Wild Man.

If you want to know what type of music I like to listen to when I'm about get totally wild. Here it is. I mean there is a song called, "Flip That Bitch a Few Times" (and it's excellent) so you know they're not holding any thuggery back. And I don't even know what "Flip That Bitch a Few Times" means but it sounds like it might be kind of fun and dangerous. Here are some words from Juicy J:

“I’mma say it like this right here my nigga, youknowimsayin? This mu’fucka jammin like a mu’fucka, youknowimsayin…get cho lighter, get cho mu’fuckin weed, get cho mu’fuckin blunts, get cho mu’fuckin weed papers, get cho mu’fuckin bitches together, get cho mu’fuckin pills, get everything you need to get to keep yo ass so motherfuckin fucked up while your listening to this motherfuckin mixtape. Get that shit, put that shit in yo system & just play this bitch nigga.”

Two thumbs way up. If you were wondering if there was a song that uses a gunshot as part of the beat, wonder no more. There are several. By the way let me remind you that this guy has a motherfuckin' Academy Award.

NYC Blizzard 2010.

IF you watch the Official Katy Perry "Fireworks" video, you will probably be more entertained. It might be the greatest thing I've ever seen. I especially like the part where the self-conscious fat girl sheds her fears, takes off her clothes, and jumps into the pool. It's perfect. After all, I'm just a fat girl getting ready to take off my clothes and show the world my gigantic disgusting stomach and my too-small thong. (Is any sized thong big enough?) Don't throw up. Just watch the Fireworks.

Katy Perry sure is magical.

Oh yea. Just in case you are about to get mugged, make sure you are ready to perform magic tricks at all time. Instead of getting your money, they'll get a free show!

Christmas. Or "Xmas" if you're an asshole.

This is how my Christmas started:

What's this? Santa (aka my aunt and uncle) sent me a package.

I hope it's filled with quarters!

Uh oh...

Tubby Time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is me happy. This is also me not doing a good job wearing my retainer.

Thank you Jesus! Think about how awesome he is. Everyone else gets gifts on HIS birthday. Incredible.

One of my gifts to myself:

You know your team is pathetic when you have this loser on your tickets? That would be like the Bulls putting Will Perdue on their tickets. Which would actually be totally awesome.

Pretty Decent tickets. Or as some assholes would say, "tix."

You better believe I had my red Bulls shirt on. After taking off my jacket, it only seemed right to start yelling at all of the Knicks fans. Most used line of the game: "C'mon Rose dunk on these garbage ass bitches!"

How many bum bitches can you fit on one half of a basketball court? Let's start counting.

At one point all of the white players on the Bulls were fetching the balls and passing them to all of the true ballers. Post-racial America!

Since I went Hard In Da Paint on Christmas Eve I had to nurse my hangover. $5 for this bottle of water with no cap. I asked the vendor why I couldn't have the cap. "Because people like to throw bottles in Madison Square Garden." I guess when your team sucks for twenty-something years you ain't poppin' bottles. You're throwin' 'em.

Probably the worst jersey in basketball. What the fuck is a "Felton?"

M.V.P. = This guy. This picture doesn't do him justice but he talked mad shit the entire game (as did I). Every time Stoudemire got the ball he'd yell "OVER. RATED." Everyone in our section hated him. In this picture he's lecturing some young fools about how worthless the Knicks are. Right on.

I bought myself these 3 items that I really love. Cost me a fortune. You know I gotta make sure I'm always playin' pretty in this steez game.

This is what I looked like at the beginning of Christmas Eve. You have my permission to jerk off to this picture if you're really sick and twisted. I won't judge.

This is what I felt like Christmas morning. Children, this is a hangover.

But when you're Marty. This is also a hangover!

Happy Holidays. Hope you had fun. I sure as hell did.

Demetri Martin.

His choice of color for this outfit is the only reason I picked this picture.

I really need to stop running into people I truly respect so I can devote more of my time and blogspace to meaningless bullshit. Can't do it. I had the pleasure of meeting Demetri Martin today and although I didn't have to change my underwear after our conversation, I can confidently say he is an inspiration. I've been a fan of his ever since I heard his "Vests" joke. (If you're interested it's on the track "Some Jokes" off of These Are Jokes). I never know what to say when approaching famous people but I made sure I avoided, "Can I ask you a question?" Because I'm sure a million clever things about asking to ask a question would have ran through his mind and he wouldn't have been able to focus on giving me advice. And boy did he give me some really awesome advice. Apparently it took him more than 7 years to be able to make a living doing comedy. That in itself is impressive. I try to think about what I've accomplished in the past 7 years. I'm not really sure. But I know the creator of this video spent the last 7 years making this...

