I know I'm always talking about the "ideal" world. Sorry. But in an ideal world GE wouldn't sell a single one of these things. I guess in an ideal world people wouldn't still be living under a Prince and a Princess. And if they were, they sure as hell wouldn't be waking up at 4am to watch the wedding on TV. Seriously, this is almost too much. Who would ever want a huge ass refrigerator with a huge ass picture of the Royal couple covering the entire thing? I mean I know hillbillies love to have the latest appliances and love digging themselves into deeper credit card debt but I would like to think even they wouldn't want this. Do you really need to keep Doritos, chewing tobacco, and shitty beer cold? Actually, what am I thinking, of course they need a refrigerator. They wouldn't want all those TV dinners and Hot Pockets going to waste.
Credit to Todd Johnson for finding this. You hillbilly bitch.
There are indeed some cool white people out there after all. That one dude with the winter hat on has no idea when to start fake rapping. Just watch him. Enjoy.
I just posted the video of Mr. Potato Body Dougie'n all over that motherfucker. I mean he Dougie'd on the floor, lying down, with the Glade PlugIn by his head! If that isn't revolutionary then I don't know what is. While my roommate Josh was watching the video he said, "Look at how happy he is." That's right, look at him. He's as happy as can be. And look at what he's working with. That dude is Playing Pretty As Can Be!
Now I know I do my fair amount of bitching and complaining. Actually I do way more than a "fair" amount of bitching and complaining. Is it because I'm unhappy? Sure. That's part of it. But do I sit around and feel sorry for myself? No way. (That's a lie.) I at least try not to. I'm usually just fed up. And that's why I complain. I'm not claiming to have a life full of serious problems (health (fucking eczema), financial (well I guess I am rather poor and in debt), or erectile dysfunction (you can chip a goddamn tooth on that thing)) but I am constantly bothered. You know why? It's as simple as this. People are the worst. And I love hating them. I truly love it. Am I hater? I mean, if a "hater" is someone who cannot stand ignorance and dishonesty and hillbillies, then right on. Call me what you will. But I don't hate for the sake of hating. Just like I don't act like an asshole just for the sake of acting like an asshole. (Sometimes.) I act like an "asshole" because I'm trying to make you become less of an asshole. That's an asshole thing to say. I'm an asshole even for assuming that I'm somehow less of an asshole than you. But it's fun. And it's funny. So don't mind me. Just let me do my own version of the Dougie. I may not be able to Dougie while laying on the floor, but I can do a mean ass Dougie on the toilet (I don't mean an Ass Dougie, that would be weird). Don't believe me? Text me and I'll invite you over. But after I bust that ass it's your job to clean up the mess.
Sometimes I don't even know what I'm talking about. It's a good thing this guy does.
An Ass Dougie. It always comes back to finding a little brown girl with a big butt.
I've been getting my Hitchcock on. That means I've been watching some films directed by Alfred Hitchcock. They are really incredible. So all of you losers out there posting YouTube videos daily and using Magic Bullet to make your shitty short films look cool, get real. Start putting thought into the things you're making. I am constantly surprised (even though I shouldn't be) how much time and money people put into mediocre ideas. I'm certain that much of it stems from dishonesty and the pursuit of recognition. Does the world really need another movie of you dancing to the latest shitty rap song?
The answer to that question is YESSSSSSIRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A few weeks ago I was looking up phobias to see what was out there and to make a checklist of the ones I have. I won't bore you with my usual, "Fear of having to talk to people" or "Fear of not finding a somewhat clean STD-free toilet to use" or "The catalyst that causes pretty girls to Fear me" which isn't really a phobia, it's just really depressing. You can pretty much guess which phobias I think I have. If you haven't ever looked up the phobias that many people suffer from you really need to search the world wide web and educate yourself because some of them are really amazing. I remember that one girl Frankie (R.I.P.) on The Real World was afraid of large metal objects (it's a constant struggle to not make a robot dick joke). She'd be terrified terrified when large ships would float on by and she couldn't face skyscrapers. At the time I remember thinking it was totally amazing. That was until I read about Urophobia. The Fear Of Urine. (Good name for a horror flick?)
