LeBron Got a Piece Of That.

Heyo LeBron. Getcha hand off my boy's pecker. He ain't like that. But then again, I don't blame you for trying. I'm sure the MVP's got an MVP.

Oprah Gives Me The Chills.

What're you trying to say Oprah? Oh goddamnit. You're right. You don't gotta be so mean about it though. Jeez.

When was the last time Oprah was cold? Seriously. I can hear the sighs and the, "Who the fuck cares?"

I do.

Oprah is a billionaire. She has her own television show. She puts writers on the map just by pretending to read their books. She can be whatever weight she wants and somehow use it to her advantage (when fat: Big is beautiful! when kinda skinny: Healthy heart, healthy mind, healthy life!). All sorts of white people love her. And really that's all you need. To be successful in this world you need to be loved by white people.

I love Oprah. I'd marry her in a heartbeat. And not for her money (but she'd have to give me an allowance for doing the chores and pleasuring her, which is undoubtedly an unbelievable backbreaking chore) but because I think it'd be awesome to watch her live. I'm sure she gets whatever she wants whenever she wants and this makes me wonder if she simply skips some of the basic human experiences. "Diarrhea? Who needs it? Runny nose? Don't you have an assistant to wipe it? Ear ache? How can I have an ear ache when I only let people talk when I want to hear them? You think there are unexpected noises in my life? I'm fuckin' Oprah bitch. Recognize."

Does she get cold? I mean, if she wanted to be cold I'm sure she could make it happen. She can make pretty much anything happen (except fitting into a size...well any size below 20). I'm sure all of her homes are the perfect Oprah temperature (which is somewhere in between 74 degrees and heaven). I'm sure her private jet is the perfect Oprah temperature. Her offices. Her castles. Her bunkers. Her...everything. So when would Oprah be cold? When she's touring in a cold city? Limos are heated. She wears the finest furs that are lined with $100 bills, body armor, and white people love.

Oh wait. Nevermind. I bet Oprah gets cold when she drinks her milkshakes too fast. Sorry for wasting your time.

Do you think Oprah ever doesn't wipe good enough? I feel like I do it at least once a day. So when you see me just assume I'm saucy and uncomfortable down there. That's why I'm pissed off all the time.

Occupy Wall Street.

Whatever happened to Occupy Wall Street? I haven't heard anyone mention anything about it in a couple of months. Did they achieve their goal? Do their fathers finally love them? Seriously. What happened? For months I had to read about non-contributing dreadlocked idiots changing "the conversation" about America. Every moron and their mother thought this was going to be the revolution America needed to get back on track. A revolution carried out by sleeping in a park and free loading from (other) guilty white people. That'll show 'em!!!

Now a few months later all I hear is silence. What happened to this huge liberal movement? That's what Occupy Wall Street was supposed to be right? Was (am) I misinformed? Then again, this does play out exactly the way I would expect a liberal movement to...a bunch of fucking pussies calling it quits and kidding themselves into thinking they actually made any sort of real change. Do you know what actually happened to Occupy Wall Street?

It got a little chilly outside!

Where are all the guilty white people at to feed us organic seal sandwiches? Oh wait. It's too cold out here for them.

What the fuck are those disgusting beards for? Of course a little cold weather was enough to shut these people up and force them to go back to their optional shitty lives. (Most of their lives aren't shitty at all. People who have actual shitty lives are busy worrying about real problems and aren't sleeping in parks or sitting in a drum circle. Actually some of them are sleeping in parks, those people are called Homeless.) Could you imagine what the world would be like if everyone was as afraid of the winter as these fuckstains? I can see it now. Americans dug into deep trenches in subzero trenches planning their next attack against the Nazis. "Goddamnit, I can't get rid of these sniffles!" "I know. And the guy bringing around the rations was so rude to me!" "I'm going to have get this crown replaced on one of my teeth because my they're are chattering so much." "Tell me about it, I've gone through like 2 Chap Sticks in the past 2 weeks!" "Maybe we should just wait until the Spring to bring fascism to an end." "Yea. The Jews can wait. I mean, it can't be that bad right?"

If these Occupy Wall Street Revolutionaries (HA!) were around in any other time or in any other country they'd just be considered a big group of homeless people that like talking about Phish and not washing their hair. But instead, since Americans are so fucking fat, lazy, and entitled, they are considered relevant. The ones who were going to combat wealth inequality, the rape of our environment, and all of the other bullshit the "99%" have to deal with. Are they terrified of global warming because winter is their only excuse to go home and hide in their rooms?

