My last post about Kim Jong-il. (Maybe.)

Kim Jong-il probably thinking, "Not that big."

Over the past few years I've talked about how much I love Kim Jong-il. His love of Michael Jordan, his status of being the biggest buyer of Hennessy (what you rappers know bout that?), his bed made out of women (again, what you rappers know bout that?), his world record golf score (38 under par!), the fact that he invented the hamburger, and of course, his steeeeeeez! All these things made me love him. I aspired to be as cool as him. I mean he built a city just to be looked at. Gangster? Yessir!

But even though Kim Jong-il had the bitches (not the internet, they don't have the internet in North Korea) going nuts, and even though I'm still on the hunt for those sunglasses, I have to admit: He was a total fucking sonofabitch asshole. 

The saddest thing about Kim Jong-il's funeral procession was that people showed up. Some were probably forced to show up and some are probably so brainwashed they chose to show up either to upkeep appearances or because they actually think he's better than Tiger Woods (he's still good) at golf. Either way it's really devastating. 

I've often heard that you should never celebrate Death. I think that's bullshit. As I'm sure Wesley Snipes probably said in some movie, "Never say never." North Korea is a total fucking mess. When I think about it (and I often do) I really can't believe a place like it exists. How can we let a country exist that is filled with nothing but torture, agony, and delusions (sounds like my "About Me" on Facebook)? People are brainwashed and left for dead. I've read stories of labor camps where people are so desperate they have to eat the corn kernels out of logs of shit. Human logs of shit. I don't believe everything I read but when it comes to North Korea, I almost never doubt it. Why should we not celebrate Kim Jong-il's death? He was the cause of an undeniable amount of pain and suffering that will surely last a very long time. Him and his daddy killed Happiness in North Korea. That might be gangster, but it sure as hell ain't cool.

P.S. I wonder what Kim Jong-il wants in heaven (I don't believe in heaven). When you've had a bed made out of women in your actual life, I can imagine it's kind of hard to upgrade...

Maybe he asked for two beds made out of women. Or like a couch made out of women. Or like a recliner made out of women. Or like a toilet made out of women. Nevermind.

Steve Jobs.

I just got done reading Steve Jobs' biography. I swear if the shortest, fattest guy I've ever seen wasn't standing in front of me cheering me up by existing, I would have shed some tears.

I always thought Steve Jobs was a cool and interesting guy but I didn't really know much about him. I wasn't one to sit around and watch his new product launches, I never really read anything about him, and I was always taken aback by the sound of his voice. The passion, the drive, the intelligence, the excitement, the fascination, the artistry should not be ignored. He changed the world.

One thing that Walter Isaacson hammers into the reader's brain is that Steve Jobs made no compromises. He had a vision and tried everything in his power to make that vision a reality. No matter what. At times he would berate people and come off as an asshole. And I'm sure there are a million things about him that would have pissed me off if I was fortunate enough to meet him. I kept asking myself, did his genius give him the right to be an asshole? No. Probably not. But should he have apologized for it? No. Definitely not.

Almost everything that I've read about Steve Jobs the past few months has been more than insightful, more than inspiring, and more than meaningful. It's been life changing. That may sound dramatic. Good.

I'm not claiming to know anything about computers or technology just because I read some book and know how to use an iPod and a laptop. Or if the open hardware/software model that Windows follows is better and more useful than the closed Apple model. But I do know that the things Jobs created are fucking awesome. Nothing less.

When I first started writing this blog I was obsessed with the idea of being as perfect as possible. Is that childish? Maybe. So many people ask, "Well what the fuck does that mean?" I know what it means for me but I have no idea what it means for you. That's the way it should be. Even though many people say Steve Jobs was an asshole and a tyrant, I can't help but smile, knowing that he made no excuses for who he was. He was human. An awesome one. As perfect as it gets.

Happy Holidays!

I don't really ever ask for anything for the holidays. This year, I will. Appreciate the time you spend with your friends and family. I unwisely decided to skip the holidays this year (and last) to work and sit around by myself. No matter how much I enjoy being with my own thoughts, I've slowly come to realize that you should always appreciate the time you spend with the ones you love. Like everything in this life, it won't last forever.

I really hope this shit ain't too spicy. I never buy the nice toilet paper.

My dad (yes, my dad) decided to knit me a really colorful scarf. I love it. My brother finally couldn't take any more of my complaints about the food in NYC and sent me some Chicago giardiniera. Now I just need some Vienna hot dogs, Italian beefs, and badass pizza to put it on. (The United States Postal Service works just fine, wink wink.)

I wish all of you a Happy Holiday. Hopefully this upcoming year I'll get back to blogging with the vigor I had when 2011 started. Stay tuned and stay swell.

- Marty

Occupy Yosemite National Park.