It's hard for me to imagine a person being afraid of urine. Do they piss running backwards screaming "AH!!!!!!!!"? What a mess that would be! I'm not trying to say that it's stupid or the people that suffer from urophobia are morons, I'm just trying to say that it's an extremely weird thing to think about. The mind that can't handle the sight of urine or urinating is a mind that has some serious issues. And I hope they aren't daddy-related.
The thing that bothers me isn't the fact that Urophobia exists. it's the fact that there is some parent out there that has to shell out money for an expert to psychoanalyze their child into figuring out why they are afraid of pee. I don't think people should go around shouting with excitement every time they take a piss but I also don't think they should ball up in the corner and cry (my usual Friday/Saturday night) every time they have to use the potty. Could you imagine being a parent trying to explain it to other parents?
"So what kind of extracurriculars is little Bobby into?" "Well he loves comic books, and we just signed him up for piano and ice hockey but I also have to send him to the treatment center." "OH NO! Is everything alright?" "Yeah for the most part. The kid just really hates pee. Can't stand it." "?" "Yeah it looks like community college for him. No way an Ivy League school is going to accept a kid that doesn't know how to pee like a man."
And it's not just exclusive to children. Adults suffer from Urophobia too. I have a hard enough time going to the doctor and answering their questions. I couldn't even imagine having to tell them that I was afraid of peeing. And c'mon, real gangsters aren't going to let pee get in the way of popping bottles and straight stuntin'. Could you imagine a gangster that was afraid of pissing? I'd like to think it doesn't exist.
You know why I don't believe gangsters with pissing problems exist?
"I pee this big on owwww da bitchez."
And I'd assume that this phobia is more common with men because we have to see our pee on the way out. Women can just ignore it.
Yesterday at work a customer prefaced his shopping question with, "Hello, Happy Easter! Can you..." I stopped him mid-question and replied, "Yeah whatever." His face changed from Easter Egg Yellow (he was Asian) to Easter Egg Pink instantaneously, obviously offended by my response. He asked, "Not a big Easter fan?" I replied, "I just don't celebrate any of that nonsense. And honestly I think some people would be offended. And they should be." Now don't get me wrong, I knew who I was dealing with. He was very obviously one of those guys that no matter what I would say to him he would apologize and listen to me and then go home and pray for me and my soul. (Should be praying for my baby-making life.) So I wasn't hesitant to respond and I wasn't trying to be malicious. We carried on and I helped him with his Easter shopping dilemma (what better way to celebrate Jesus waking up from an epic nap than buying a bullshit suit that's made in China) and everything was fine.
But seriously. Why do people just go around assuming that everyone else is Christian and believes in fairytales? If you celebrate these holidays, that's cool. Keep that shit to yourself. If you don't think it's a bullshit assumption then you're an idiot. How is it any different than going up to any Asian person you meet to ask, "Where do you think I could get some good Chinese food around here?" Or a black person, "Where can I get some good fried chicken and Jordan's around here?" Or a white person, "Where is the nearest Whole Foods?" Or a Puerto Rican/Dominican, "Where da big butt'd bitches at?" (In Spanish of course, and they'd actually probably know. Actually all of these groups of people would probably be able to answer these questions.)
Sure I was being an asshole by giving the guy a hard time. But I think more people should. Don't assume that people give a shit about your beliefs. I'm not saying don't assume, shit, I assume all the time. I assume that everyone is an asshole. A selfish, lazy, piece of shit, good for nothing waste of space. (Which reminds me...I need to update my resume. And the "About Me" on Facebook.) But do I think people actually care what I think of them? Not for a second. If they did take my thoughts to heart, do you think they would be so willing to wish people a "Happy Easter"?
I should point out that I'm not offended at all by being wished a "Happy Easter." I don't really give a shit. But I do love making people squirm. And I don't really care for Easter. A magical bunny drops off multi-colored eggs (almost said "colored" eggs which would have been racist) for all the kids to enjoy. What's so special about that? Is Jesus supposed to be the bunny? I don't get it. Bunnies are super fertile. Is it because Jesus liked loose women? Is that offensive? Remember Mary Magdalene? She was the first person to see Jesus when he rose from the [nap]. (No seriously, the guy listens to degenerates' nonstop bitching and has to carry some big ass hunk of wood all throughout the town and up a hill and people are surprised that he slept for like 3 days? I sleep for 3 days when I masturbate twice in the same day. So in comparison, Jesus is a much stronger person.) Why eggs? Are we comparing GOD'S RESURRECTION to an egg hatching? I guess I have to respect the creativity but that shit is ridiculously unimpressive. A bunny passing out eggs. What foolery.
