the Money. Money gets invested. Wall Street gets the money. Wall Street loses money. We lose to China." Shanman walked away in disgust and just went to sleep...that was the first night. Two more to go.

Steelers Game

2009-01-11T22:54:00.000-08:00

I would first like to say that Troy Polamalu is the greatest Steeler that I think I might ever get to watch in person. The man doesn't tackle people. He turns his body into a perfect projectile and just totally decimates the ball carriers lower leg. It's incredible how effective he is at doing this. He then blesses himself and is such a gentleman, probably apologizes to the guy he just slayed Also why he rocks you ask? The man is the most cerebral human being on Earth. He lists gardening and playing the piano as his interests on his player page. I can easily see a headline one day that reads "Troy leaves football because he feels it has become too violent." I wouldn't be shocked. The man is on another plane compared to regular human beings. So spiritual. So wise.

As for the game, THRASHING. Fast William just scooted all over the place to the tune of 146 and 2. The Chargers had 1 yard of offense in the 3rd quarter. If we all remember correctly, the Little Giants were able to accomplish this same feat and then go long ball to Hot Hands for the score. Ipso facto, the Little Giants take down the 2008 Chargers. The Ice-Box would have three forced fumbles herself.

But my favorite part of the game. Phil Rivers getting into shouting matches with Farrior with about 2:30 left, like right before that bomb to Sproles, and him realizing that Farrior is not a remotely stable person and sulking back to his huddle. Yea, he threw the bomb the next play, whatever. At that point our secondary were practicing dance moves and freestyling about rims and bitches in their heads, except Troy who was probably figuring how to end world hunger. Rivers literally realized how f'ed in the A he was about to be if he stayed and said one more word, turned his back and cowered away. Does anyone really like Phillip Rivers? Is he remotely a cool dude to hang out with? Does he have the record for most phone calls gone unreturned by LaDainian Tomlinson? The man jut wreaks of doucheness.

The Great Impromptu Wrestle Mania of 2008

2009-01-11T22:25:00.000-08:00

The Setting: My Apartment

The Time: 4:00 AM

After a rousing night of east carson street, culminating in an appearance at the Caravan Club. (More on that in the future). A group of four of us, who should not have been allowed to do anything either than stuff our faces with dish of our choice or sleep face first on the ground only to regain consciousness hours later disoriented and confused, took part in the largest debacle of the holiday season.

Things took a thing for the worse, when my roommate, who I will refer to as Applejack, immediately made a protein shake and challenged the three of us to try to take him down. Applejack is a daunting figure. He's about 6'3 and has recently LOVED and I mean real love, not this 7th grade finger bang under the bleachers kind of love, going to Bally's and getting his swell on. Applejack then went over to the corner, assumed the stance of a Tiger, and waited for the other three of us to make a move so he could bounce pounce. Instead of ganging up on him, an inner feud developed. Resulting in myself grabbing the smallest of my friends and holding him on the floor. This must have upset Applejack.

Applejack proceeded to charge at the speed of Michael Johnson in the 96 Atlanta games and about 3 feet before reaching me launched into a perfect jump kick that would have rivaled those of Liu Kang or Bruce Lee. The kick slammed into my right shoulder with the force of a mini cooper in 3rd gear. I immediately thought my arm was broken. I was expecting to look over at the right side of my body and expecting my right arm to have bones sticking out of it or it resembling some cursive letter or odd hieroglyphic sign.

The next thing were told to me the next morning, as I obviously blocked from my memory due to trauma. Apparently I was rolling around on the ground repeating these two phrases over and over again. "It's over," and "My AC joint!" First of all, what exactly was over? My life? Hardly. I'm going out in a way that's going to rival a NASA space launch when people used to actually gave a shit to watch them. Or alone in a retirement home after a heated game of shuffleboard. Was it my athletic career? Nope, that ended at 17 when I deemed it necessary to play rec hoops. My Dad still wants to kill me for it. Brings it up at least once a week. I love you too old man. Second, what on Earth is an AC joint? Was I inventing medical terms? Did I hear Ed Werder say it during a weekly injury update? I can't figure out for the life of me what an AC joint is yet alone where I heard it.

I woke up the next morning completely unable to move my right arm. I sweet-talked my sister into taking me to the hospital in hopes my Parent's wouldn't find out and I'm sure my story would have really made them just think the world of me. The ER's diagnosis. Go see a specialist. Not an x-ray Not a pill. A stretch. A note of encouragement. Nothing. Just go see a specialist.

At this point, since I am still reliant upon my Mom to schedule my medical and dental appointments, I had to break the news to her and ask her to set me up something. I ventured two days later to the sports complex at UPMC. Where I got this HILARIOUS news. I can feasibly have nerve damage or a stinger I have to come back in month. I was however given a free t-shirt, theraband and a booklet of stretching exercises that were to be done 4 days a week. They had a better chance of seeing Michael Jackson becoming black again than me doing those stretches. All this, cause Applejack needed to get super meaty and "prove his dominance."

Greetings and Salutations

2009-01-11T21:59:00.000-08:00

I am not by any means an extremely intelligent person. I mean, I've read some books, been awarded a degree from a respected university, you know, all that jazz. But what I am absolutely sure of is that, under no circumstances, can I be considered mature. In fact, based on my medical knowledge, studies of development, and an intro to psychology course. I've reached the conclusion that I was in fact more mature as a teenager than I am now, 24. That's called regressing emotionally for those lamen out there.

So what am I doing in life right now. For the sake of anonymity I will give you this. The city I live in is Pittsburgh. I am in grad school there but have also grown up there my entire life. Now I know what most of you are probably thinking, "he's mature, what a fibber, they don't let degenerates into places of higher education" But I can't really explain the polarizing opposite of the culture I am a defacto part of at school. I do not fit in there. And I use that term very loosely as I'm not sure I can say that I have no fucking business belonging there in the first place. When I walked in the first day people were legitimately wondering if I was in the right building. You know the look. Just a really straight edge, nerdy kid, one that lacks any social skills to appropriately correct the situation on their own, who is really uncomfortable and just searching around the room waiting for the glitch in the matrix to be fixed.

Now that the scene is set I will get to the purpose of this blog. I am simply going to post things on here that happen in my life. Stories I get myself into. My thoughts on God only knows what. What I need, is for people to read them and let me know if what's going on up in the brainasium is still alright or should I be seriously considering re-evaluating my life and bite the bullet, the growing up bullet. Thanks