Gay Marriage and Magic Eye.

I've never really understood the Gay Marriage Movement. Why are people fighting so hard to get married? I feel like the only people who should be excited about marriage are those who have been living under a wet rock their whole lives and have managed to dodge all of the horror stories their friends have about marriage. (You're probably wondering how a person who grew up under a rock has friends. I never said they wouldn't have access to Facebook.) I thought marriage = misery. Is that wrong? Why is, "Marty, don't get married until you absolutely have to," such popular advice these days? (That and, "Take your goddamn hand out of your pants and go talk to her...") I'm sure women would love to blame men for all of the failed marriages. "This wouldn't be so hard if he just noticed me." And you might have a point. But there are shitloads of married women out there who contribute to the misery. And women, what would you spend hours talking about on the phone if you were perfectly happy with your marriage?

Logically, it doesn't make sense to me. I know the human desire for companionship is unbelievably strong. I spend a good amount of time on here describing my experiences with loneliness (I hope in an entertaining way!). But I don't understand why the majority of people choose to get married. An eternal commitment seems a bit silly. It's like people fighting to get into Hell. If less people got married we would hear less disgusting things about politicians, we'd have less trash like Maury and Divorce Court, and we'd hear a lot less bitching from our married friends about their spouses that we don't give a shit about. (No more Maury would mean less kids, I'm convinced people use that show as baby making music these days.) Would humans be happier? Probably not, but that has less to do with marriage than it does with the fact that people are simply...the worst. I do think there would be a lot less arguing and boring stories. "My asshole husband forgot to pick up the dry cleaning and so I'm not going to have sex with him for a year." "My bitch of a wife won't have sex with me for a year because I forgot to pick up her fucking dry cleaning. I'm going to drive my kids into the nearby lake, get out of the car, and pretend it was an accident. I can't wait to see the look on her face!" Terrible things come from terrible people who are too afraid to spend 10 minutes alone with themselves to realize, "Hey, marriage isn't going to fill that hole in my heart."

I am not married. Obviously. I don't spend my Friday nights at the movies, or at a nice romantic dinner with my hypothetical partner. I spend it reading, writing, partying, and trying to see the images in those Magic Eye pictures. I think these Magic Eye pictures are the one thing I understand less than the Gay Marriage Movement. (I know that these things aren't even close to being on the same level.) It has frustrated me forever. People do it with such ease and then have no problem rubbing it in your face or bragging about how they can do it and you can't. They also have the nerve to describe how awesome it is or how disappointed they are with what they see. They can't just appreciate the fact that others aren't so lucky. These people can't even begin to explain how to make it work and take their ability to do it for granted. It's unbelievably frustrating. I hate feeling left out and I hate thinking that there may be the possibility that I'll never be able to experience what everyone else seems to be experiencing. Oh. My. Goodness. Sound familiar? Now I understand the Gay Marriage Movement...

This is marvelous. I can finally see. And boy is it beautiful.

Modern Knight. It's a knight with a gun right? Please say yes.

An observation.

Girl, yo trunk so heavy how you not poppin' a wheelie?

It's a chess board conspiracy.

If you don't like reading my thoughts on homeless people then just skip this post. Asshole.

Many cities have tried to adopt the idea of having free wi-fi in public spaces. Train stations, parks, libraries, etc. I know some cities have had various degrees of success but I don't really know for certain if it's all that necessary. When the idea was first proposed I'm sure many conservatives thought (this is after they bitched and complained about their tax dollars going to anything useful at all), "Well great, maybe some of these homeless people can look for jobs!" Of course I thought, "Hooray for the homeless! MORE FACEBOOK FRIENDS FOR MEEEEE!" I'm sure the government thought, "Well the internet might speed up these homeless people's jerk-off sessions and give them time to finally look for some jobs." Ahem. I know from firsthand experience (no pun intended) that this isn't the case. It may speed up the duration but it ignites the frequency.