Unless it was the Playboy bunnies. Then that shit would just be the most Heavenly Breakfast In Bed.
My relationship with kids is complicated. Whoa. Don't get ahead of yourself there. I mean my actual relationship with kids. Not the middle school girls I pretend to be attracted to. I'm not. Trust me. Seriously, please trust me. I'm just kidding when I say all of those dirty old man jokes. Maybe.
I'm getting to that age where the stupid (happier?) people in my life are starting to talk about marriage and eventually having kids. Of course that isn't me. You need a date before you can have kids (George Costanza). I'm not sure I even want kids. I think it's weird enough that my brother has a child. You never really imagine that a person who shared the same upbringing as you would ever have to raise a child of their own. At least I didn't for some reason. When my brother was 26 he already had a little kid to worry about. He had a child, I had (have) rats (and eczema, never forget that damn eczema). So when I've watched my brother raise his daughter I've found myself wondering what she'll become. Of course I hope she'll be great. I already know she's going to be really talkative and probably a complete pain in the ass. And that makes me smile.
The other day I got a photo message from my brother that has had me completely puzzled.
"From Ariel."
She seems to have prepared a breakfast for me. She's 6 (5? I told you I'm a terrible person). But It's only one egg. And yes it's fake. Don't judge her! She's fucking 5 (6?)! How dare you? Do you think we'd actually let her get close to a stove to cook up an egg? And do you think she's taking orders? My brother sitting on the couch, drinking a beer at 7 AM yelling, "Yo Ariel, that shit better be sunny-fucking-side-up or your Puerto Rican ass is going to get it!" Of course he's not. (But it would be amazing if he was.) I just don't get it. Why would she want me to see this? As I sat staring at the picture I thought, "This little idiot. She totally set up the fork on the wrong side! And why the hell would I need a spoon?!?!" I sat there laughing at her stupidity, then got depressed at the realization that my niece was going to turn into the latest guest on Maury. Then I started to think about the common Puerto Rican girl stereotypes and I got even more depressed. Yep, I never want to have kids. Why would I want all of that worry in my life? Then I came across this picture. Keep in mind, I was a server at a catering company for a while and this was an important part of the job. Proper table settings...
I am a total fucking moron.
Should I be proud that she can set a table? Will this ever be useful in life? Are proper table settings relevant at all anymore? Were they ever? Don't I want her to become a modern independent woman who isn't worried about all of the shit that doesn't matter?
I haven't seen or talked to Ariel in months. I have no idea what she's been up to. Well I mean I guess I have an idea. It's not like she can do much at the age of 5/6. That picture is the only thing we've shared in a while. And it has told me way more about myself than it has about her. I'm too quick to judge. I'm arrogant. I'm an asshole. And I'm an idiot. But she already knew that. That's why there is a spoon next to the right/correct side of the plate. She knows an idiot needs a spoon to eat an egg.
Ariel and I. (And some random little girl wearing Jordans who just really wanted to be in the picture.)
I rolled to the club with a bunch of co-workers on Saturday night to unwind and see how these people party. It was not at all the way 50 Cent described it in his smash hit "In Da Club." Let's compare.
50 Cent says: You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub' Look mami I got the X if you into takin drugs I'm into havin sex, I ain't into makin love So come gimme a hug, if you're into gettin rubbed
Marty says: I don't have a bottle full of anything. Maybe Pepto (that pink shit) but honestly that shit is far from full. If you're into taking drugs that's cool. Just come talk to me when you can't make decisions anymore and you're ready to leave. I'm into having sex. If you're like every other girl you're probably into having it too, just not with me, or anyone around me. Yeah come give me a hug because if that's the closest I'm going to get to touching private parts. I'll take it.