It has been reported that Occupy Yosemite National Park is in full-effect. In a solidarity stand against Corporate America,  the protestors have decided to do even less until the economy is fixed before they go back to doing nothing. When asked what "doing less" means when you're already doing nothing, one protestor said, "We're spending even less of our own money. We're washing our hair less. We just give less of a fuck. I hate my DAD!" Their claims don't seem to make much sense. The apparent 12 year-old dreadlocks made it obvious that they never planned on washing their hair anyways, and their "hair" sure wasn't any "less" disgusting.

Where's a forest fire when you need one?

Not that there's anything wrong with it...

People have called me a Hater all of my life. In a way I guess they're right. I do hate a lot of things. Lazy people. Country Club members. Everything Australian. Onions in my potato salad. When a girl looks real good up front but when she walks by and you turn around to look at the bumper and it doesn't exist. Boston. The list goes on. Look around you. What is there to like? And why don't you hate more things? Maybe if we stopped applauding mediocrity and "occupying" and started putting passion and effort into things and started "slapping-the-shit-out-of" we'd have more things to be proud of. But right now. Here. I always have the Hate Meter turned on high.

So this new UNHATE program has caught my attention. I guess it's kind of hard to not notice a picture of Kim Jong-Il kissing some Chinese girl. What the actual point is, I'm not sure. I guess they're trying to get all of these Presidents (Gods in the case of Kim Jong-Il) to kiss and "UNHATE" each other. Then we'd all live in one big happy world where plums would be sugary sweet, kids would get the education they deserve, and every girl would have a nice butt. Ain't happening.

Kim Jong-Il don't play that. He's got a bed made out of women. No. Seriously. He has a bed made out of women. Living ones. With nice butts. (Don't take my word on the butts part.)

Of course I think Peace is a great thing. But I'll let you in on a little bit of a secret: Peace isn't Fun. Seriously. Think about all of the hillbillies on Jerry Springer. What if they all of a sudden stopped having sex with their uncles, or started paying child support, or stopped sucking their neighbors' bootyholes? What if they just sat on stage and complimented each other? Who the hell would watch that?

Not convinced? I guess I wouldn't be either. Is Jerry Springer even on anymore?

Think about this. Think about any great standup comedian you've seen. Are they ever talking about how great things are? I mean the great standup comedians. Not the guy with the puppets or that one white guy named Dane Cook. What if Chappelle were up on stage saying, "You know what. I UNHATE white people! I forgive them for talking down to me or trying to make money off of my social critique. And I forgive them for placing more money in their own school systems and not investing in every child's education. And I think it's innocent when they assume I'm going to order the chicken." I'm sure that would be a hit.

So this whole UNHATE thing might be a good marketing idea but it won't last. At least I hope it doesn't. If it did I'd never be able to converse again. My whole "thing" is based around the fact that I'm never satisfied and that I don't like anything. Not even myself. So if I all of a sudden had to compliment everything and everyone, I'd never open my mouth. No one would laugh and I wouldn't blame them. I think what's even scarier than complimenting others is the idea of me UNHATING myself. Look at me! How can you possibly UNHATE that?

Peace isn't Fun and it sure as hell isn't Funny. Plus. Barack Obama doesn't like Asian girls. He ain't no yellow-sexual.

Barack ain't kissing yellows. And he sure as hell ain't taking Kim Jong-Il's sloppy seconds.

Come and sit on Coach Pa's lap!

I have no patience for adults that abuse kids. Shoot them all. I ain't no fan of kiddy fiddlin'! So when I came across the news of Penn State's administration and football program's cover up, I almost had to go to the safe and pull out the AR-15 and start blasting on fools. (I don't really have an AR-15, I just know it's a gun because a lot of my favorite rappers say they have them. I doubt they actually do. I don't even think I could lift up an AR-15. And I also don't have a safe. Mostly because I don't have any money. What would I need one for? Unless safes are good at keeping Doritos fresh and making jerked-off-into-Kleenexes disappear, I don't need 'em.)

I bet this guy smells bad.

What's really depressing to me isn't that some fuckface named Sandusky was boppin' young boys in the backside, or the fact that Coach Paterno and his football staff made no attempt to bring these allegations to the forefront, or the fact that the university officials did nothing to bring this disgusting shit to a stop, it's the fact that people completely overlooked all of these things because their beloved senior citizen football coach eventually got canned. (And all of that other shit I mentioned is super depressing.)

Most of these idiots have gone to Penn State for 1 or 2 years. Why are you so pissed off that a guy that covered up child sexual abuse got fired? Are they all jealous that Coach Paterno and his coaching team of perverts didn't take showers with them?

Like always, the disgusting details and the things that should be the main concern get pushed aside while we watch fucking idiots complain about a football coach. Why are people more passionate about football tradition than they are about child rape? What the hell kind of values do people have these days?

I wonder if Joe Paterno is sitting in his huge house thinking, "I spent close to 50 years coaching players into being fine athletes and team players. 50 years building my legacy and it's all come crashing down because that fucking idiot likes to hold little boy penises in his mouth."