This made me start wondering about all of these so-called "upgrades" the government has been making to public spaces. It might just be in New York but it always seems like there is some new distraction to keep people at the park. My latest discovery was this...

Chess board tabletops. These tables cost $2,300 apiece. This definitely makes me believe the government is up to something, they didn't even spend that amount of money on health care reform and climate change combined.

I have seen a lot of homeless looking fellas playing chess across the city so some of these tables are getting good use. But does every single table have to have a built-in chess board? Aren't we being a bit naive? Aren't we giving Americans a little too much credit? We're talking about a country where 48% of people answered "YES" when asked if they believe in ghosts (this was the majority, 45% of people answered "NO" and the other 7% punched the fucking idiot who asked this question in the mouth for wasting their goddamn time with this stupid shit). Approximately 307 MILLION people live in America. Let's do some simple math. Don't worry, I'll do it for you. 48% of 307 million is approximately 147 million. 147 million people in America believe in ghosts and 20% of Americans have "seen or felt the presence of a ghost." So that automatically means 147 million Americans are mentally incapable of playing chess. Seriously, chess boards? Really? There have been numerous chess champions that have been driven mad over the game because of the amount of mental energy it takes to outwit opponents. The last time I checked, I haven't heard of any Tic-Tac-Toe world champions (obviously ghost believers) killing themselves over the intricacies of the game. That would probably be the most pathetic thing recorded in human history. Wait a minute. Is this what the government is trying to do? Are they trying to get homeless people to get so obsessed with the game, they end up killing each other or themselves? Is this modern social engineering? I guess it's kind of clever but they obviously picked the wrong board game. Haven't government officials ever seen people play Monopoly? Even with FAKE money people are ready to kill each other? "You motherfucker, where'd you get all that money to get them hotels. I tell you what, I'll pay you after I get my GO money." "Fuck your GO money and fuck you. You're out of the will. THE REAL WILL!" If they want to get rid of people, they need to change their board game selection.

(I know you're thinking, "But Marty, that board can be used for checkers too!" And to that I say, "If you're playing checkers in public do yourself a favor step into traffic or in front of a train. Or stop thinking about ghosts for long enough to learn how to play chess, idiot.")

P.S. Just because we sometimes see homeless people talking to thin air doesn't mean we should assume they believe in ghosts. It just means we should assume they are fucking crazy.

Joshua Paige.

When trying to pursue a career in something creative, I've always thought it's good to explore your vision in as many different ways as possible as long as you're honest and you throw yourself into it. "Make no little plans." But as you know, I can be a lazy fool just like the rest of America. I'd apologize but what's the point anymore? At least I can admit that I just really like looking at things I'll never be able to afford, listening to rap music that makes me laugh, and watching people I most certainly will always hate. It's a full-time job. I realize that wisdom is useless without application but I'm too much a bitch to do anything about it. What can I say, I just like to watch. Of course, like always, I'm being a bit hard on myself. When you're trying to do something that is your own you always feel like you could be doing more. Everybody struggles with it.

These past few months I've finally felt like I'm beginning to understand what it is I want to do. Make things that are beautiful, meaningful, ridiculous, and totally fucking hilarious. I'll give up on it when I'm dead.

Josh hard at work. He told me that his necklace draws a lot of attention. I'd get one but I already have enough homeless people talking to me.

My friend Josh (not my roommate) and I are going to start a comic strip that has yet to be titled. We don't know what characters we'll see, what themes we'll explore, or what kind of response we're going to get but we're excited. And that's all that matters. We're going to have a little fun with it. I have a lot of faith in Josh's talent. He can draw like a motherfucker. (I know that expression probably doesn't make any sense. I mean seriously, why would a person whose bone-preference that's limited to mothers be more gifted at expressing themselves through drawing than a normal person who will bone mothers, brothers, fathers, sisters, siblings, etc.?) And I can confidently say that Josh has faith in my ability to pick apart social interactions and talk shit about the lies and mediocrity. Together, shit is definitely going to get crazy. Stay tuned.