50 Cent says: When I pull up out front, you see the Benz on dubs When I roll 20 deep, it's 20 knives in the club Niggaz heard I fuck with Dre, now they wanna show me love When you sell like Eminem, and the hoes, they wanna fuck But homie ain't nuttin changed hoes down, G's up I see Xzibit in the cut - hey nigga roll that weed up If you watch how I move you'll mistake me for a player or pimp Been hit wit a few shells but I don't walk wit a limp (I'm aight) In the hood, in L.A. they sayin "50 you hot" They like me, I want them to love me like they love 'Pac But holla in New York them niggaz'll tell ya I'm loco And the plan is to put the rap game in a choke hold I'm fully focused man, my money on my mind Got a mill' out the deal and I'm still on the grind Now shawty said she feelin my style, she feelin my flow Her girlfriend willin to get bi and they ready to go (o-kay!)
Marty says: I don't have a car therefore I can't "pull up" out front. I don't even know 20 people. If I was rolling 20 deep, 19 would be dudes, 14 of them would be dickheads, and at least 4 would be homeless. No one is showing me love. Besides the 4 homeless dudes. (Shout out to Keith, RayRay, Jimmy, and Heavy Bones! Or is it Heavy Bonez with a "Z"? I can never remember.) I went to an Eminem concert once. I got kicked in the face and my glasses broke. Couldn't see the rest of the show. G's up, hoes down. Unless "hoes" want to come hang out. Then fuck you guys. Xzibit was at that Eminem show too. His music felt like a kick in the face. You might mistake me for A) Gilbert Gottfried B) A pre-pubescent Asian girl. C) That dude from the most recent sex-offender list. I actually do walk with a limp these days. I really screwed up my knee jogging. Not jogging from "shells" or police. But because jogging will supposedly make me less self-conscious about my body. It's not working. Next. I just want them to NOTICE me. We'll work on the "like" part later. In New York, they'll most likely tell you I'm annoying. I got this comedy game in a choke hold. My $46 on my mind. Balling on a budget. I got a bunch of anxiety. Not because I have to worry about a "mill" but because I'm 26, working retail, and blogging. Actually New York Magazine was feeling my style but they must not have been feeling my flow because they never called me back. If girls ever got bi for me. I wouldn't live to see it. I'd have a heart attack on the way to our designated location: behind the dumpster. I mean seriously if there were 2 girls willing to do weird stuff with me at the same time, they'd have to be crazy/stupid and crazy stupid, the world would have to be ending in 14 minutes, and very familiar with the hiding spaces behind dumpsters.
50 Cent says: My flow, my show brought me the dough That bought me all my fancy things My crib, my cars, my pools, my jewels Look nigga I done came up, and I ain't changed
Marty says: I seriously don't have any of those things. I got rats and eczema, does that make anyone's panties melt?
50 Cent says: And you should love it, way more then you hate it Nigga you mad? I thought that you'd be happy I made it I'm that cat by the bar toastin to the good life You that faggot-ass nigga tryin to pull me back right? When my joint get to pumpin in the club it's on I wink my eye at ya bitch, if she smiles she gone If the roof on fire, let the motherfucker burn If you talkin about money homie, I ain't concerned I'ma tell you what Banks told me cause go 'head switch the style up If the niggaz hate then let 'em hate then watch the money pile up Or we go upside your head wit a bottle of bub' They know where we fuckin be
Marty says: YOU SHOULD LOVE IT WAY MORE THAN YOU HATE IT! But you really fucking hate it? Why? I'm an alright guy. I'm mad that you're mad because I haven't made shit so you have nothing to be mad about. I'm the thing by the bar avoiding eye contact and holding back diarrhea. Stop picking on me. Don't have any "joints" but I wish i did. I wink my eye at your bitch, she doesn't really smile, it's more like a maniacal laugh. And yep she's gone. Gone upstairs to get the hell away from me. Yea let the roof burn. End this misery. I'm only concerned about my money. Next. Hey I hate with the best of them and I don't see any money piling up. I don't want to fight. I'm 5'6" and 140 pounds. Feel sorry for me please. You know where I fucking be...