I'm sure some of you reading this are saying, "Marty this is totally unfair! People are still out there occupying and trying to make the world a better place." Please. If you want to make a difference start smacking the "1%" around. There aren't that many of them! Find their offices, walk through the door and punch them in the dick or kick them straight in the pussy. Directly in the pussy. Not on the side of it. Get a toe stuck. Or jam finger on a dick punch. That's a start. If you're not willing to do that then shut the fuck up.

And seriously, if these Occupy Wall Street Revolutionaries were the people that we were hoping would make a difference, then I'm glad it got cold out. I'll freeze my fucking ass off and love every second of it.

Vote 2012!

Since I'm dumb, it took me forever to figure out that my friend Adam named his dog "Willard The Mormon" after Mitt Romney. He's got my vote. The dog, not that fucking bitch.

Where's Waldo in 2012?

When I was growing up, Where's Waldo? was undoubtedly my favorite book. I would sit and stare at the books for hours. I still own every single one of them, a few Waldo posters, a couple of Waldo puzzles, and remember watching the TV show like it was yesterday. When I was young, my family got together to make an AIDS blanket for my cousin and to make it special we each made some sort of thing that best represented us or anything we remembered about him. I remembered him loving Waldo just as much as I did (or at least he pretended to) so I made a Waldo face out of felt and sewed it on.

Not a bad idea.

Looking back at Where's Waldo? I struggle to understand what the point of the books were. Were they supposed to motivate children to pay close attention to detail? Were they trying to make sure I'd always be alert and attentive? Or were the books supposed to teach me about all the monotony and craziness that goes along with people-watching (in illustrated form)? I guess they were probably just for fun and parents liked them because it kept their children occupied for a little while (in my case, weeks at a time) so they could go cheat on each other or beat siblings. My parents did neither and maybe that's why I'm confused.

Either way, who was this Waldo guy? He had a dog named Woof. A female friend named Wilma and her twin Wenda (I see you Waldo, is that why you walk with a cane? get in where you figgity fit in boy). He knew an unbelievably tragically named wizard named Wizard Whitebeard which is about as uncreative and boring as you can get. Why do wizards have such terrible names? Wizard of Oz. Well, c'mon man. Give yourself a real name. Like Dennis or Shamazz. Then there was Odlaw, his arch-nemesis, who really just looked like the Mexican Waldo.

In almost every picture Waldo was staring right at the reader. Why do we have to go and look for you Waldo? What were you about to do before I spotted your ass? Or what did you just get done doing? And why did you always have that weirdo smile? It kind of makes me wonder if Waldo was constantly doing something shady.

I think the next Waldo books should be for an adult audience. This time we could catch Waldo doing whatever creepy/weird shit he was into.

Where's Waldo?

• Jerking off to himself in the mirror.
• Sitting an uncomfortable amount of time on a bench at a packed playground.
• At a movie, continuously digging around the popcorn bucket that is covering his lap but never actually pulling out a piece of popcorn.
• In a dark alley that he knows young college girls cut through to get to their dorms.
• Walking Woof really slow past the same dog park waiting for one of the cute girls watching their dog to notice him.
• Jogging at a perfect speed to maintain 7 feet of distance directly behind a girl with a nice bumper.
• Waiting for the train and thinking, "I wonder how many shits that homeless guy takes a day."

I'm not sure where I was going with any of this. I'm starting to realize that the thing I wanted most was to give Waldo some sort of significance in the way his books shaped me. But all I ended up doing was turning him into some sort of pervert that does the same things I do. (I don't own a mirror, there are no alleys in New York, and I don't go to playgrounds.) I guess the only thing I can take away from Waldo after all these years is that I better hope no one is watching me closely. Because if they are, I'm fucked.

Patrice O'Neal

"Get upstairs Susan, warm my bed up!" Genius.

Messy Life. Messy Room.

I spy a New Yorker!

I think my New Year's Resolution should have been to clean my room. Not regularly or anything. Just once. Because it looks like it will take me a year to get this disaster straightened up. Can't wait until I can own other people to clean this shit up for me. Plus, I need to get it cleaned so when my new friends stay over they'll have a place to sleep.

It looks even worse in real life.

Just a few of my new friends...

Otis. He likes to poop right in the middle of the street. He's a Pug/Chihuahua mix. That's why he does whatever he wants.

Pierogi. He's afraid of everything. But he sure is handsome. And fortunately he's not Polish.

Oscar. The ladies love this man.

Mila. She sure knows how to strike a pose. Everything named Mila seems to be beautiful.

Henry. He's almost too cool.

Levan and Chance. These two are my favorites.

So I'm cleaning my room for them. Not for any of you bitches.

Naked White Bitches Shooting and Getting In Horses.