What up girl?

Josh also likes the brown girls with the big butts. At least I think he does. If he doesn't...MORE FOR ME!

Gauges. My scientific breakthrough.

For some reason gauges are getting more and more popular. In case you don't know what I'm referring to I've provided a disgusting picture to get you better acquainted...

I'm sure this asshole has a dog that he doesn't take care of.

I guess I should have seen the rise in popularity coming since people really love showing society just how "different" and "rebellious" they can be. You already know what I'm going to say. What's your best guess as to why you think I think people get gauges? Yep. You're right. Daddy issues. But I'm going to share with you a scientific discovery I made all by myself. (And trust me, I am all by myself. You think I'd have time to think of this shit if I wasn't?)

When I was younger, I remember being unbelievably perplexed when my teacher told us that the rings on a tree reveal how old it is. I remember thinking, "HAHA! No seriously, that's just something you tell us because we're young and naive and still pull our pants all the way down when we go peepee at the urinal. But seriously. What are they actually for?" Yea, even at such a young age I was questioning authority. And then as the years wore on, I was told by multiple Science teachers that this was indeed the case. I still sometimes wonder, "Who the hell figured that out? He (she) must have been All By Himself (Herself) because no one with a semi-attractive partner would have the time to think of such craziness." I'm also too lazy to google it and do some modern research on the history of the The Great Tree Rings Debate.

If my counting ability is up to par, I think this tree is 21 years old which means it can legally drink alcohol and feel guilty for smashing on 17 year-olds. Oh wait no it can't because its fucking dead.

Can you see where I'm headed with this? Of course you can.

"He" hates his dad, but just a little bit. My guess: "Dad didn't properly show me how to put on eyeliner until I was 20 which was much too late for prom! Asshole!"

This dude hates his dad a fair amount. My guess: "Dad didn't play catch with me enough when I was little. He also never gave me tips on how to pick up women so I've resorted to gelling my hair into that weird pointy thing that I saw on that Hot Topic ad. I also kinda sorta gave a guy a handjob in the bathroom of that Fall Out Boy concert. I still don't know if I liked it or not."

He hates his dad a pretty good amount. My guess: "I hate my dad. But I'd love to call the right guy DADDY! All. Night. Long."

He REALLY hates his dad. My guess: "I really hate my dad...so I fucking killed him. He's dead and I still really hate him. I really hate my mom too. WHY DO I HAVE TO CLEAN MY ROOM BEFORE I CAN PLAY Wii BOWLING? IT'S NOT FAIR!!! Maybe I'll kill her too."

Pretty significant scientific breakthrough huh? These things tell me everything about a person's relationship with their father. I can really gauge how much they hate their dads. Is that where the name came from?

I'm sure some of you "educated" assholes think you found a flaw in my breakthrough. You didn't. "Well how do you explain the Africans and Native tribes that have been putting gauges in their ears for years???"

She really hates white people. I'm guessing they probably stole her people's land and gave them smallpox blankets.

If I'm reading his gauge correctly. He really really really fucking hates white people. So much so that he put little drums in his ears so that when one of his buddies wants to freestyle about how much white people suck, he doesn't have to beat box, he can get his ?uestlove on.

I hope I proved my point.

P.S. Is it rape if it's through the gauge hole? Oh shit. Are these things for us to gauge what size penises these guys are interested in? Oh goddamnit. I give up.

I am my father. With more hair (for now) and less weird (for now).

On Father's Day I called Al to let him know how much I appreciate everything he's done for me the past 26 years. We actually never got to that part. Our 15 minute "conversation" was pretty one-sided. I simply complained about the management at my job the entire time and Al listened and laughed. I guess I'm not different. I guess I'm just like every other miserable sack of shit who hates their job. It was probably pretty selfish of me to complain about a job that is meaningless and not very hard, to a man who worked hard as a carpenter for 30+ years. I mean really, what complaint do I have that is going to make him think, "Poor kid really has it rough." But he listens and offers simple advice, "Marty you need a new job." And he's right.