I bet he is. 

I bet he is more concerned with his legacy than he is with the truth. If he was too worried about his legacy and his image to report his pervert assistant coach's activities to law enforcement before, then he is probably still too desperate and pathetic to admit to himself that all along he was unbelievably wrong. Instead of trying to be the oldest sack of shit to coach a winning football team, he should have been pulling out the AR-15 and blasting on perverts. Instead he watched a disgusting pervert get away with it...from the sidelines.

He can now watch his legacy go down the drain with Sandusky's semen and a number of little boys' innocence. He might not be on the sidelines anymore but I'd say he's got the best seat in the house.

Podcast. Daddy Issues.

I'm afraid I've spread myself too thin the past few weeks/months. I feel guilty about it because even though I'm super busy doing things I enjoy, this blog is very important to me and it hasn't gotten the attention it deserves. This is me crying.

One of my fans really misses me.

My latest endeavor is a podcast I've created alongside my good friend Dan Johnson called "Daddy Issues." Originally we were going to work on writing shorts together (that may happen in the future) but figured it would take forever to get them made into videos that could be shared with a wide audience. We thought a podcast would be a great way for us to share our ideas and critiques on various things. That's a lie. We just really wanted to set up Skype dates where we could complain and giggle for an hour a week. So far so good. Dan and I used to live together in Urbana and would talk for hours on end about anything and everything. I probably took those hours for granted but I do remember thinking, "I wish more people could hear these ridiculous conversations." Now all of you can.

We're not really sure what direction this podcast is going to go in. We named it "Daddy Issues" because we believe most problems or dilemmas (or movies) come back to some sort of daddy issue. Seriously. Think about the last movie you saw, the last book you read, the last song you listened to. I bet someone in it hates their dad.

Because of all the yelling that all the dads do around the world, whether it's to get out of bed earlier, mow the lawn, or to get a real job (NEVER AL!), we've decided to handle it the best we know how: to complain. And complain we will.

Subscribe on iTunes.

Visit us on Tumblr.

One of my fans also decided to draw an inappropriate picture of one pug licking another pug's asshole. (Yes. They are pugs. They're just in their Halloween costumes. Duh!)

Enough is enough.

I should really just devote this blog to my encounters with rodents. Seriously, I feel like every week I'm posting something about some disgusting mouse or rat doing something beyond my comprehension.

Every morning I drink a cup of tea. Mostly to wake up, but also because I hear green tea is good for you. I obviously haven't seen any of the benefits (see my previous post about my eczema) but since I don't go to church I need to have faith in something. Plus I like the ritual. For a guy like me that does a lot of sitting around and complaining, I need something to keep me grounded. 

Why me?

So what does this mean? A big log of shit in my tea cup. Can't I have just one thing in this world? Who am I hurting by drinking a cup of tea in the morning? I noticed this piece of shit about 10 minutes ago (it's 11:20pm) and so now I'm wondering if I drank my morning tea with a piece of shit in it or if some mouse has brought psychological warfare to this ongoing confrontation. I would like to think that my slanty eyes would have picked up on it this morning but when you're as bitter as I am, the only thing you see in the morning is red. 

Just how and when did this little shit do this?

"_______ isn't really my cup of tea. Because I don't like big logs of shit in my tea." It's an overused but still funny joke. And that joke that you're laughing at, just so happens to be my life. Sigh.

Marty Answers His Fans (Critics)

In response to my Gauges post, Eva shares some of her thoughts.

Eva said...

You must really hate your dad for not going out his way in teaching you; to treat people with respect for their individuality and culture and lifestyle. Your dad raise you nice and right to be a giant asshole. Oh no, does that mean as an asshole someone might rape you as well?

Hello Eva! Thanks for reading Play Pretty! 

First off. I don't really hate my dad at all. I mean except for the obvious reasons: I'm short because of him, I'm part Filipino because of him (you know what that means), he's also a constant reminder of what I'll look like when I'm bald. So you see, most of these things are genetic and it'd be ridiculous of me to be mad at him because of SCIENCE. I ain't mad at him.

I also think my dad did a pretty good job at teaching me to be respectful to other people. I mean to be honest I don't really care about most people's "individuality" because I know one way or another, any lifestyle choices that promote one's "individuality" are justified to that specific Individual. That's fine. That's cool that you like wearing Ed Hardy t-shirts or dressing up in drag or clapping along to a Billy Joel concert (I see you white people). Please, keep on doing it. That's your choice and I respect the fact that you have a choice. I just don't like the choice you made and I'm going to make fun of you for it. 

Am I really a giant asshole? What if I'm just promoting my individuality (a bitter, lonely, cynical, jaded, upset-stomached Marty) by poking fun at things that I personally find funny? 

Or.

Are you really concerned that I'm actually a Giant Asshole? Like a villain in a weird horror movie. Blowing farts on people and suffocating little kids by falling on top of them.

Wait.

