Hurricane Irene.

I'm completely naive when it comes to extreme weather. The only thing I know about weather is that it is my #1 choice when it comes to small talk. Even though I'm not an expert, I can usually spark up a somewhat interesting conversation about the weather with just about anybody. I'm sure everyone says that, but seriously, have you ever talked to me? I can make a 70 degree day sound better than the latest summer blockbuster hit! Not really.

I think everybody feels somewhat comfortable talking about the weather because everybody experiences it. Of course you don't need me to tell you that. I'm sure not a single one of you is sitting there thinking, "Man I bet parts of Africa don't have any weather at all." I don't even know what that means. Anyways. When I was caddying, I paid close attention to the weather, mostly for rain, just because our money depended on sunshine. If it was going to be 75 degrees out I knew to expect a lot of (golf) play so I would arrive early and stick it out. If it was going to be 105 degrees out I knew to expect a lot of (golf) play so I would arrive early and stick it out. Let's face it, weather doesn't seem to effect rich people. I think they've somehow manufactured a built-in air conditioning system that we (the peasants) can't see. And let's also face the fact that weather doesn't seem to effect brown people that need the money. I caddied in 40 degree weather. And I caddied in 105+ degree weather. I'm bout that money.

When Hurricane Irene was approaching New York City I really didn't have the slightest clue on what to do. I knew we needed water and non-perishables (like Doritos, cookies, and bullshit) but I didn't know what else. It really opened my eyes to the lack of experience I've had with extreme weather. I mean in Chicago it gets "Freeze Your Dick Off (No Matter What Size)" cold but you just stay in your house and your penis stays connected to you. (And trust me, you need it on those boring cold days.) Josh and I went to the grocery store and pretty much bought what we thought we needed. When we got home I looked at our rations and realized it just looked like we were preparing for a party.

I'm starting to think this whole storm business was a genius marketing scheme by Frito-Lay.

Yodels (you think we can afford Ho-Ho's?), all kinds of cookies, Cheez-Its, matches, old-ass radio (it worked), some hot sauce, and some canned food under all the real food.

That vodka bottle is actually filled with water.

There is some canned food in there. Lots of pasta which would have been useless if we would have lost gas.

We even filled up some water bottles that were laying around the apartment. We got a couple of loaves of bread so we can spread almond butter on them bitches. What you know about almond butter?

I think our rations would have lasted us about 2 or 3 days. Remember most of that shit I showed is junk food so if things would have gotten real bad Josh and I would have eaten the shit out of all that food and cried. We might have hugged at the same time or even fed each other to feel less lonely.

So after realizing that we would be fed for at least a few days, we started to think of other things we should worry about. "If we're going to be eating all of this bullshit food, it's gotta come out sometime." So we figured we might as well fill up the bathtub so we'd have more poop water just in case the water went out.

Josh said it was for flushing the toilet.

This doesn't really make too much sense to me because if we really needed water to flush the toilet couldn't we just go outside and scoop up a puddle? Plus as we were filling up the tub (yes it took two of us) I started to think, "If anything, this isn't going to be used for toilet water, this is going to be used when we run out of food and I have to drown Josh's bitchass." Or drown myself, which is way more likely.

More water. A fucking hurricane is coming and all we can stock up on is water...

We froze bags of ice so we could drop them on looters' heads. Actually this was a good idea Josh had. If the power went out we'd still have a cold freezer, and when the ice froze we could use the leftover water as drinking water. OH! We're college educated bitches! Actually his stepdad gave him the tip, and I'm not sure if he's college educated.

And of course candles, flashlights, and batteries. For finding hookers then getting all romantic with them.

You know what would have been better than all of this stuff combined? A couple of ladies. Actually that would have probably been annoying. Are women good under pressure? I'll Google that later.

After we bought all of this stuff, we waited for the the storm. After waiting all day, it started raining hard at around 9pm (I'm just guessing) and by that time I was uninterested. At 1am I went to bed and woke up at 10am. It had passed.