I guess that's the thing I appreciate most about my father these days. He listens and laughs. No matter how much I complain about something that he probably doesn't care about he'll sit through it and let me bitch and moan until I run out of things to say. Every guy fears the idea of turning into their father. Some people avoid having children because of it. I'm starting to think that if I inherit all of my father's best qualities and avoid the bad ones, I'd be happy with it (well isn't that obvious). And I won't really have the opportunity to be the same as my father with regards to children. Because before children, you need a date. And lord knows I don't have one of those.

Al suggested my Gmail icon. No idea where he found this picture, but it continues my streak of amazing pictures. I've never taken a bad one.

A friend's thoughts on my picture...

And of course it wouldn't be complete unless she offered an example...

She's right.

Why I Am The Way I Am.

I don't know if you had The Box growing up. You were lucky if you did. It came in on channels 13 and 28 on the shitty TV in my brother's room when I was growing up and you had to mess with the antenna for hours just to get a horrible picture. But once you had it, it was golden. All the rap music videos you could want and for an 8 year-old that had a bad attitude and a smartass mouth, rap music was everything.

MTV claimed it was "Music Television You Control" but it seemed as if it was really controlled by corny white people that couldn't get over Alanis Morissette and all of the other women that sang songs about hating dudes and god. I don't know, I didn't have cable. The Box was different in that you could actually see the numbers on the lower right-hand side of the screen being punched in by people who wanted to watch the latest Snoop Dogg video or, in my case, Eazy-E's masterpiece. I remember watching this Eazy-E video 8 times in a row because The Box played it 8 times in a row. It was the first song I knew all the lyrics to. At 8 years old I thought I was a Real Motherfucking G. 18 years later and you best believe I still am.

Eazy-E died on my 10th birthday. I remember seeing it on the news and being devastated. He gave me a voice that I had not yet found. And that was his intent right? To give 8 year-old kids like me who grew up in hillbilly middle-class neighborhoods an identity and a place in this world. Yep. I knew it was. And that's why I am the way I am.


Watch the guy in the white shirt on the bottom of the screen from 1:47 to 1:49 checking the oil. Sometimes you gotta see what's under the hoodrat's hood.

Fight or flight?

I'm eensy weensy. I'm little. I'm smaller than average. However it can be phrased, I am that. A bitch? Yep. I run my mouth like I have a huge pair of testicles and some karate chops to back it up. But I don't. No big testicles, no karate moves. This is why I don't fight. Don't get me wrong. I really do wish I could cave a kid's face in with a single punch or choke someone out on command. Those things would be really useful to me and I'd probably already be in prison for slapping the shit out of some of the people I've met. But I know that if I could do those things, I probably wouldn't run my mouth so much. I wouldn't have to. I'd be more secure with how little I am. I wouldn't constantly have to belittle and embarrass people in a pathetic attempt to be respected. Maybe. I'll never be bigger (taller) so we'll never know. Unless, of course, my prayers to all the gods are answered and I get this second puberty I've been wishing for (I don't think the first one ever really happened).

Today I was standing outside my apartment watching people be ridiculous. It's really what I live for. The old drunk guys in front of the building were up to the same shit, playing loud Puerto Rican music, drinking beer, staring at girls that are much too young to be stared at, and whistling for no apparent reason (why can old Latin men whistle so damn well?). Normally I'd sigh and shake my head but today I smiled, they seemed like they were really enjoying themselves. I can't take that from them.