...and that might just be better than what Demetri has accomplished.

Tomorrow I'll talk about having sex with trees. I promise.

It's That Time Of The Year.

As many people are flying home to spend time with their families, I've been pondering what I should do for Christmas. I have the apartment to myself for the next week or so and instead of devoting all of my time to being a complete weirdo, I've decided to attempt to do something new and noble. My original plan was to volunteer on Christmas day. I thought I'd be able to serve food to my homeless friends or spend time with the elderly. Then I realized that the Bulls are playing the Knicks at the Garden and decided that my stinky homeless friends and the elderly can let the guilty white people help them out. The only bums I'm going to be around are the ones wearing royal blue and orange that my man D-Rose is going to be shitting on.

But that isn't enough. I've gone through a list of people who are very important to me and wondered if any of them were in my position and if so, what they plan on doing for the holidays. This made me think of one very influential person that has had a really profound effect on my life: Ja Rule. Mr. Rule was sentenced to two years in prison for a gun charge a couple of weeks ago and it doesn't look like he is going to be spending time with his family (Ashanti, J. Lo, Charlie Baltimore, all the big-booby video hoz, etc.). Poor guy. So since both Ja and I can't be with our families this year. I decided I would spend some quality time with him while I'm sitting around trying really hard not to do terrible things to myself in my empty apartment.

So I've spent time looking at pictures of Ja Rule and listening to his music (2 songs) trying to figure out where he took a wrong turn.

On the 17th day of Christmas my true love gave to me. 17 (out of 41) shirtless Ja Rule pictures. I'd keep counting certain things (2 smiles, 2 Jerry Curls, 1 AK, 1 Female, a shitload of "I'm real, for real." pics) but a blind man could tell what is Ja Rule's problem: He doesn't have any friends. There are 3 pictures of him with other people (that 50 Cent diss picture doesn't count and is about as lame as can be). Is it because he never has a shirt on? Or is it because he has that stupid ass look on his face? Or is it because he has a weird pre-pubescent mustache thing going on? Ja help me make sense out of all of this!

I can do all of Ashanti's neck swivels.

DMX and Ja on the same song? Gives me a sore throat just thinking about it. Guess what? They're both in prison and they both like not wearing shirts and they both sound ridiculous. I hope both of their Facebook profiles say: Looking For: Friendship. But I'm sure it says: Looking For: Big Booty Bitchez. I don't blame 'em.

15K Results.

After an exhausting last few days, I finally have time to sit around and complain. I probably should be really satisfied with my 15K time but that would be too convenient. I was really hoping to beat 63 minutes and I am pretty upset with myself that I didn't. But I did learn a few things about racing. Next time I'll be sure to be on time instead of being 10 minutes late. The entire race I had to run on the outside of everyone because I was stuck behind the idiots that were too busy talking about their most recent PTA meetings and trips to IKEA (seriously, I overheard a few seconds of those conversations, it's also good to know that even when I'm running I find time to think about how much I hate people). So I think if I was with people running a similar pace as me it would have helped. But I shouldn't be making excuses.

Overall the experience was worth it. I had a lot of fun on the train on the way to the race, wondering what times certain people would have. My guesses:

• Big muscular douchebag with the Tap Out shirt on: 1:10:54. Chesticles=too big.
• Little Asian girl that can't stand still: 1:23:45. Stop pacing and stretching, you're not breaking any world records.
• Black dude who looks like he's really into Anime and learning Japanese: 1:05:21. These type of dudes freak me out.
• Homeless man: How do you make the infinity sign on this damn computer?
• Black dude who is looking at his own reflection while rapping that latest Gucci: Where the party at?
• Little blonde hardbody: Don't matter what your time is because you're running through my mind girl.

Oh yeah, and Thank You Caitlin Marz for talking me into it. Hopefully it is the first of many.

The thing that upsets me the most about this whole race business. Two people named "Todd" beat me. And of course I met one of them on the train home. Pure misery.

NYRR Ted Corbitt 15K.

I'm running a 15K in a few hours. Wish me luck. My goal: No fat people finish before me. Let's go chubsters. Imma shred you up.