I went outside and checked the damage. Aside from a few downed trees and a couple of tired looking Puerto Ricans, everything seemed to be normal. Unfortunately there were a bunch of anorexic hipsters walking around which saddened me but I guess it was wrong of me to hope they would have been blown away by the wind. It's hard to blow away when you're pockets are heavy with your parents' money. (I used that one on Twitter and people liked it!)

The one thing I continuously heard people say or read online was, "Irene was disappointing." Or, "Irene, you fucking bitch, you ruined my weekend." I started to wonder if people were replacing their girlfriends/wives names with "Irene" and letting out their aggression or they actually thought "Irene" could hear them. It was obnoxious. Are we that overprivileged that we're disappointed when a hurricane doesn't cause mass destruction and ruin a shitload of people's lives? Do people not realize that many other states were hit with stronger winds that caused more damage and more rain that caused more flooding? Did any of them look at the areas that were effected that aren't in America? What about those people?

Preacher Mode : On.

It's really disheartening that people can't just be Thankful that the hurricane wasn't as deadly and destructive as predicted. They have to sit around and bitch about how they couldn't go out and drink and try to rape girls/guys for a WHOLE weekend. It's a reminder to me that the biggest complaint people should have had was, "Irene, what the hell? You made me realize that I don't have anything to say and can't have a normal conversation with my roommate/family member because I spend all day on Facebook, "Like"-ing things and commenting on pictures I took of myself. You made me realize I am completely alone and I totally suck."

Look at all the bullshit I was able to buy to prepare for this hurricane. Most people in the world couldn't buy any of that shit in a hurricane-less week (which is a shame because those Jalapeno Cheetos are the biznesssss!). And how did I know what was coming? Because I have the internet and access to all sorts of information that made sure I could prepare responsibly. You think people in low lying parts of the world are always informed when a tsunami or hurricane or whatever they call it where they live is approaching their homes?

I can go on forever about this but I'll stop. Hurricane Irene might have done less damage to New York than predicted but it taught me and reminded me of a few things. It taught me how to prepare for a storm (or maybe some other catastrophe). It taught me that people are assholes in all sorts of weather (I probably already knew that). It reminded me to not take my privileges for granted. And it taught me that the strongest winds these days...are the jet streams of bullshit coming out of people's stupid fat faces.

Dennis Rodman.

If you're from Chicago and your grandma wasn't in love with Dennis Rodman in the 90's then you're one of few. You really missed out. I don't have too many memories of my grandmother when growing up but one thing that burns brightly in my heart and mind is my memory of watching a few Bulls games with her. Watching the Bulls in the 90's was like watching an unbelievable movie that even though you knew the ending to (the trophy, the rings, Grant Park), you just couldn't turn away. During "Repeat the 3-peat" Rodman was the character that was "different" from the rest of the cast. No matter how outlandish his behavior, you could never question his will, determination, and unbelievable talent. My grandma was just another fan. She would laugh every single time Rodman checked in or grabbed an unlikely rebound. It wasn't a, "Look at this guy with the crazy hair, he's ridiculous"-type of laugh. She was fascinated by him. The way we all were.

Today I finally got the time to sit down and watch Rodman's Hall of Fame speech and years later, I'm still very much fascinated. At times, his emotions got the best of him and many people probably questioned why he chose to talk about his bad life-choices during a Hall of Fame speech, but I can't say that I'm surprised. When I remember Rodman I don't just remember the controversy, the awesome hair colors, the times he easily outplayed Shaq and Karl Malone, I remember the emotion, the passion, and his love of the game. The things that mattered most. When I watched Rodman stand on stage in his unbelievably ridiculous/awesome suit I couldn't help but appreciate the brutal honesty he spoke about himself. Most people can't even stand in front of the mirror and do it. He did it in front of thousands of people.



Rodman never seemed too concerned about the light people saw him in, he was too busy being the light for people like my grandma and me and the rest of the amazed Chicagoans who couldn't turn away. No matter how cheesy that is, it's true and honest. Exactly the way "The Worm" seems to like it...

The Age of Advertising.