Nude Girl Buys Horse, Shoots It, Then Resides In Its Corpse A La ‘Empire Strikes Back’

Although I'm a fan of The Onion, sometimes I worry real headlines will overshadow any humorous satire since they are increasingly ridiculous and often unbelievable. This isn't from The Onion.

First of all, I'm not sure "resides" is the best word to use in a headline that is already so ridiculous. It's not as if she was picking out wallpaper and curtains for the spare bedroom that is actually a different part of the horse's hollowed out corpse. To me, that's what the word "resides" implies. In any case, this whole story is astonishing. I can't imagine this is going to be on "Stuff White People Like." But I'm pretty sure being "appalled" and "disgusted" at animal abuse will be.

When my friend Matt asked me if I had come across this story I was genuinely confused. "A naked white bitch did what? With her titties out and errrrthang?" That's what raced through my mind (Yes, my internal voice is exactly like Shanene's. Get over it). When I got home from work I went online and tried to figure out what he was talking about.

Yes. Indeed. With her titties out and errrrrrrrrthang.

What kind of fucking daddy issues leads to this? Kiddie fiddling doesn't lead to this. At least I don't think it does. Was it too many chores? Too many piano recitals? WHAT WAS IT?! This is a perfect example of why you shouldn't tell your children they can be whatever they want to be when they grow up. Some white bitches grow up wanting to be naked and in dead horses.

"Grab them penises and suck them juices off!"

I'm not happy that she killed a horse so she could play house with its insides. But with all of this craziness it's not at the top of my list of concerns. My main concern is that she did to make Art. Yes. This is an art piece. I always make fun of "egg carton" art and "installations" and people talking about the latest "space" they're thinking of putting up their newest egg carton installation. I'm sick of it all. And why shouldn't I be? To be an artist today, you have to buy a Mac, get a Moleskine, grow a beard and be mediocre (Marty C. = Check. Check. Neckstache good enough? Check.). And don't forget to tell people you're an artist when they ask you what you do. That always comes first before the true answers of, "I'm a waiter" or "I work in retail" or "My dad is rich." Art these days is advertising yourself and seeking attention (Follow me on Twitter @martycuatchon, subscribe to Daddy Issues on iTunes, Thanks for reading my blog!). It's not about making anything beautiful or putting effort into anything. Nope. Naked white bitches killing and getting into horses is Art. Dig it!

I will bet every dime I have that this guy's name is Todd.

Now I get it! Her daddy must have not tucked her into bed at night. Kill a horse. Cut it open. Get into it. It's like daddy's giving you a nice big hug.

Naked white bitches killing and getting in horses. I'll never understand it. It's a shame because she's actually kinda cute.

Regular Sex.

This is an old notebook I used to carry around. I opened it to a random page and it said, "I don't know about this 'Regular Sex' thing. I don't know it. And I don't like it. I'll keep my eye on it."

"Regular Sex" is about as foreign to me as 5'7" and a big penis. This whole idea that you can carry out your entire day: take the kids to school, go grocery shopping, say hello to your neighbor, walk the dog, then come home and have sex regularly is something I've only read about in magazines and seen in movies. I'm not even sure it actually exists. While most people question if Big Foot or God exists, I question this whole Regular Sex thing. Where does it live? What does it look like? When was the last known sighting?

Many people think that having a partner must mean you've found Regular Sex. I'm not sure it's true. Just look at all the horror stories of relationships and marriage. At first the happy couple has Awkward Sex. Then they figure it out a little and have Exciting Sex. Then the guy has a couple drinks and tries to reenact the things he saw on that website he pays for with his single friend's credit card. That takes it to Weird Sex. Then the girl (or feminine guy (Canadian)) cries and it becomes some form of Emotional Sex. With the tears and anger out of the way, they can finally relax and have Regular Sex. After they start going to more dinner parties and gossiping about other couples they start to read before bed. It gets late and one or the other is too tired so they each say, "Goodnight" and "I Love You," and POOF. They should have said "Goodbye." Goodbye to Regular Sex. Never to be seen again. And it's traumatizing I know. Imagine seeing Big Foot (or God, whichever fantasy you're living in) with your best friend in the middle of a field and as you turn to each other to say "Oh. My. God! (or Big Foot, whichever fantasy you're living in)" you look back and only see a shadow. Nothing. Gone. Never to be seen again. Can you imagine how afraid you'd be to leave that friend behind? You witnessed something most people dream about. And you witnessed it together. The fear of losing that memory of this thing they call Regular Sex, that's what seems to be keeping all of these couples together. Who gives a shit if they're happy with each other? They stay together because they can look back and say, "We saw it. It was here. Then one day it was gone." The brave (some would say stupid) break loose (usually after many years) and seek to find it again. And some do. But not for very long. Regular Sex comes to say "What up cuz?" (how do YOU know Regular Sex isn't black just like God and Big Foot?), then it disappears just as quickly as it (you*) came.