Put a bra on bitch.

My Girl Annie.

"Actually Hi, I'm Annie."

It's hard for me to come to terms with certain situations. I knew moving to New York would be a challenge financially and I'm really grateful I have a job but sometimes as I'm folding cashmere sweaters for the 5th straight hour I start to think, "No wonder I didn't get picked 'Most Likely To Succeed' in my 8th grade yearbook." I've met some really wonderful people and have shared some hilarious moments. But there is one real reason I am now truly grateful I have a job: My conversation with Annie Clark aka "St. Vincent."

When considering approaching her, I was as nervous as a depressed hillbilly girl waiting outside Justin Bieber's lesbian-mobile (I gave his tour bus that name) and I originally talked myself out of it. I didn't want to be one of those people that hands out verbal blowjobs and then has nothing else to say but I also didn't want to be one of those people that regrets not doing something. As I very obviously stared at her she turned around and realized that I wasn't even attempting to pretend like I wasn't being creepy. She was in line for the fitting room and I decided that I would hunt her down as soon as she exited. Of course the store manager decided that this would be a perfect time for me to go...you guessed it...fold some cashmere. As I was handing out, whatever the opposite of "verbal blowjobs" is, to myself I wondered how I was going to live with myself the next few days. That was when Ms. Clark appeared and walked straight towards me. As we locked eyes again we were about 15 feet apart and I decided to go for the gold. "Can I ask you a question?" Which is about the most pathetic question in the world, because it itself is a question. But I guess it's a trick, and I'm always talking about tricking people into thinking I'm cool. Of course she said, "Yes, of course." "Are you St. Vincent?" "Actually Hi, I'm Annie." And that's when she put out her hand and introduced herself. Boy was it marvelous. We talked about Chicago and New York, her music, my aspirations, what new music she's working on, and our eyewear. Ms. Annie Clark is straight stuntin' on her eyewear game. Let me tell you. I ended the conversation politely saying, "I don't want to keep you from your day but it was a pleasure and 'Thank You' for everything." She responded, "Good luck. And I must say you look really dapper. Your look is incredible. I love your glasses.' If yall didn't know. Marty been stuntin' on this eyewear game for a minute ya dig? Best believe that.

I've always wondered how sort of famous people react when they are approached by fans. Everyone can learn a lesson from Ms. Clark. She was thoroughly engaged in the conversation, showed a part of her personality, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. Even if she was pretending, which I'm sure she wasn't, she was marvelous at it. And this is why I am such a fan. She plays the prettiest.

My first St. Vincent experience.

My favorite St. Vincent song.

My favorite St. Vincent video.

My first St. Vincent blog post.

Sometimes life ain't so bad. Oh yeah, in case you are wondering what title I earned in 8th grade: "Most Attitude." Boo-yow bitchez!

Best of 2010.

If you know anything about me, you know that I am obsessed with everything Kim Jong-Il. Everything from his tastes in fashion to his bed made out of women. So here is my favorite website in the whole wide world web.

Kim Jong-Il looking at things.

"Looking at stones." This is one of my favorites.

Check out "Looking at your desktop."

Enjoy.

My roommate Josh.

I don't like the way the internet is getting to know me. My roommate's name is Josh and I find it truly creepy (and not the good, "Hey Miley Cyrus! How you doin'?-type of good creepy) and a bit sad that the internet doesn't have anything better to do than to make up weird fictional stories about my life. My favorite sentence in the whole thing is, "Now, if she would just lose all hope that her husband might still be alive, you'd be in there like swimwear." Even the internet thinks that the only way I'm going to find a partner is if zombies took over the world and I used my rations to bribe chicks into thinking I was a cool guy. But even then it's only a maybe. Not only do I have to share what's left of my food, I have to sit around and pray that Carrie forgets about her husband. Her husband Josh. Then and only then can Uncle Marty get "in there like swimwear." Which is about as disgusting and strange as an analogy can get.

Which Carrie?

Carrie Bradshaw? Not sure that qualifies as swimwear but I wouldn't mind getting in there like trashy-hillbilly-lingerie-that-probably-costs-way-too-much-money-wear.

Carrie Underwood? Please forget about your husband Carrie! The sad thing, I don't even think she's married. She is so uninterested in me that she has to make up a fictional husband during a time when zombies have taken over the world. That is the lowest of lows.