Three teenagers across the street arguing really caught my attention. I'm not a fan of teenagers. I hate them. Even when I was a teenager I hated teenagers. And as you can probably guess, I hated my teenage self. A lot. (Still do.) There were two boys and one girl which are the key ingredients to showing off, arguments, and fights (even when teenagers turn into "adults"). I couldn't make out what they were saying but I noticed that the girl had a smart phone (instead of buying your kids $300 phones, start buying them books) and was pointing it at the two boys. All of a sudden the two boys backed up, raised their fists, and started circling. Fisticuffs. But as one of the boys got closer to the other he pulled down his pants. HE PULLED DOWN HIS OWN PANTS. And charged. The other kid backed away and yelled, "Oh damn. I can't fight you with a boner on my leg." The kid with his pants pulled down stopped. They both laughed. Well. We all laughed.

I'm not sure what the argument was about. I am completely convinced that the kids were actually going to fight until one kid whipped out his shooter. When I thought about this later (the fight, not the kid's "shooter") I realized how genius the idea was. I've been told that if you ever get into a fight and you think you're going to lose, just act crazy. (Actually that advice is from several shitty movies.) So my idea (and many other small men, I'm sure) was always to "whip" out my peter if all hell broke loose. It never has, so I never had to test it out. But apparently it works. So I guess I learned something from a teenager today. I guess this is why people have children.

Painting by my friend Laura Collins. Here is a link to her blog.

Belittle. I really hate that word. Can you guess why? Actually maybe that will be my new rapper name. B-Liddle cuz I be...liddow...

Harry "Ching Chong" Potter

I just got these glasses and I'm pretty sure that I'm already tired of them. They're round and matte black which I like. But I think they remind me why it took me so long to get round glasses to begin with. Harry Potter's bitch ass. The Harry Potter count is at 1 but I'm sure it's just the calm before the storm.

Marty, do you wish you were black?

Let's face it. I cause trouble when I enter the room. I don't even have to open up my mouth before the, "What is that thing?"-comments start pouring out of people's faces. People don't know what to think when they see me. This leads to the, "Marty, what are you?" question that I'll undoubtedly be asked for the rest of my life. I'm OK with it. Because now that I live in New York, I have the luxury of responding with Two Words, "A Chicagoan."

The other day I got asked a question that I've been asked multiple times in the past. And if you haven't guessed what the question is by now, you're either a total idiot, or have a weird syndrome that makes you incapable of reading titles in which case you should go see a chiropractor and have that checked out. Do I wish I was black? Nope. If that blue genie from Aladdin (I can never remember if his name was Jimbo or Todd) appeared at my doorstep (I don't own a weird Egyptian-looking lamp and we all know the only thing I rub is...) and offered me 3 wishes, I can't say, "I wish to be black!" would crack the top 100 (thousand trillion). Now don't get me wrong, this decision would take me months to come to. Not because I'd have to think about it but because...when is the last time a BLUE person showed up at your door? I used to talk to psychologists because I was lonely and extremely bitter (amongst other things), could you imagine how many therapy sessions I'd need after seeing a fucking BLUE person? I guess it's not really a "person" because if that were the case I'd stay away from this triple-geek-threat.

No, I don't wish to be black. That's not to say I would hate being black. I'm sure I'd like it just fine. But let's put things into perspective. If I was black, Play Pretty wouldn't exist. I wouldn't exist. Marty would not exist. (If you are jumping up and down right now in excitement, you can go die immediately.) Let's face it. The reason I am the way I am is because of the collection of weirdness. The way I look. The shape of my body. My height. My eczema. The way people see me. Everything. It all adds up to ME. If this were an art exhibition it'd be called "A Collection of Weird: A Marty C. Retrospective." If I was black that would completely fuck up the system. You change one thing and who the hell knows what might happen? I might end up...who knows...getting "bitches." (I only use the term "bitches" here because a lot of black guys aka "rappers" use the phrase, not because I think women are dogs with vaginas.) There'd be a butterfly effect that would create a completely different person. I guess right now I'm making the assumption that people are asking me, "Do you wish you were born black?" Like if I started this whole shit-show they call "Life" off as a black guy. And No I don't wish I was born black. That would be weird. My mom is Mexican/Italian and my dad is Filipino. You think their marriage would have lasted this long if my mom shot out a black baby?