So is "Regular Sex" keeping us together or tearing us apart. I guess some couples are just happy enough with sharing the fact that they've experienced it. They saw it with their own eyes and that's good enough for their lifetime together. They look through old photos to when they were younger. That sparkle in their eyes gives it all away. And others. Others are constantly seeking it. With this person or that. Or with this thing or that animal. Never happy and always looking. Trying to get a glimpse, a taste, a sniff of IT again. Always coming up short. Reminded that they are alone. Forever.

And what do I think? You want to know about me? Well. Like I said. It's about as foreign to me as confidence. And if it takes having a good job, or talking to a neighbor, or going grocery shopping once a week, or maintaining appearances, then I'm good. I lie to myself enough as it is. I don't need to lie to other people to sneak a peek. It won't fill the hole in my heart. So I don't sweat it. I'll just take what I can get. And go from there.

The Chicago Boys.

Last weekend I reverted to the old Marty. The one who used to go out and get smashed a bunch of days in a row and then completely hate himself afterwards. The Cool Marty. I fucking brought sexy back last week. Too bad I can't hold onto it.

Whenever someone comes to visit I have no idea what's going to happen. I'm always so busy pretending to be working, crying, and being bitter that I can rarely fit these guests into my schedule. (I don't pretend to cry. I do it. A lot.) I try not to have expectations but when this cast of characters comes to town I know shit is going to get perverted in a hurry. 

You should all be well familiar with Ryan. He's one of my oldest and best friends. And he amazes me every single time I see him.

The trip started off just as I expected it. The boys blacked out by 9pm, yelled at each other about how much they loved Chicago, embarrassed themselves in front of a hostel full of people, passed out by 10pm, and managed to remember none of it in the morning. And by "morning" I mean 3pm when they decided to get out of bed and convince themselves that they weren't at all ashamed. "You know what Marty, John and I decided we're not embarrassed at all," said Ryan. Good. I'm glad to see lying to yourself is still doing its job.

John is a good friend. He tells unbelievable stories. But one day I found him waiting outside my house in that suit. Ladies, get familiar.

After getting up at 3pm they took the train to Williamsburg where they decided to make a wrong turn and venture off into the heart of Hasidic Jew Land. Unfortunately (and fortunately) I wasn't with them to hear what they had to say about it. I'm sure it wasn't discriminatory and naive. And I'm absolutely sure they didn't talk about wizardry and furry hats. Not at all. 

Ryan's brother Derek. Didn't really hang out with him much before he came here. I remember why. Kinda kidding.

I met up with them and we ate dinner. John thought it would be a good idea to leave his phone number on our bill for the waitress who was easily 10 years older than him and not at all interested. Has this ever worked? In the history of meeting women has this ever worked? Actually. I'm sure it has. Because I'm sure male celebrities do it all the time and I'm sure it works every time. John may have John Travolta's suit on but he ain't no Travolta. Not with an ass like that. (The one so phat you can see it from the front.)

That night we went out and drank our weight in beer. Ryan danced with a tall girl. He will be talking about that night for the rest of his life.

The next day we met up at a place called Buffalo Cantina where the guy from Man vs. Food failed a wings challenge. Eat 12 unbelievably spicy wings in 3 minutes. Ryan ate 4 of them and cried. No. Seriously. He cried. He sobbed for a good amount of time then finished it off in the bathroom. Look at the picture of him. He's not smart.

To cheer him up we went to Central Park where we were constantly amused by all the weirdos. The coolest thing was an impromptu House music dance party. There were all kinds of strange people dancing to awesome House music so we decided to join in and Get Weird. After dancing for a bit we continued our journey through the park. Ryan then explained his latest stupidass idea (understatement) about how he thinks he has already died and is now trying to figure out if he's in Hell, Heaven, or Purgatory. I told him we were in New York City.

That night we went out and got wild. I don't have to go into details...

April, I know I owe you $100 for this. I'll pay you in minority scalps or whatever they use as currency in the South these days.

The best thing about their visit is that I know they appreciated every single one of their experiences. I always think people should travel as much as possible. It broadens the mind and allows you to be whoever you want, even if it's just for 4 days. Since I moved here, so many people have come to visit and its fun for me to watch them experience this circus in their own way. And it's kind of helped shape my opinion towards New York. Anything can happen here.


Ryan took a picture with a girl.


Come back soon guys. And. LET'S GET WEIRD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!