Now this is the Carrie that I hope the internet is talking about. Carrie Prejean. I'd even sing you a very special song. Seriously. Maybe I'll post that video one day. Anyways Carrie, if you want me to hate David Archuleta because of his peter preference, well then, that's just the price I'm going to have to pay.

The internet is onto me. What do all of these women have in common? Blonde bombshells.

Looks like this is going to end up being my future, even if zombies kill everybody:

Photo courtesy of Josh Henning.

You Got Me Twisted Oprah. Finale.

I just recently watched Oprah sob over lesbian accusations and I couldn't help but wonder: Is this all part of the plan? Oprah's life story is unbelievably interesting. Almost too interesting. Poor girl from the South born to a teenage mother, gets violated and then goes on to become the richest African-American of the 20th century and at one point the world's only black billionaire. (Thank You Wikipedia!) I think her true secrets are really known by the people she has stepped all over. If you look at the list of black billionaires, Bob Johnson (founder of BET), who first occupied the Black Billionaire Throne (which should be the name The BET Awards' "Best Rapper of The Year") mysteriously disappears off of the list. They say he's worth a half a billion boneskis these days. I'm sure he'd have some really insightful and interesting stories to share about Oprah. ("NIGGA! You CRAZY?")

Although I think Oprah is a complete mystery I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she is sincere when she's offering advice to everyone and anyone. Maybe when she cries it's not a marketing strategy. Maybe she really does love everyone and everything as much as she says she does. Maybe she really had a boyfriend named Stedman and a friend named Gail. Those mysteries aren't my concern. My only Oprah concern: How much can she eat?

Even Uncle Marty thinks this is kinda creepy.

Seriously. I have so many questions about Oprah's eating habits. Is she secretive? Does she take out a bunch of her friends whenever she dines out and then orders a bunch of appetizers and side dishes so that "everyone can share" but then hogs them all? Or does she eat alone making sure everyone in the restaurant is left in the dark about what she orders? Are busboys counting the dishes coming out of her private feasting room? Are the dishes licked clean with big Oprah lipstick outlined bite marks carved out of them? HOW MANY WHITE CASTLE SLIDERS CAN SHE EAT?!?!

For some reason I was reminded of this scene from Matilda. It's one of my favorite scenes of all time, the only thing missing is the end where the disciplinarian smashes the dish over the little tubby's head.

Or are we being duped? Are her weight issues also all part of the plan? Does she purposely struggle with her weight so she can better identify with lonely, sad women (and gay men)? I wouldn't be surprised if this really was the case but I don't believe Oprah would go through such a headache. She's already convinced white women she is their leader because white women love to root for the underdog (and they love free shit). And she's convinced black women she is their leader because she's succeeded in a white man's world. Not only succeeded, but straight pimped it. So Michelle Obama and any triflin' ass bitch standing in the way of Oprah (that includes you BET Bob Johnson):

You blocking the buffet line?

What is an Oprah dump like? Are they huge? Does she have to flush multiple times? Does the toilet water look like Goldschlager after she flushes? Think about it.

The Black Swan.

My thoughts on The Black Swan: When bitches be hungry bitches be going cray-cray. So bitches need to eat a burger before bitches do ballet.

You Got Me Twisted Oprah. Part 1.

Last night my buddy Josh told me a story that he had heard from a friend of ours that was told by this guy:

Could you imagine how John Beasley's life is? Everyone knows who he is but no one knows anything specific about him. He must get, "Man, weren't you in a bunch of movies?!?!" from all sorts of strangers all of the time.

I apologize to those who actually heard the story out of his mouth but it has been such an inspiration for me (to figure out my relationship with Oprah) that I have to share it. Mr. Beasley said that when he got casted alongside Oprah in Brewster Place, he told Oprah, "Look. This is a big deal for me so don't mess it up." Now I'm not sure this is exactly what he said but it's something along those lines. What I do know is this. Oprah replied, "NIGGA! You CRAZY?!?!" which is about the greatest thing I've ever heard in my entire life. The idea of a Hood Oprah blows my mind.

My relationship with Oprah has been a rollercoaster ride. Throughout grade school and high school I found myself constantly disgusted by her (when she was brought up in conversation, I don't want you to think I was sitting around all day thinking about her). I think most of my bitterness towards her was completely unfair and definitely unfounded. I admit that I always thought it was silly how people took her words as fact. And today I'm dumbfounded at how awesome she is at staying popular for such an extended period of time.