Are you concerned that since I'm a giant asshole I might get raped because you know of a serial asshole raper? Is there someone out there that only rapes assholes? I must say, that's a really specific target. If you're going to rape, why be so specific? (Please don't rape.) Do you get a lesser prison sentence if you get caught only raping assholes. Judge: "I sentence you to 25 years, but believe me, if you would have touched a vagina, mouth, or tree, you would be looking at a 30 year sentence MISTER!" And wouldn't that be ironic? Putting a guy (girl?) who only likes raping assholes in PRISON. That's like giving a hillbilly free Nascar tickets and telling him not to have fun. 

How about this. I'll yell at my dad for not making me happier (not really his fault) if you yell at your dad for not passing on a sense of humor. Just please, don't add to your gauges. After a certain point you have to stop blaming him and starting living life.

Either way. Thanks for your concern and thanks for reading.

Eva you are right. I can kinda see it. I do see a bit of an asshole.

- Marty

Pretty Ugly.

A few months ago when it started to get warm out I was ecstatic with the shape I was in. I was probably the lightest I've been since the beginning of college but way healthier. I was in awesome running shape and thought I'd be able to log some serious miles throughout the summer. Of course, all that good news had to come to an end. I got injured. 

After a couple months of sitting around and feeling sorry for myself I joined a gym and decided I'd try to keep the pounds off by lifting weights. I couldn't get into it. So as I waited for my knee to heal I sat back and watched my eczema get worse and my stomach grow.

As my skin got worse and worse, I completely gave up on staying in shape. My mind was only on one thing: Scratch where it itches. And it itched everywhere. 

On my hands.

On my feet.

On my arms.

On my neck.

On my face.

On the back of my legs.

After a few days of oral steroids and a steroid ointment my skin was unbelievably beautiful. I'm serious. It was the most beautiful it's ever been on my whole life. Not only did I start eating healthier because of it, I started focusing more on my running. I started to read about minimal running shoes and how they might benefit someone who has knee issues. I was ecstatic to get back out there with my new pair of New Balance Minimus Road shoes. And after the first few runs even though I was unable to walk because of how sore my calves were, I was riding (running?) high. I felt as good as ever.

That was until my skin went back to being totally lame just 3 days after I was taken off the oral steroid. Afraid to use the steroid ointment, because of it's side effects (thins skin, creates permanent stretch marks), I invested in vitamins and Doritos. I was depressed again and not in the mood to fight. Especially since I was back to sitting around feeling sorry for myself and looking at this everyday...

Rub it for good luck.

I think I gained 10-15 pounds in a month. Not kidding. Not playing pretty at all.

Currently, my skin is a bit better but still sucks. I'm back to running and hoping that an all around healthier lifestyle will help me recover. I went for an 8 mile (shout out to Eminem) run a few days ago and came home with this. So now I have something completely new to be depressed about and disgusted with.

I'm not talking about my foot. I'm talking about this...

He had slicked back hair like Michael Douglas. Even this guy couldn't take living in this apartment anymore.

It's a photo shoot.

Warp Magazine.

If you know anything about me, you know I like spending every single dime I have (and don't have) on clothes. It's pathetic. I know. But look where it has gotten me!

I think the title says: "These losers need to do something besides touch boners and play Dress Up. " I refuse.

As you can see I'm #2. Even though the numbers are completely arbitrary, I'm still happy I'm better than the 30 people who were shot for this feature. And I'm also happy that I lost to a black guy. They are the best!

The main focus was supposed to be on bags. Since the bag I own is a complete piece of shit, I borrowed one from the store I work at. You know what else I borrowed? Pretty much everything I'm wearing besides the pants and socks (and eczema). If you think the look is weird and stupid, that's fine. With a bit of help from my friend Levan, we picked out some clothes that are very much me and very much different. That White Mountaineering blazer is my favorite piece in our entire store. If only I had $1000 to buy it.

Yes, my eyes are actually open.

On the day of the shoot my eczema was out of control. I'm glad they didn't use any of the closeups they got of me. They took one of my watch and the cuff details and behind it there was a freshly scratched patch of eczema that was bleeding. YUMMY!!!!! I have to thank the team of Japanese dudes who probably spent hours photoshopping all of the bleeding scabs and peeling skin out. Job well done.

So now a bunch of Japanese people have seen me. Cool. I made it. As the great Gucci Mane says...

When' i'm with my broad
It's a photo shoot
When i hit the mall(mall, mall)
It's a photo shoot
When i'm in da club
It's a photo shoot
Gone get yo camera phone on
It's a photo shoot (yeahhhh...)
It's a photo shoot (girl!)
It's a photo shoot (girl)
It's a photo shoot (girl)
It's a photo shoot (girl)
When i'm wit yo girl every
time it's a photo shoot
Gone get yo camera phone on
it's a photo shoot

And again, if you think the look is stupid and weird, awesome. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Occupying Wall Street but doing little else.