I'm in the bathroom stealing all of your motherfucking toilet paper rolls!!!! BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I think I just realized the reason I thought Courtney's fried drumstick story was so funny is because I imagined him walking into a Chicken Shop, bouncing a quarter off the counter into the owner's pocket and the owner handing Courtney a single chicken leg. No container, no bag, nothing but a greasy chicken leg. Then I imagined Courtney walking down a Brooklyn street nibbling away at his drumstick, planning out his next move. I can guarantee that next move had something to do with a girl with a big butt. That's what every next move should have something to do with.
Yesterday I had a really great grilled cheese sandwich. HA. Jesus. Sorry. What a totally fucking lame thing to talk about. If anyone read that first sentence and said, "Really? Where?! What was it like?!?!" with even a slight hint of enthusiasm, you need a goddamn hobby or a hooker. (And if your hobby is hookers I'm not judging.) I went home feeling terrible about myself after eating the sandwich, biscuits with honey butter, a shitload of Freedom fries, some fried chicken, and drinking a handful of beers. I figured I'd have The Itis but for some reason I had trouble falling asleep. When I finally did I had bizarre nightmares. Like having to have conversations with rich people about life or getting married to a depressed chubby Australian girl. Those are just examples of what I think a nightmare is, not actual examples of the nightmares I had last night. I don't really remember them.
I woke up, went to work, pissed out of my ass a few times, and met up with my buddy Courtney. He told me that the previous night he was hanging out with a girl he knew and decided to get something to eat. He didn't really have any money so he went into the Chicken Shop (my name not his) to buy one leg. I guess the girl he was with thought it was weird. He asked me if I did. I'm really not sure if I think it's that weird. But here is what I did think about it. Is eating a fried drumstick any more ridiculous than eating oats and honey or whatever the fuck granola bars are made out of? Wait. It's granola. But what the fuck is a granola?
I forget why I even mentioned my grilled cheese experience.
I'm pretty sure it was ?uestlove that said the cast of "Parks and Recreation" was the Wu-Tang Clan of comedy. Fuck that. I mean I do like that show a lot and think all of the characters are pretty awesome but I'm not thoroughly convinced. You know why? Because me and my dudes are about to be the Wu-Tang Clan of comedy. Actually fuck it. They can have the Wu-Tang title. We're just a group of playaz, pimpz, and hustlaz. Just kidding. We're awkward, weird, self-loathing, and downright creepy. That Odd Future crew might be in the spotlight at the moment but shit ain't even begun yet. Shane. Look at this pervert. Hide your kids, dogs, and cacti because this weirdo is on the loose. Writer/Actor/White Guy.
Josh. Jesus. Is this picture in black and white? Get this guy some color. Director/Actor/Writer/Complainer.
Courtney. Look at how many bad decisions this motherfucker has tattooed on his body. Actor/FunnyMan/BlackMan/Nipple Show-er/Stereotype.
And that's me. Marty C. What more can I say? Writer/FunnyMan/DepressedMan/PatheticMan/InsecureMan/AssholeMan/Where the fuckin' bitchez at?
So we're not like the Wu-Tang Clan. We're more like the cast of Seinfeld. Josh is Jerry. Shane is Elaine. I'm George (of course). And Courtney is...well there weren't any black people on Seinfeld and he can't be Kramer because Kramer hates black people. Remember that?
Either way this is the reason we moved to New York City. To pursue our dreams. So after 6 solid months of complaining and straight up bitching, we're finally getting a start to this thing we're trying. We're bringing a little bit of weird into your life. Get ready. Until then...
One of the biggest pains in the ass when going to the doctor's office is all of the pre-exam questions the nurse asks you before the doctor makes up some advice and prescribes the latest drug the pharmaceutical company is getting them to push. I hate it. However the one question I do enjoy is, "Do you have any allergies?" Not because the question has some special place in my heart but because I always end up laughing at the thought of all of the weaklings that have to give a detailed description of all the foods they can't eat and trees they can't molest. For that brief moment of life I feel like a strong human that is full of life and energy. Spoiler alert: I'm not. Instead I have a sensitive stomach, eczema, and a massive amount of self-doubt (and this really weird inner thigh rash). Seriously, after a round of Chipotle I head straight to the store to buy toilet paper and I call off work 24 hours in advance. That's vigilance!