I "studied" Advertising in college. I was Undecided for 2 years and thought Advertising would give me an outlet to be creative. I was wrong. I ended up learning more about Marketing and Audience Analysis (yea I know everything there is to know about you (perverts/losers) fans of my insecurities) than I did about actually creating advertisements. The few creative classes I had were interesting and even though I always thought my work was better than everyone else's, I constantly needed to remind myself that my competition was orange sorority girls. In other words, who the hell knows if I was actually any good at it?

I've noticed that a lot of my more recent blog posts are rather perverted. And even though I don't work in advertising I never imagined my pervertedness might be useful in the advertising industry. But then I came across this.

What the fuck? Do you think the audience of this advertisement automatically assumes something perverted is going on here? Was that the creators' intention? Of course it was. Whenever you blur anything out, the human mind automatically assumes it's something disgusting. At least mine does. Why else would it be blurred out? Humans are naturally curious. So what did you think when you saw this picture? I thought, "Why is this guy holding a chopped-off penis? Where did he get it from? Is it his? Is it his dad's? Is it soft or is it erect? It's gotta be erect. It looks rather big behind those pixels. If it was that big when soft, it would be like a Pringles can when erect. Who would want that? Do fat girls tend to like Pringle-Can penises? And why is he presenting it to this orange guy? What did he do to deserve this? Well, I guess he looks rather happy to see it. Maybe he's returning it. But why would an orange thing need a human penis? Maybe the guy whose hand is up this puppet's asshole lost it and now he can't communicate naturally with other people so he needs a puppet to express his thoughts and feelings. Wow this penis-presenter is so noble! What a nice guy!"

I told you the human mind was curious. I clicked on the ad. I was intrigued.

The dude started rummaging around in the orange thing's...asshole? I'm not too sure what to call it. And I like how the orange thing is giving this the ol' "Look at this guy"-thumb. If that thing could roll its eyes, I'm sure it would.

Yep. Asshole.

Then he pulled out a midget. Seriously.

Interesting commercial. But I don't even remember what it was about. I just looked at the first screenshot I took. "There's a lot more inside Focus than you would expect." So we have to go digging around inside Doug's ass to find it? And there are midgets hanging out inside the Focus? Do you have to pay extra for that? Then what? Do you have to take care of them? I don't like this one bit.

I've Decided. Advertising can be really stupid sometimes. It's a good thing I have an imagination.

Dogs, Cake, and The Taste Spectrum.

This is going to be really stupid so if you have important things to do, go and do them and skip over until you have more free time and even then you should probably go do something else. Here are some ideas.

• Look at the wall.
• Google yourself.
• Google your mama.
• Google your mama's mama.
• Google your baby's mama.
• Google your baby's mama's mama.
• Don't you dare Google my mama.
• Bitchaass motherfuckstain.

Well now I definitely wasted some of your time. Anyways, a handful of years ago my friend Tess had a graduation party and although her party isn't at all important this many years later, I still remember it because of something I witnessed while I was fake laughing and pretend listening. Tess's (or is it Tess'? even if it is Tess', that looks stupid) parents are the proud owners of some very awesome pugs. As I was lying to everyone (and myself) I saw one of the lucky pugs sniff around a tipped over garbage bag and start chowing down on some delicious-looking cake. I watched it carefully and thought, "Even if that dog doesn't eat its own shit now, it's going to definitely start tomorrow." When it was apparent that I wasn't listening to everyone's conversation, they looked over to see what had caught my attention. Of course Tess grabbed her pug and scolded it. I laughed. And my friend Dan said, "Man look at that dog. I bet it's so fucking happy right now. Can you imagine how good that cake tastes to it?" And to this day I always ponder how good cake must taste to a dog.

In case you haven't noticed, people are getting fatter and fatter and fatter. Josh and I were watching TV a while ago and there was a fat naked guy (don't ask) and Josh simply said, "It barely looks human!" It didn't at all. And you know what causes people to get fat? Loneliness. And cake. Humans love cake. Of course they do. It's amazing. And don't worry this isn't going to turn into a post about me hating people who love cake. I just hate people. Cake can stay.