Yesterday, while on my break at work, I heard loud cheers and chants quickly approaching so I immediately gathered my things and began to head back to the store. I didn't know where it was coming from but screaming people in mass numbers was not something I wanted to be in the middle of during my quiet time. A crowd of people (hundreds? estimating isn't one of my super powers) about a block away were cheering and chanting and making their way towards me. It became apparent that this was the Occupy Wall Street thing that I had read about, watched on television, and had been invited to.

When I first heard about Occupy Wall Street I completely disregarded it. I knew what to expect. Crust punks, hippies (same thing?), and a bunch of losers trying (and probably succeeding) to get laid. And when images started making their way on the news, I had discovered I was right on the money (not that these people have any, but I'm sure their daddies do). Not only did I know what these people looked like, I knew that they really didn't have any idea what they were doing. That became apparent when they tried to make their cause more of an Us. vs The Police sort of thing because some stupid ass police officer thought it would be a good idea to mace an innocent woman. That's why it's ludicrous (at least for now and probably forever) to compare this "protest" to the Arab Spring. I don't remember reading about an outrage because one bystander got sprayed in the eyes with something (that wasn't a bullet). No. Those were revolutions with people FIGHTING for their cause. And that's also a key difference between this circus going on around Wall Street and the Arab Spring: Occupy Wall Street doesn't have a cause. Unless that cause is sitting around playing Alanis Morissette on your kazoo. Because if that's the case. You win. Go home. Take a fucking shower. And forgive your dad.

After hours of talking shit and sighing, Josh and I decided to stop by Zuccotti Park to see if anything serious was going on. We got off the train at Broadway and Wall Street and started to walk. Like an asshole and an idiot, I figured that there would be hundreds of people in the Financial District walking around screaming their beliefs (and part of me hoped I would see at least one businessman lit on fire). Instead we ran into a bunch of Chinese people taking picture of that famous bull. After walking past the New York Stock Exchange and up and down Wall Street we took a few turns to figure out what was going on. Where the hell was this protest taking place if it wasn't all throughout the streets? We continued walking until we came up to what looked like a park and a large group of people. We finally found it. As we got closer I started to realize that the people didn't look anything like I had guessed they would. They looked happy, they looked curious, they looked well-rested, they looked kinda old, and, yes, they looked like tourists. They were tourists. And that large group of people was in a line to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

As I became more and more anxious and angry that this so-called protest was nowhere to be found I asked a street vendor if he could help us out.

"Where is the big protest that's supposed to be going on?"
"What protest?"
"Occupy Wall Street. A bunch of people who hate their fathers and who never desired to have a job in the first place have gotten together and decided to blame the corporations for their problems. Where is it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."

There was our answer.

When we finally found Zuccotti Park (it was a block away from train we got off at) and the gathering of protestors, it was exactly what I had expected. A few people dancing. Some white guy playing the guitar. And a whole bunch of stank. As Josh and I walked through the mess I couldn't help but think, "These are the people who are effected by the economy? These are the people we should be fighting for? That can't be right." Then it all made sense. These people are mad because the people they usually mooch off of are out of jobs. SO IT DOES EFFECT THEM! The compassionate people who actually feel sorry for these idiots aren't the wealthy businessmen who don't give a dime to anyone, they're the middle class who know what it's like to struggle.

I'm being unfair. I know.

I know the media has portrayed this whole thing out to be a bunch of hippies dancing and singing. I know that there are a good amount of good and decent people out there protesting. People who are actually struggling, who actually want a job but can't seem to find one because it was shipped overseas or simply cutout. When we continued walking we saw union workers protesting and that brought a smile to my face. These are the people who we should be fighting for. The ones that actually contribute. We should be just as pissed off at the dreaded, stinky do-nothings as we are at the greedy corporate businessmen. Because in the end aren't they both greedy, worthless, and taking up precious space?

I think the reason I'm so mad is because all of these assholes are occupying ACTUAL homeless people's sleeping spaces. If I was homeless I would definitely float around this area all night trying to teach the wannabe homeless women how to get STANKY!

Yesterday, as I watched the mass of people pass my job, I felt a small sense of pride. There were people of all colors (Go Team Yellow!), ages, and styles marching and making a bunch of noise for a better society. For all the assholes that were crusting up the crowd, there were more decent people, screaming passionately about what they believe in. So as a few women with smiles on their faces tried to convince me to join them, I gave them the thumbs up and smiled. "I have to get back to work."

If we're going to punish worthless people, we shouldn't stop at businessmen. We should punish all of them. I'm hopeful Occupy Wall Street turns into something huge. I wish it would turn into a revolution of both thought and action. But I'm skeptical. If we're going to sit around and let a bunch of dirty bearded idiots represent us (the unemployed, the underemployed, and the rest of the contributors to society) then I can't see any of this amounting to any significant change. How are we going to fight billionaires if we can't even fight guys who haven't cut their toenails in a year? It's time to stop Occupying and time to start Fighting.