The other way to look at it is if I told the BLUE dude to turn me black, would I enjoy that? I wouldn't not enjoy it. Actually you know what. I wouldn't enjoy it. How the hell would I explain that to all of my friends (especially the racist ones)? Or my parents? And what would happen when I got tagged in Facebook pictures? It would just give people I barely know (ie Facebook friends and relatives) an excuse to send me emails or approach me when they see me in person instead of ignoring me like I do to them. They'd all have so many goddamn questions and I'd have to tell the story. How do you make that story sound cool?

"Uh well. Ya see. This BLUE guy came to my door."
"Yea uh huh. Go on."
"Aren't you at all curious as to what the BLUE guy looked like. I mean, no offense, but I don't think you or anyone you know has ever met a BLUE dude before."
"Whatever. Get on with it."
"Really? Not at all phased by the fact that BLUE dude just randomly showed up to my door."
"C'mon man. Entourage is on in like 15 minutes and I forgot to TiVo it and I have to go all the way uptown to watch it. Why are you black?"
"Well. He gave me 3 wishes."
"You used a wish on this?!"
"Well, yea. You know I always kind of wished I was...black." (It's in italics because it's whispered.)
"You wasted a fucking wish-"

Do you really think I'd want to go through that torture after somebody recognized me as "Marty, the guy that used to be kind of weird looking but somehow turned black overnight." Great. Yea. Sign me up for that shit. I'm not even black and it's already giving me 4 million new things to be insecure about. Either way you look at it. It wouldn't work. I'm fine being mixed. I'm fine with the fact that White people think I'm Asian. And Brown people think I'm some sort of Mexican thing. I'm perfectly alright with it. Well not "perfectly" but enough.

Plus if my first wish was to be black, it'd tie up my remaining wishes. Wish #2 would be, "A Bigger Ding Dong" because the one I have now would not make any kind of sense. #3 would be "To be adopted" because it would relieve my parents and trick people into thinking that I'm a little insecure asian/latino Black guy because I had a weird childhood.

But seriously. What would my three wishes be? That's easy.
Clothes.
Bank Rolls.
And Hoez.

It's Gucci.

Looks like they took my Gucci Mane craigslist ad down. It's a shame. Looks like he'll always write like a 6 year-old and make signs out of ripped up cardboard that don't make any sense at all. I did get some awesome emails in reply to the ad before the man took it down.

Response #1: "Never heard of him. You can't be doing a very good PR job." I'm not his PR man. I'm his sidekick bitch.

Response #2: Hello. I noticed your advertisement on Craigslist and feel that I am a strong candidate for this position. Gucci Mane is indeed an incredible talent, but I agree that he needs our help to truly succeed. Gucci just needs a crew of responsible young men to keep him on track and out of jail (although his jail time certainly adds to his mystique).

My favorite Gucci song, by the way, is Excuse Me, because it's so damn ICY.

Thank you for your consideration. Thanks for being awesome.

Response #3: "Pathetic" What's more pathetic? My totally awesome Gucci Mane advertisement. Or the fact that you replied to it? Bitch. Use a fucking period when you're talking to Gucci Mane's sidekick.

This is all part of my plan to meet Gucci Mane and hope he invites me to a titty bar.

Oh yea. This guy was at my job yesterday. Looking totally awesome while looking like a pervert. I know the feeling.

Zach G. in the mu-fuckin' house.

Gucci Mane needs some assistance.

Gucci Mane needs your help.

He needs help making signs.

And with his penmanship.

Please reply to the Craigslist ad if interested.

My Dear Brother.