After a good hour (+/- a few hours) of discussing Oprah's life Josh and I came up with some really good ideas about our Oprah movie. Since we don't have any money and don't really know anything about Oprah we've managed to cut a few corners. We don't have to pay an actress to play "Gail" (or however she spells it) because I'm convinced she doesn't exist. Josh said he's seen a picture of her and I've heard her name thrown around but for some reason the only image that comes to mind when I hear the name is:

Sorry if it's racist to equate the name "Gail" to a random fat black lady that I love. And I do love Nell Carter. It's a weird coincidence that Oprah's middle name is Gail. I think Josh's theory that she was probably the first person who had a name Oprah could remember carries significant weight.

We also don't have to pay Stedman because I don't know what he looks like either. I mean, I have an idea but I refuse to Google either of them because the images in my mind of what these people look like are a lot funnier. For example when someone mentions "Stedman" I automatically think:

Eric mu-fuckin' Holder in the house yall.

So that takes care of the budget. Any scenes with Gail or Stedman will be Oprah talking to an off camera voice, which of course will be me. Problem(s) solved. Our biggest concern was finding an Oprah. We thought that holding an open call all across America would be our best option. We then realized that those open call auditions would be infinitely more entertaining than any movie we could ever make about Oprah's life. Plus, it is highly probable that Oprah is going to produce and direct a movie about her life which will undoubtedly be amazing (and the most badass "I'm Awesome" thing ever done by anyone in history) and hopefully star Meagan Good playing Oprah.

As for our open call. How many fat black gay guys do you think we'd get? How about women who have never acted before but simply have a "personal relationship" with Oprah? We could have them act out a serious Oprah, maybe a scene from The Color Purple or when Wendy's runs out of Spicy Chicken Nuggets. Or maybe a more light-hearted Oprah like when she's giving away cars and chocolates. Or maybe a dramatic Oprah like when she's crying on a random white guy's shoulder.

What are those tears really for Oprah? Are you happy about the first African-American President or are you sad that Obama beat you to it? And Jim White Guy. You better have sold that tear-soaked shirt.

Wait. How many fat WHITE gay guys would we get?

This is the woman I was actually thinking about when I thought of my mental image of Gail:

It's obviously Shirley Hemphill because I was a way bigger fan of What's Happening? than of Gimme a Break! Yea, I'm pretty sure that's racist. Sorry.

To Be Continued...


Credit to Hector H. for sharing this story. Well, for not killing me for stealing his story.

Missed Connections.

OK. Let me explain. First of all, yes this is definitely me. I was out the other night watching the Lebron vs. Cavs game and I stumbled into a conversation with a couple standing in front of me. (More like forced myself into a conversation.) Either way, we shared some laughs, had a few drinks, and I was on my way. The beginning of a very fun night.

But that is besides the point. What this missed connection really revealed to me was this: Kevin Butler is a fucking genius. (Kevin Butler was the kicker for the 1985 Super Bowl Champions Chicago Bears.) Mr. Butler is an annual guest at the "Invitational" at the country club I worked at for more than ten years. I actually ran into him before the tournament this past summer and made small talk to him about the weather (the only thing I really know how to talk about). I didn't caddie in his group but a few members of my caddie-family (yea I said it) had the luxury of spending the entire tournament listening to Mr. Butler's war stories. Apparently he's writing a book titled "From Butler to Cutler" which consists of the Bears' progression throughout the last 25 years and everyone who has worn #6. A caddie brother of mine asked Mr. Butler if he found out anything interesting about Jay Cutler while doing research for his book. Alright, now I don't want to go into too many more details about the conversation because I don't want to misquote anyone. (It's amazing I have this fear that Kevin Butler is sitting around in his underwear somewhere in the South reading "Play Pretty" and plotting an attack against me. But I really do fear that it could be happening.) Basically, Mr. Butler, very matter-of-factly, said that Jay Cutler wraps his mouth around a certain male body part on a regular basis. Now the question everyone asks, "How would he know this?" Let me just say that Mr. Butler was very adamant when he said, "Trust me!" (Which also makes everyone wonder if "From Butler to Cutler" is really the title of a new adult movie coming out.)

Butthead can kick the shit out of a football. And he can also give me something to talk about with strangers. He's the complete package.