Let's crack some skulls.

And for you pieces of shit that haven't had a job and have had no desire to have a job, stop complaining about the CEOs that have stolen your freedom. We all know that you're only mad because they're your fathers and they made you play catch one too many times growing up. Keep it up. If you don't shut your useless faces I'm going to start cracking these CEOs' skulls for a whole new reason. For not sending you bitches to your room. We all know that's where you belong.

1 year in NYC.

I got one year under my belt so I guess I'm halfway there. Just kidding, I hope I'm in this piece of shit city for longer than 2 years but who knows, maybe something great will happen. Just kidding. We all know great things don't happen to people like me. People like me = Complaining Dickfaces.

Couple of my best buds in town visiting me.

A lot has happened this year. I've spent a bunch of money on living (but more on clothes). I've tricked a pretty cool girl with a big butt into thinking I'm a cool guy. I've had a piece of shit job that I hated which was run by a buncha greedy sonsabitches. I have a job that I really enjoy run by people who are genuinely kind and good and intelligent. I've seen a Rat Tail. I've gotten robbed. I've been visited by a number of people including my dad (who has never been to New York). I've made a ton of new "friends." I've fallen in love with about a million women (and maybe a couple of dudes) who I've never talked to. I've seen black dudes dressed in a full Samurai suit. I see at least one woman crying a day (that's not an exaggeration, there are some sad bitches in this town). I've lived through a Hurricane. I've had a Missed Connection (I swear I didn't write it). I've seen and spoken to a bunch of celebrities (I miss you St. Vincent, I really do). I've been made fun of because of my accent. I've made fun of New York accents. I've made of New York and New Yorkers. Actually that's pretty much all I've done. So is it a wasted year? Of course not. It's why I moved here.

More of my best buds visiting me. Love the shirts guys!

One year in New York City and all of this. I'd say it's been a pretty good year.

Fuck. I just remembered. I now look like this.

Sup ladies?

Big Teef Swag.

That may look like a cupcake on her cheek. But that's how many cupcake lookin' mugzzzzz Ariel has capped. Ya dig?

Where have I been? Me and Ariel have been talking about our next moves, where we're gonna take this swag. Most importantly where we're going to take our BIG TEEF SWAGG!!!! All ya'll bitches wish you knew a thing about BTS!

Joe Garrity and Caddying.

Joe Garrity is the winner. He just beat the shit out of a dude while wearing running shoes. 

I've mentioned my life as a caddie on here multiple times. I've actively tried to repress as many of those memories as possible because of all of the torment and anguish that comes with thinking about how many hours of my life were wasted away on the golf course. This past summer was the only summer I didn't caddie in almost 12 years and I don't think I missed it very much. When I talk to some of my old caddie buddies I cringe at their complaining because the pain is all too familiar. I thank god I'm not them.

I got an e-mail a few days ago from a good friend of mine and a longtime caddie who plans to do what almost every single one of us has said at some point in the past 10+ years. Joe Garrity has decided to write a book. And I couldn't be more excited. 

For years, hundreds of caddies came through "our" country club but only 10-15 of us stayed and suffered. The others were smart to get out quickly. But the ones that stayed...we've lived and we've seen some wild shit. We had seen kids hospitalized after falling off the back of golf carts, we had seen kids pop their retainers out of their mouths to take titty shots (Tom, you had to be the luckiest 13 year-old on the northwest side of Chicago), and we had also seen cop killers on the run get arrested in the pro shop. And we made a shitload of money doing it. 

He was kind enough to send me a short sample of what he wrote and I'm unbelievably impressed at how well he captures the bitterness we've all grown so used to. I found myself laughing while asking, "Why the hell did we do this to ourselves?" 

Please take a minute to read it...

The Invitational tournament is the most miserable three days of the summer for a caddy, but the money draws us like moths to a flame. For three days, caddies endure the grueling heat of late July in the hopes of landing a high paying loop, partially for the money and partially for the chance to throw it in other caddies' faces. Hundreds of affluent golfers flood the golf course, packing the parking lot with bewildered guests. There they stand, looking around helplessly, weighed down by massive bags with collectible tags from every golf course they have ever been to. Why they don't just cut the shit and wear their salary on their foreheads is beyond me.

"How do I get to the driving range?"
"Follow the signs, sir."
"Where did my clubs go?"
"We put them on a cart, sir, just like we said we would when we took them."
"Hey kid, is there a bathroom around here?"
"We have bathrooms inside, sir." 

You slowly realize how helpless these full grown men truly are without underlings to hold their hand for even the most basic tasks. The fourth time a fifty something year old CEO gets out of his Cadillac and immediately asks you where the bathrooms are, you're not sure whether he expects there to be a stall in the middle of the parking lot or you to have a spare bedpan on hand. By this point, your response is so heavy with malicious sarcasm that you're surprised it doesn't put a hole in the asphalt between you for the idiot to piss in.