So if there are people out there killing themselves by eating too much cake, what is it like for dogs who get to eat cake? I mean if it's on one end of our taste spectrum (that end called: Fucking AWESOME) then what the hell is it on their taste spectrum? Shouldn't every dog die of a heart attack as soon as it tasted cake? (Keep in mind dogs are going from Dog Food, Their Own Asshole, and Their Own Dogshit, to CAKE! They're not going from a pretty awesome base like Doritos to Cake.) I mean if there were a human equivalent to that taste sensation, our heads would probably explode from the pleasure. If we're already killing ourselves over cake, then how are these cake-tasting dogs still finding reasons to live?

I guess people can reach that level of pleasure when they do something like heroin. But then they start doing crazy shit like voluntarily (and involuntarily) sucking dick and/or robbing people for it. I don't see any dogs attacking other dogs or humans to suck their dicks or rob them for cake money. Or are they? And I'm just not noticing it.

Time to start looking.

On what occasion do you get a cake that is modeled after your baby. When it's born or when it dies? Both occasions seem inappropriate for fetus-cake eating.

The reason I made "Own Asshole" bold and italicized is because I would imagine that your own asshole would taste like shit (is that a pun?) when compared to someone else's asshole. Let me clarify. If you're tasting someone else's asshole you're probably the type of person who is really into eating asshole and you're ready to take on and enjoy the weird flavor. It's like when vegans get really into bullshit vegan food like Tree Bark and Dirt (I wonder what cake tastes like to them. Then again, I don't care. They're barely human and not nearly as enjoyable as dogs). Now if you're being forced to taste someone else's asshole then it's probably the worst fucking thing on the planet. Maybe those should be the official titles of our taste spectrum.

Marty's Taste Spectrum.

Forced Asshole Tasting. (Dog Food). ------------------------------------ Desired Asshole Tasting. (Cake).

They win.

Sigh. I think about these two dudes all of the time.

The End of An Error.

Fuck you.

It's hard to start a new job. No matter who you are or what the job is (well, mostly), you find yourself feeling helpless and stupid. But with all the anguish and frustration comes excitement of beginning a new journey, a new adventure. Mine has begun and so far so good. But let's take a look back at what I've left behind.

I got a job at Uniqlo about a month after I moved to New York and at the time I remember feeling excited and thankful. Excited because it was my first job in New York and Thankful because I knew the economy was (is) struggling and any job was a good job. The excitement and any sense of gratitude I had towards Uniqlo quickly turned into bitterness and pure hatred. It started with a German lady who was so self-absorbed and childish (common character traits amongst idiots that are obsessed with FASHION), failed to realize how snobby and out of touch with reality she was (is). So the endless condescending conversations and favoritism got really old really quickly. Face it lady. You're overpaid to move fucking clothes around for a living. Exactly how is that contributing to society? But you know what, if that really is your passion then fine, at least do it with some dignity and humility. If not, please do us all a favor and step in front of the 4, 5, or 6 train (any one will do) on your way home to your Upper East Side extravagant "well-dressed" life.

After I escaped that scheiße-head (that's German for "shithead" for all you scheiße-heads out there) I thought I was free from being talked down to and condescending remarks. Of course I wasn't. Is being treated with a little respect too much to ask? Apparently it is these days. I think it all comes back to the idea (I would call it a fact) that everyone thinks they are way more important than they actually are. No matter how quickly and perfectly you can fold 14 t-shirts, those skills will never be useful for global warming, the widening gap between the rich and poor, or the many inequalities that plague our world. Or maybe it will. That would be pretty cool. Wouldn't it? I fold 3 t-shirts and a little deserving Mexican dude gets an awesome job. Shit, I'd devote my life to folding t-shirts. But of course the world outside of Uniqlo doesn't really work like that. You'd be contributing more to society if instead you folded paper cranes and just wished for a better life for everyone.

One of the biggest problems with working for a big corporation is that it quickly becomes apparent that you are just a cog in the wheel, grinding away until either retirement or an early stress-related death. The better (still not "good") corporations make an attempt to make you feel as if you are part of a family and that you're appreciated. It never really works but the mere attempt can be nice. Uniqlo fails miserably at this. They let you know that you're disposable. They know that if you're unhappy with the job there are 5,000 brown people lined up to take your position. They don't care because they're not in the "caring" business, they are in the clothing business and all that matters in their business is making money.