I'm not really sure I believe the whole "Kevin 'B. Jay' Cutler conspiracy" (copyrighted). I like to think the story is completely untrue. I would be ecstatic if this whole thing was just a really really really funny and creative way for Kevin Butler to embarrass Jay Cutler without committing "slander" but also to promote his book. Think about how many people have heard this story and then told a friend. This thing has gone viral! On average, I tell 10 new people every single week about Butler's Cutler story. Look! There is a missed connection about me telling Butler's Cutler story. Think about how many people that work at the country club have told this story to friends/family/strangers. Thousands. Now think about how many golf outings Kevin Butler attends in a single year. What if every weird sports rumor was started by Kevin Butler? Does he come up with a new rumor every single time? How long as he been at this? Where did those rumors about Michael Jordan's gambling problem being the cause of his father's murder start? At a golf outing? Maybe a celebrity golf outing with all of Chicago's hero athletes? Where did all of the Tiger Woods rumors begin? KEVIN BUTLER WHERE WERE YOU THE DAY TIGER WOODS' LIFE WAS RUINED?! I bet you were at a golf outing.

Here's Jay really looking like a lesbian. I don't think that thought bubble should have $ signs. I think it would be a lot more accurate if it had something else.

I studied Advertising in college and I never came across anything so creative. This is easily the best way to carry out your own personal vendettas. I love you Kevin Butler. But not the way Cutler loves. I'm not passing out any sort of "Jobs" with my face anytime soon. Believe that.

Don't you spend enough time on your knees off the field? This is almost too easy.

Oh yea. What was I doing looking at missed connections? Well I hit on a girl from LA for over an hour yesterday at my job and when I was all drunk and lonely last night I decided to search for "Marty" in the craigslist search box. Just to see if maybe she posted something about me. She didn't. You judging me? You think I'm pathetic? Yea...so do I.

P.S. After much thought, I'm going to respond to this ad. But only in the most ridiculous of ways.

Running in the rain.

Ran in the rain yesterday. It didn't make me feel any better about myself even though the run was pretty impressive considering how windy and rainy it was. All it did was remind me how bald I am going to be in a few months.

Wow.

This is what the holidays are all about. Jesus Christ. My God. This is the corniest thing I've ever seen.

Like A Cholo.

Marty Rule: Don't trust anyone whose clothes fit perfectly. Never, ever. The reason I firmly believe this rule is because a person who spends all of their time and money on "fashion," probably doesn't invest much time in themselves. I really find it laughable when people think their latest outfit is some sort of crown that should be bowed down to. Read a goddamn book. And Vogue doesn't count. Not even as a picture book.

"Check out my hat yo, peep the way I wear it." I should let it be known that I was wearing big glasses before Jay-Z was cool e

nough to marry Beyo

nce

. On the real.

Anyways, I'm also a firm believer it's not always the clothes you wear, it's how you wear them. Now I'm not saying that everyone can get away with wearing R. Kelly's wardrobe. Shit, I don't think anyone but him can get away with some of the stuff he wears. But I am saying that confidence trumps all. Look at Larry David. The guy has a great sense of personal style, no matter how lame you think his clothes are. Also, he probably doesn't really care. Either way, if I want to wear my shirt like a Cholo, let me. I'm just doin' Marty right now. You just do you.

Amazing. Formula for success = Black+Handsome+Sings+Rich. Formula for working retail = Yellow/Brown+Little+Complains+Pretty Poor.

"I just really had to go."

Some model dick (male version of "model chick") was peepin' the way I rock my corduroy button-up. He'll be on board in no time. And that will be just another reason for me to hate him.

Da Art Of Storytellin'

I waited in line for an hour today to go to a storytelling event called The Moth just to see what sort of stories people think are awesome enough to tell to a room of complete strangers. I've always had this arrogant mindset that my friends are the true storytellers in most social situations. They are the ones that people huddle around at different parties while they share their wisdom and bits and pieces of their ridiculous lives. So I've often wondered, "Are they really that good? Or am I just a biased little kinda Asian man who really likes his friends stories? Do all people think their own friends are the coolest?" I assume so. But I'd take my team over yours any day of the week. Unless your team has Cedric the Entertainer or Shaq on it, then you win (and let's hang out).