The past few days I've been sneezing, coughing, and complaining. Well the last 26 years I've been complaining but the sneezing and coughing is brand new. At first I thought it was because I was sick. I tend to get sick when the seasons change (another example of how weak I am). But I noticed that I didn't feel sick. I just had the bullshit annoying symptoms. So in the past 24 hours I've convinced myself that I've grown allergies. How the hell does that happen? I go 26 years telling the doctor to Suck It when asked that stupid ass allergy question and all of a sudden I'm one of the people that I used to make fun of not long ago. How do you grow allergies 26 years into this miserable existence? And why does it have to be allergies? Why can't it be something positive? Like a cooler looking Ding Dong or a few feet of height. Does anyone ever wake up with a healthier-looking set of balls and say, "Thank God for puberty the 2nd!"? I bet not.
The only thing I can come up with for this sudden growth of allergies is my move to New York. Since there aren't any trees in this shitshow I can't imagine I'm allergic to any new wildlife. So I spent all day trying to figure out what change is causing these allergies. Homeless people? Nope Chicago has tons. Garbage everywhere? Well Chicago is a lot cleaner but we have our share of garbage. Pizza? This pizza is horseshit but it's edible. Reggaeton? Can't be, the Puerto Ricans in Humboldt Park love that shit. Oh wait. I figured it out. What sort of bullshit is there in New York that we don't really see in Chicago? Yea. You already guessed it. Dominicans. I should have known. Dominicans: The Puerto Ricans of New York.
I often wonder if pretty girls answer the, "Are you allergic to anything?" question with, "Yes. Little insecure multiracial bitter men. And...the name Marty."
1. WTF were you thinking booking these tickets SHEILA?!?!?! 2. I know you wanted the cheap tickets BUT this is RIDICULOUS!!! 3. Pedro, get ready to parachute I think we are out of MEXICO!! 4. Now I realize why airfare for Southwest is so cheap! 5. I don't think we are going to get drinks and peanuts on this flight!
I know I talk about the homeless a lot and if you're bored with it stop reading. But I really do have a special relationship with them. It might be because I speak to them as if they are humans (they are humans right?) and I am genuinely intrigued by them. After all they weren't always that way. At one point they were children riding bikes with their friends or getting excited for an ice cream cone. At least I'd like to think so.
If you've ever been to New York you know that the trains are the most rewarding places to people watch. Today there were two homeless dudes on the same car, my car, dueling for everyone's spare pennies and nickels. One of the gentlemen was playing a song on his acoustic guitar singing, "HEY OH!" over and over again in different keys. The other guy was far less creative and stood on one side of the car yelling, "I'm homeless! Please help me!" which was pretty entertaining but kind of depressing when I began to think it was a glimpse into my own future (I don't know how to play the guitar or sing). For some reason the singer/songwriter switched cars, intimidated and fed up. (Of course I was happy! C'mon buddy we got enough "songwriters" in these parts. Get real.) As the yelling homeless guy continuously asked people for change I began to fish around my pockets to see if I had anything to give him. I found 16 cents. Now this is a dilemma I've put hundreds maybe even thousands of Thought Hours into and still haven't worked out. I had a dime, a nickel, and a penny. No quarters. Now usually I would just keep this because for some reason I think it's a bit rude to give a homeless person such a pathetic amount. If you have a quarter then you're good because it's a quarter, everyone picks up a quarter when they see one on the ground. Actually WWJ-ZD? (What would Jigga Man do?) Would he bend down to pick up a quarter? Probably not. He'd probably have Memphis Bleek pick it up for him. (Kudos if you know what I'm talking about.) Anyways. The homeless gentleman spotted me digging around in my pockets so I had no choice but to give him the change. Let me tell you, the cup is essential. When a homeless guy has a cup you can just toss your change in. The amount is completely irrelevant because it just gets lost with everyone else's pathetic attempt to feel better about themselves for giving someone in great need some (not enough) change. But when he doesn't have a cup it's a completely different story. Just the idea of handing someone 16 cents makes me cringe. Maybe a hundred years ago you could feel great about really helping someone out for such a generous offering. Actually I bet 16 cents could buy something that would make you feel really great. HJ. BJ. You pick. But nowadays handing someone 16 cents is like saying, "Here. You still can't buy shit. Actually. You can't even pay tax on most shit. You can barely pay the tax on something that cost a dollar. Bitch." The goal is to hand a homeless person money only when it's a dollar amount. Then it's like, "Pop bottlez motherfucker!" I handed the homeless gentleman 16 cents and looked away, embarrassed. He cupped it in his hand and made his way farther down the train but still close enough for me to avoid eye contact. That was when he went back into speech mode and said, "Please help me! I'm homeless! I need your help! This young gentleman over here gave me...10...15...16 cents..." I blacked out after this. I couldn't believe it. I could hear the hurt in his voice. This guy probably spends the better part of his day finding a good alley to poop into a sewer in peace and that's if he's not pooping his pants on a bench in front of a group of people who are out enjoying the weather or a walk to settle their stomachs after a nice big meal. And I gave him 16 fucking cents. Oh the hurt in his voice! 16 fucking cents. WWJD? Probably something badass like cocktails, a Segway, and a model chick. I sat there stunned and embarrassed. I could feel eyes piercing my overpriced tie and pointless pocket square.