"Generally our bathrooms tend to be indoors, our club is old fashioned like that, but they may have moved them outside for the tournament."

The man is so used to being taken seriously and being catered to that he looks around expectantly.

"Eat the rich!" screams a voice in the back of your head as you watch him become confused again and revert back to helplessness.

"The bathrooms are inside, sir."

I wonder if he'll know what to do when he gets there.

He's off to a great start. I can't wait to read more and I hope I somehow can help him out. 

Hey Joe. "Don't forget to tend the flag when you're pulling the pin." But this time make sure the pin you're pulling is the one of a grenade. Blow that motherfucker up. I'm rooting for you.

Fashion Week.

Fashion week is about to wrap up here soon and I couldn't be happier. The store I work at threw a party and although things went smoothly and it wasn't too much of a headache, I was extremely glad to get it over with. During the past few weeks I've noticed how disgusting most models are. Seriously. The only models that are hot, are the ones that are so extremely good looking I can't even figure out what race they are. I saw this one on the train that looked like Pocahontas. (She even had a flower in her hair and I'm pretty sure she sang me "Colors of The Wind" but that could have just been in my head.) All the other models have no sort of shape (how am I supposed to cry on all that skin and bones?) and aren't really all that pretty. They're just tall. And of course that makes me mad.

During Fashion's Night Out you really get a good sense of why America is in sharp decline. I know it's just a small portion of America that partakes in the foolery of this week's events but even that little slice of horseshit is overwhelming and depressing. I would post pictures of these idiots but I don't want them plaguing my boards. So click here if you want to have an idea of what it was like.

I'm not sure these Banksy tags are legit but they are appropriate. With all the grown little kids running around in SoHo chasing celebrities and free drinks, it's good to see someone still having some good ol' fashion fun.

Barbara Bush is a fashion victim and an asshole. She fits right in with this Fashion Week crowd.

Big Daddy Food.

In grade school I rode a big yellow school bus and I had multiple awesome bus drivers. They were all named Melvin. Seriously. I had about 4 different bus drivers and they all claimed they were named Melvin. I don't want kind of crazy fucking conspiracy the yellow bus drivers of the world have going on but it continues to puzzle me.

One of the Melvins went by "Big Daddy." He was the best. The breaks failed on the bus one day and he somehow managed to get it to stop with no fuss at all. I mean he hit a parked car but everyone was safe. To calm everyone down he put on WGCI (the rap station in Chicago). I had never seen 3rd graders percolate and make IT clap. I didn't know it was possible. But it was (is) and I saw it. A 12 year-old Marty learned a lot that day. When a girl refused to share her bag of Hot Cheetos with us, Big Daddy got on the intercom, yelled at her, and made her bring the chips to the front of the bus. Big Daddy was big and hungry so I wouldn't have held it against him if he would have downed the chips. But Big Daddy was big into HONESTY and being FAIR. So he passed out the chips little by little to the kids who wanted them. It was incredible. But what really impressed me was that when the girl started turning it up on him and came out with some verbal abuse he got on the loud speaker again. This time he wasn't so nice. "Sit yourself down and shut your mouth! This ain't no gangbangin' bus! This is a SIT DOWN AND LEARN BUS! Good thing I was sitting down, because he swept me off of my feet that day.

Why must we have 5 meals in 1?

I saw the ad for the Mac 'n Cheese Big Daddy Patty Melt at the gym. That really should be illegal. People trying to work off some of the bullshit they consumed during the day, only to be reminded that they're weak and going to cave to temptation soon. How are we not supposed to fall victim to temptation when it comes as a Frisco Melt topped with Mac 'n Cheese. I think I would have been able to fight off the hookers in Jesus' time but if somebody would have laid this at my feet and said, "You're not allowed to eat this." I woulda given an eye roll and the jerk off hand pump and feasted my way into diarrhea and Hell. 

 Big Daddy only wore Big Daddy shirts. I feel like you'd have to wear a shirt like this when eating the Big Daddy melt.

Big Daddy was a great guy. I'm kind of sad they named a totally fucking disgusting sandwich after him. I guess there some sort of metaphor in that sandwich but I can't find it. Probably because there is Mac 'n fucking Cheese on it. I can't see through the grease and the bullshit.

Terrorize the terrorists.

Well the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks came and went. I didn't partake in any "festivities." I didn't listen to or watch any of the memorial broadcasts. I didn't see the point.

I never understood the need to make a tragedy like 9/11 a TV spectacle. It was almost as if people were celebrating the events. Just because that thing on TV didn't have floats, doesn't mean it wasn't a parade. I guess the TV networks made money off of it. Exploiting innocence and a tragic event, that's terrorism.

All I did today was work and eat dinner with my lady friend. We had UNO's deep dish pizza which was pretty good but nothing compared to Lou Malnati's. We also had Freedom Fries and a chocolate chip cookie with ice cream on it. So I guess we celebrated our freedom by getting nice and fat (and probably diarrhea in my case).