I get the strangest reaction when I tell people I have a brother. It's usually a, "Really?!" as if it should be impossible that my mom could have made this mistake twice. But he's older, so don't blame her. She had no idea she was going to get the bad batch the second time around.

Most people are always curious as to what he's like. "Is he anything like you?!?!" It's hard for me not to ask, "What if he was? Would that be such a bad thing?" But of course I wouldn't be able to deal with those answers if they responded honestly. The way I usually describe him is this, "We're pretty different, but every sibling says thats. He's a cool guy, he's awesome at talking to people but probably in a completely different way than I am. He's a cop and has a family. I don't have anything worth bragging about [I guess I sometimes have nice teeth]. But we get along well, he's my best friend."

Yesterday he casually texted me that his daughter got into the gifted program at her school. It brought a smile to my face. I selfishly and arrogantly thought, "She must have gotten my brain gene" because I too went to "gifted" (or was it "special"?) school. He then told me to google "Logan Square Hit And Run." I ignored the text because I was at work and put it out of my mind until right before I went to bed. I googled it and found an article that described a tragic scene of a fatal hit and run. After reading the short article I began to wonder why my brother wanted me to read this. Then I realized the article said an "off-duty police officer" was responsible for the apprehension (never used that word in my life until right now) of the driver. I put two and two together (I'm "gifted" remember?) and figured it must have been him. A minute later I went to the Chicago Sun-Times website and saw this...

Selena Gomez was rushed to the hospital!!!

I laughed hysterically. "Looks like these 2 Mexicans haven't missed many meals." Yea, I can't say anything nice about anyone. As I read the article I began to feel a growing amount of astonishment and pride. Zack caught a guy that made a huge mistake and that is something to be praised. He reacted quickly and did something good. What a good human. I'm extremely proud of him. But that's not why I'm astonished and amazed, I've always known he was a good person. ZACK CHASED SOMEBODY AND CAUGHT HIM! You know what "chasing" somebody requires??? Running. Running quickly! The thought of Zack pulling his Deion Sanders moves and high-stepping down the alley to catch the perpetrator is what I'm really amazed by.

"As he gave chase, he noticed another man running past him with the same idea — Cuatchon." This is probably the greatest use of the word (yes it is a word, an adjective but soon to be a verb) "Cuatchon" ever. I mean I'm going to quote this when I win all of my Nobel's and Pulitzer's.

If the court system really wants to make Mr. Chavez (the driver) feel extremely horrible for his actions they should just show him the picture of the two dudes that caught him. I can imagine him sitting there, feeling terrible for his crime and for the way it ended. Sitting there thinking, "I got caught by these guys. That itself should be a crime. I deserve to be in here for a very long time."

"Yelling 'Stop! Police! Stop! Police!,' the officer chased the man, who had run into a dead-end alley."

Oh. I see. A dead-end alley. Well then.

C'mon Zambrano. Get it together.

Zack made it on the cover of the paper before I did. Asshole. But with all the fun aside, I'm extremely proud of the guy. Now when someone asks me what my brother is like, I'll smack them in the mouth with this newspaper and say, "Read it and weep. Bitch." And they'll finally know just how different Zack and Marty are.

Celebrities.

These are the celebrities I've seen in the past few weeks.

Michael Kenneth Williams aka "Omar" from The Wire was standing in front of me in line at the post office. Taking his sweet ass time. I'm pretty sure he's the reason for all of the terrible Yelp reviews.

Jemaine looked exactly like this when I saw him. People were shocked that I even recognized him. I don't know why, I can spot a fellow pervert from a mile away.