As I sat there contemplating the event, the homeless gentleman carried on with his speech. I completely avoided everything about him at this point. I figured that it might be a good experience to write down so I pulled out my notebook which is located in my back left pocket. What do you think happened? Of course the homeless gentleman thought I was pulling out my wallet to makeup for my pathetic attempt to buy him a life (he doesn't know when his birthday is, why would he want to remember something as depressing as that?) present. But of course I wasn't. He stared at my little orange notebook. As his eyes moved up to meet mine, I went through every possible thing I could say to make the situation better. But what is there to say to right this situation? Nothing. Well probably a lot of things. But I didn't say anything. He look devastated. And I'm sure I did as well.
I just can't win.
Oh yeah...
Man I just looked up the word "Kudos" and I am completely shocked at what I found. OK you have every right to think I'm a stupid motherfucker for this. I deserve it. I always hear the expression "Kudos to you..." and this is exactly what comes to mind. A person handing another person (usually a smaller, much less intelligent person) a delicious-looking small chocolate candy bar. Josh is telling me that "Kudos to you" isn't even correct. You're just supposed to say "Kudos." I didn't know Kudos was an actual "English word meaning acclaim or praise for exceptional achievement." My mental image is so fucking stupid and can be kind of perverse. "Kudos for not listening to your parents when they told you to not take candy from strangers. Here's a delicious candy bar and a carton of milk to wash it down. Take a good look at that carton of milk because your picture is going to be on it in a few short weeks." Man, I'm an idiot.
I bet Jesus and Jay-Z would have given that homeless dude a Kudos and he would have shit his pants...in excitement of course. And because he probably hasn't had solid food in months. Pop bottlez bitchez!
These are a bit late from my dear friend Danny Haines but they are golden.
1. We are parked in Z!!! 2. This is the third time we have been in F section.... 3. Where is the computer? They said this was the Facebook station in Libya. 4. Knew I should of tipped that valet guy! 5. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE CAR TOM?!?!?!?!
The Mountain Man aka Ivica returns to the Big City.
Posing for the camera. Josh is trying out his David Blaine elevation trick.
We run New York. By "run" I mean we drink ourselves into a stupor and wonder why we can't figure out how to make money. (Josh's.)
Ivica doing what he does best. Taking a goddamn seat. It's because his legs are tired from running New York.
Josh needs some bronzer.
"What you know about switching lanes holding wood grain?" Yea, I don't know anything about it either. I don't even know why I used that Paul Wall quote. It has absolutely no relevance to this picture. (Josh's.)
Do you want to see an example of the way my mind works? Of course you do.
"Undercover Handjobber"
i wonder if there is a human out there that just loves giving homeless people handjobs wouldn't that be incredible just a guy that had a family was on a bowling team 2 kids worked in insurance but every once in a while
had to jerk off a homeless guy
how would he go about doing it i can't imagine there are homeless dudes hangin' out below the bridge just waiting just waiting for someone to whisper into their ear would it be as awkward as approaching a person at a bar i can't imagine the small talk
blisters on the undercover handjobber's hands what a relic that would be to have when you're 90 years-old grandpa why do you have all of those scars on the palm of your left hand a twinkle in his eye he would say those days were long ago but those were the days