I don't know what you're supposed to do on days like this. A friend told me he saw people watching the memorial on TV and crying while running on the treadmill and "goofing" (I don't have a better name for that movement) on the elliptical. Go home and do that shit. Seriously. You're not working out and you're not on stage. If you want to reflect and cry your eyes out that's completely fine. But don't make a show out of it. That's some real Canadian-type shit. Americans don't cry in public! We stunt. And we stunt hard.

Easily the most beautiful pair of shoes I've ever bought. So far.

So that's why I bought these babies. The best way to promote freedom and prove you will not live your life in fear is to strap on a beautiful pair of shoes and walk the streets with confidence. Actually, I don't think that's a way to promote freedom, I think it's just a way to go in debt. Either way, go out and kick a motherfucker in the head. Just kidding. Don't do that. It'll mess up your shoes.

If you've ever seen a terrorist's feet you'd probably be able to guess why they're so pissed off all the time. Think about it. Al Qaeda walk around in sandals. Could you imagine the tan-lines? The fungi? The terrorist foot which is athlete's foot for people who only exercise on jungle gym's (you ever see those terrorist videos?) I just imagine Osama Bin Laden pacing back and forth yelling. "How am I supposed to get pussy with feet like these?"

Not sure these are Bin Laden's feet. I know he's dead but these could have been taken during his trip to Disney World a few years ago.

Actually we all know the real terrorist is George W. Bush. And he's not walking around in disgusting sandals. He's walking around in something else: His daddy's shoes. Let freedom ring.

That's me in my beautiful shoes at Ground Zero. 

Where do I even begin?

From The Sartorialist

I don't know these people. I can't say they're bad. I can't say they're worthless. I can't say they're evil. I can't. But I can ask, "How the hell did this happen?" What is this? Seriously. I'm almost speechless. I don't even know where to begin.

When I walk around New York and see people that look like this (there are many) I always wonder what kind of things they think about. I'm sure it doesn't stray too far from "Fall/Winter" or "Spring/Summer" or "Ready To Wear" or...I don't know too many fashion terms. But what are their views on other things? For example, what does that thing on the right think about global warming? Seriously. I'm not convinced they think, "I don't care about the Polar Bears or people that live below sea-level." I'm convinced they don't even know what global warming is. And not in a, "It's out of my control so I don't worry about it"-sort of way. But more like, "What in the world is a 'global'?"

Looking at them, I can't imagine that any HUMAN thought actually exists in those shaved/gelled/oddly-shaped heads of theirs. What is the conversation taking place during this picture? Is the thing on the left saying...

My goodness. I just spent a serious twenty minutes trying to think of a conversation that could be taking place between these two and I came up 100% completely empty. I couldn't even come up with a pretend shit-talking conversation that seemed worth it. All I could think of is, "The Hip Bone's connected to the...?" But that doesn't even work because I'm sure these two have never even heard the Bone song (nor have they ever heard of a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony song like "1st of Tha Month").

I think the thing that bothers me most about this picture is their expressions. They look so serious. Especially the one on the right. What kind of lashing does it give to its hairstylist (it's definitely not a hair"dresser") when there aren't enough bald patches?

I'm sure you know I can go on for hours about this picture. But I won't. And if you think it's because I'm done judging them, you're absolutely wrong. Why would I stop? Sure, they might not be bad people with shitty morals and terrible attitudes but why should I even even give them the chance? What are they contributing to society's happiness? Well, I guess I did laugh a bunch looking at this.

I'd love to get their Super Bowl predictions.

In an ideal world I'd have the perfect job for these people. (Actually in an ideal world, these people wouldn't exist.) I think it would be amazing to have these people visit third world countries. Any of them. Not to shed some light on the horrible situations that are taking place in these lands, I'm not trying to be Jesus (the son of God, not the landscaper). But to provide laughter and curiosity for the children of these suffering countries. Could you imagine? If these two things walked into a village, looking like they do now, things would get crazy.

Could you imagine the giggles (and probably cries) that would come out of this group?

Now that I think about it, it might not be the best idea. For some reason I don't think many of these children would find it very entertaining. They'd probably point fingers and giggle if they saw a person like me (I'd be used to it) so if they saw people that looked like this they might be forever ruined with horrible nightmares and terrible tales of aliens. I don't want to add that to the grocery list of problems they already have. Actually "grocery" list is probably a terrible term to use because lord knows most of these kids aren't getting anything close to "groceries."

How do these two worlds exist? There are billions of people in the world, all with their own hearts and own minds seeking their own desires, but I can't even hypothetically relate to these people. I couldn't even invent a conversation between the two. That worries me. Because if things get so abstract that I can't identify any human qualities in them, where does that leave me? Unable to talk any kind of shit. 

So, like that little kid, I guess I can just stand there with my hands crossed and a nervous smile on my face, wondering what is going on and hoping all of this silliness will be over soon.