Most of the stories were pretty entertaining. Every week there is a theme and this week's was Disaster. So of course I expected there to be a lot of diarrhea or puke stories (there were) or marriage/divorce/date stories (there were) and maybe a heartfelt emotional story (there was). The story-telling varied but for the most part people were a lot better than I thought they were going to be. I think the first step to winning over an audience is learning who your audience is and then catering to their interests. Since there were a lot of boring looking white people (I mean a lot, think Wilco concert audience members) you should first figure out what these people like. I just so happen to be an expert on boring white people. So here are a few quick topics that will automatically win most of the crowd over.

1) Anything that involves saving something from disaster, usually a colored (everything browner than white) person's life. Whether it's voting Democrat or volunteering your time at the homeless shelter, it'll win you some Good ol' White American points.

2) Anything that involves smoking weed (with other white people). C'mon. Boring white people either really like smoking weed or at least really liked smoking weed that one time in college. Either way, they love hearing and talking about it.

3) Anything that references old cheesy stereotypical white people movies. Think Audrey Hepburn. Talking about how you broke your VHS tape that had your copy of Friday on it which resulted in spending the rest of your summer listening to 2 Live Crew songs is going to fall on deaf ears. (This would be my story of choice.)

4) Anything Don Jovi. Trust me. They ate that shit up like it was a locally grown organic butternut squash. (Do you think a brown person in the whole wide world even knows such a thing exists? Well, if they do I'm sure they're buttering and mayonnaise-ing and cheesing that shit up so it's delicious!)

5) Use the word "fiancé."

Just think about all of the movies these people like. Start with The Blind Side.

The girl who won told a story I had no interest in. Here were her first two sentences: 1) I like to smoke weed. 2) And I love to ride bicycles.

She won before she even started.

- Marty

I typed in "fiancé" and this picture came up. This picture should be the theme for next week's storytelling event. My story: "Why we got sued when we had to use the girl from the catering company as a model because the actual model we were going to use in the photo shoot couldn't make it."

Bad Broads Networking.

I know I probably shouldn't listen to other people's conversations. Actually, why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't any of us? I hope the meaning of life is to continuously prove that you are better than everyone around you. Right? I sure hope so. A few days ago I overheard two model chicks talking. Now I should let you know that the extent of any conversation I've had with girls that are good looking enough to get paid for it, has been somewhat brief. Actually, it's not even a conversation. It's not even a sentence. It's not even a glance. It's not even...a thing that exists. So please understand my fascination with listening to what supermodels talk about. Oh yea, I should mention I'm talking about female supermodels. I just assume male models talk about hair gel and boning other male models.

So I was standing outside of a restaurant waiting for a friend when two models (very tall, very thin, and very pretty) came up and stood right next to me. They must have thought I was a bike stand or something. Anyways, I started to listen to their conversation. The first thing I heard was, "Well after dinner I have to go to the Upper East Side for a networking thing I'm..." That's the last thing I heard. A "networking thing." What the hell is going on in this world? When the hell does a supermodel have to network? Well I'm sure people say, "It's still hard work." Take my advice. If you really think modeling is HARD WORK. Take the business end of a dildo and pound it over your skull as many times as physically possible. Why a dildo? Because it's more degrading. Now I'm not saying it's easy to become a super successful model whose picture is all over billboards and magazines. Sure that is difficult. But the work involved, the actual modeling part, give me a goddamn dilly dang break.

Olivia Wilde is married to the son of a prince. How did you get there Mrs. Wilde? Was it at a speed-dating networking function? No. It's because you bad. You real bad.

Models networking. I thought the only networking models had to do was shut the fuck up and look real good. Seriously if models need to network what the hell kind of chance does a guy that looks and acts like me have? I can be as charming and witty (and bitter) as humanly possible but in the end, the really hot girl is always going to beat me. At just about everything besides a donut eating contest and an "I hate the world" contest. It'd be a photo finish in an "I have daddy issues" contest.

Bar Refaeli has got the hottest dude in the game wearin' her chain. That's right. Was Leo really captivated by the way you put sentences together? Did you have to talk a lot of bullshit about yourself to get him to notice you and give you his card? No. Look at that pose. When you got that pose in your repertoire...fuck a network.

So I think the only thing I've learned about supermodel conversation: They talk about a fantasy world.

That sounds about right.

I'm sure this little dude is going to help move this girl's life and career forward. Well, at least I know she's moving his life forward. Godspeed to puberty and lots of balled up Kleenxes!

P.S.

There are plenty more where that came from.