Cheryl Hines is the best. We were the only two in line at Crate & Barrel. She was really confused about something so I asked her what she was trying to figure out. She said she didn't know where her hotel was. I (intelligently) suggested she look at the key to see if the name and address was on it. She pulled out the key and noticed that the only thing written on it was the room number. She said the street started with a "B" so I went through all the "B" streets I could think of. It didn't help at all. She laughed (she has an amazing laugh) and said, "What am I going to do now?" I told her she should call someone she might have talked to, to see if she might have mentioned the name of the hotel to them." She loved the idea. Then I said, "Just don't call Larry David." Cracked her shit up. "I definitely won't, that would end up on the show." If it did. My life would be complete.

Orlando Bloom.

I am the biggest fan of judging people. I actually can't stand it when people claim, "Oh I never judge anyone." Give me a break. That makes as much sense as, "Never judge a book by its cover." So if there is a picture of a guy raping the tailpipe of his car (I guess it can't be rape if it's an inanimate object) on the cover of the book you're not going to judge it? No? Fine, give it a chance and read it. Let me know what you learn. (If the car is on does it feel better because it's warm?)

The other day two women came into the store I work at, looked at the above picture and said, "Oh. My. God. This is what Orlando Bloom is doing with his life?" They walked into the store, said this bullshit, and then left. They came into the store with the sole intention of trying to make their pathetic little lives seem somehow more important because Orlando Bloom decided to be in a clothing advertisement. If it was expressed in a way that had undertones of jealousy, I would have been more able to identify with them. Like. "OH MY GOD ORLANDO BLOOM IS DOING THIS WITH HIS LIFE?!?!?!?! FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I BET HE GOT TO KEEP ALL THOSE FREE CLOTHES!!!" That's more like it. As I watched the women leave I kept wondering what these two idiots could possibly be doing that would make Orlando Bloom actually seem pathetic for getting paid a lot of money to be in an advertisement where he just has to stand there and let some guy take a few pictures. Nothing came to mind besides, "Maybe these women just came up for the cure for AIDS." And, "Maybe these women are the ones that invented 3-D television." Or, "Maybe these women figured out Clean Energy and they are on the fast track to making the entire world carbon neutral." HAHA! What a fucking joke. I think a better guess as to what these women are up to is this...

• Eating ice cream.
• Gossiping.
• Oprah.
• Going to the gym to read a magazine instead of focussing on working out.
• Standing in the mirror for an hour a day trying to figure out what angle would make them look less fat. (And taking pictures as test shots.)
• Hating their husbands who aren't anywhere near as good looking as Orlando Bloom and who probably cheated on them last week with a hooker they found in the "Clearance" section.
• Not reading books to their kids.
• Being Republicans.

Meanwhile, you know what Orlando Bloom is actually doing?

This...

Smashing on Miranda Kerr and looking cool as fuck doing it.

@gucci1017

I joined Twitter so I could ask all of my favorite celebrities some serious life questions. I really need all the help I can get.

After posting this I began to feel guilty that my little cousins (people who I should not be Facebook friends with) might not appreciate my perverse wisdom. So I made the decision to block them from my Facebook/Twitter updates. I'm really kind of bummed about it. After all I'm just being myself and I shouldn't have to make excuses for that right? I came to the decision because I think I shouldn't be the leader of this fight (I used to think I was). My little cousins are more than welcome to become bitter/jaded/dickheads in the future but I've made the decision that that's their choice. If they want to live an honest life filled with loneliness and pessimism that should be their decision. I don't want to be the Barack Obama (the leader, not the optimist) of their misery.

Honest? Of course it's more honest. You know what optimism is? Stupidity. I'm not trying to sound extra bitter and I'm not in a bad mood. I just think that it takes a special amount of delusion to be optimistic. Don't believe me?

See what the very intelligent and talented and hilarious Louis CK has to say about it.

Anyways, I wonder what Gucci Mane's answer would be. Probably something like, "I got 99 air conditioners blowing on me and 99 air conditioners blowing on the 99 model-chicks/bad-ass-bitches blowing on my ballsack." I got 99 solutions to your muthafuckin' problemz.

Wait a minute. Gucci was totally the wrong person to ask. Back to the drawing board...