The thing that I kind of admire (in a sick and twisted way) about Uniqlo is that they are pretty good at squeezing as much work out of people as they can. From the very beginning they continuously tell people that hard work and determination will get you a promotion and a raise. Sure most jobs tell you that, but Uniqlo tells you that over and over and over again until you actually start to believe it. But let's face it, not all of us can be supervisors and managers. Especially if you're brown. If you look at the management staff (minus the Japanese managers) it is a lot like the US government. White, stlyle-less, and full of fucking shit. White people (and a few overprivileged Asian people) bossing around brown people. Sound familiar? Hard work won't get you a promotion. Kissing ass and sucking penis (and apparently being able to eat an entire Crave Case in one sitting) will get you a promotion. (Seriously, the fact that a lot of managers are severely overweight reminds me of the days when being overweight was a status symbol, "Hey I'm fat because I have a good job and I can eat whatever I want. You're skinny because you're poor, uneducated, and starving. No you can't have my leftovers! You must be out of your mind. Oh yea. You are. Because you're so goddamn hungry.")

When a company like Uniqlo posts record profits every single quarter people are convinced, "Whoever is running that company is doing an unbelievable job." And I'm sure those people exist. But they don't exist at Uniqlo in SoHo. When a company makes record sales ($1 million on Black Friday is supposedly the most any big box retail store has ever made in a single day ever) the people at the top get overlooked because, "Hey, the store is making money so they must be doing a good job." Wrong. It just means that the people at the top have the perfect excuse to get away with bullshit. Let's face it, the place could be filled with hillbillies from West Virginia swing-swangin' their penises around filling the air with a toxic smell and a number of STD's, and Uniqlo would still make money. The product sells itself.

Now I'm not saying that the people on the lower rungs of the ladder were useless. I was always impressed and even a bit charmed by the hard work and loyalty that many of my co-workers maintained towards a company who constantly slapped them in the face and told them to, "Deal with it. With two hands." It often reminded me what these people were capable of, but in the end, ended up making me even more bitter with the realization that this is how our world works today. Loyalty, hard work, and honesty don't have a place in the workplace with corporations. Uniqlo was too busy trying to give tests and make new High School rules to realize that there were people committed to making the company run smoother. I'll admit to you I wasn't one of those people. At least not at the end.

So Uniqlo is opening two more stores in New York within the next few months and I'm sure more problems will come up and the Japanese managers will try to maintain the new High Schools with childish rules and an overwhelming amount of apathy. They fail to realize that you can teach Americans about Japanese culture and about Japanese rules, but you can't teach Americans how to be Japanese. We're too set in our ways. A perfect example is the fact that the vast majority of the Managers In Training, who were mostly optimistic kids straight out of college, have quit. If you can't convince fresh, optimistic minds that your company cares and is going to help them succeed through life, who are you going to convince? Middle-aged assholes who have years of bitterness burned into their skin from all the rude customers and complaints they've dealt with the past 15 years at other retail establishments? It ain't likely.

When I sat down to write this tonight, I just wanted to express my feelings of my experience at Uniqlo. It made me think of all the times I wasn't appreciated and how I got talked down to by arrogant fat (often white) people. These things brought a smile to my face. I know I'll never be them. Mostly because I'm too brown to ever pass off as a white guy, and I'm way too superficial and will kill myself before I ever get to be 50-200 lbs overweight, but really because I'm not a delusional asshole. I believe that I'm no more important than the next person. I'm OK with that. The thing that made me really enjoy rehashing all of the old Uniqlo memories is the fact that I thought of all the wonderful people I met. The beautiful personalities. The characters. The Pokemon (I'm looking at you Arjee). The freestyle sessions. The dance moves in the break room. The guys that will never be my boyfriends. The girls that will never be my girlfriends. The girl that is my girlfriend (uh-oh!). Those that left me inspired and taught me many things about myself and about life. And for all of those wonderful things and all of those wonderful people, I am grateful of my time spent at Uniqlo.

Oh and one last thing. Did you see the bumpers on them little brown bitches? I am thankful and grateful for those too. They were amazing!!!