Chicago Bulls. Champions.

On May 12, 2012, I told the world that our beloved Chicago Bulls would have to wait a year to begin their title run. I was wrong. We had to wait a lot longer.

Last year's Bulls team was great. They were hardworking, exciting, frustrating, hilarious, entertaining, filled with black guys (and whatever Carlos Boozer is), and a team we were all proud of. I had a great time watching them. After [more] unfortunate injuries and a near death (sorry Luol!), we got to watch the Bulls play their asses off only to get bounced by LeBron James and his landing strip of a forehead (bald on bald crime, I ain't above it). Oh well. For all you sissies out there that got your sweatpants twisted around your suffocating penises because Derrick Rose decided to sit out the entire season, you can all go back to the local hot dog places you came from and choke on several. Dicks, not hot dogs.

D-Rose was straight stuntin' in them suits.

And now we're here. A year and a half from a terrific season with a horrific ending. It's time for the suit to come off. If you're like me, you sat around all offseason watching D-Rose clips on YouTube, remembering his two-handed throw downs, those moments when you looked at your friend and mouthed 'What. The. Fuck?!' while shivering with excitement.

The team looks as complete as it has in a very long time. Joakim Noah came into the season with a groin injury which means he was up to exactly what I thought he would be up to this offseason.

Is this picture photoshopped? He's got video game face.

Luol Deng is in a contract year. Carlos Boozer finally stopped lying to himself, at least with regards to his hair. Taj is healthy. And I'm still afraid of Jimmy Butler. Even with that hair. Seriously. The guy looks like he can straight fuck somebody up. I love him. And even though I can't believe I'm still watching Kirk Hinrich in a Bulls jersey, I'm OK with it. Mostly because if I'm going to constantly want to murder a white guy on the team, it's going to be 90's time-traveller, Mike Dunleavy. These are our Bulls.

I hate happy endings. They're always cheesy. I don't want the hero to live. I want him to get brutally murdered, his legacy forgotten, his wife married off to his better looking brother, and his kids to turn into Heat fans. No happiness. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone. Smile at misery.

This, is different.

We teach our children to be individuals. To be strong, both in heart and in mind. To be courageous. To be intelligent. To be humble. And those of us smart enough to see the world for what it really is, teach our children to be the most honest versions of themselves in a world where we are all connected. We teach them that there is nothing individualistic, strong, courageous, intelligent, or humble about joining the popular side that is expected to win. We urge them to join the other side. To work hard. To motivate others. To build character. To build a team. To learn. To teach. To lead. And to build a legacy around all of those things.

That's what Chicago taught our #1 Native Son.

A Bulls championship. Sure, it's a happy ending. But that's not all it is. It's more than that. In a world of instant-gratification, celebrity, shortcuts, conformity, "fans" leaving before a close game is over, the Heat, and overall PUSSY-ness, it's The End. The End of all of that. I can feel it in my bones. LeBron, you are an amazing basketball player. Phenomenal. And probably a nice guy. But I don't believe you. WE do not believe you.

LeBron James, The End.

Bulls fans, we are here. Let's watch, let's believe, let's talk some motherfucking shit, and let's watch our boys back it up. And then let's celebrate. It's our time. D-Rose and the gang are going to teach us that we were right all along.

All. In.

- Marty Cuatchon

I like my grapefruits Ruby Red.

I'm so pissed off right now. I bought a grapefruit spoon today. They put the price sticker on the part you put in your mouth and now I can't get the glue off.

Would it be inappropriate to kill myself over this?

My Twerk Ethic.

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Yellowsexuals.

I've always been a bit confused by white guys that seem to have a very specific "type." And that "type" being gooky-lookin' yellow Asian giggly bitches. Well, "Asian" is probably enough to describe it. In high school there were always a few dorky white guys that owned trench coats, or were really into video games, or studied some form of martial arts, or stayed after school for Asian-American-Ching-Chong Club, or were really into being bad at breakdancing, or used any other of the millions of geeky distractions (Japanese class, anime, etc.) to hide the fact that they were really trying to get some of that Yellow stanky on their Anglo hang-lows. In college I was too depressed by my bullshit problems to notice. Then I went to China and saw all kinds of white 45 year-old high school creepshows walking around with Chinese girls half their age who barely spoke English. It creeped me out, mostly because I was imagining what they were doing behind closed doors. My imagination wanders, often in the wrong direction.

Within the past few years I came across a number of white guys that were really into Asian girls and always thought it was weird. I should just accept that yellow women have the same wet parts (sideways or not) as all the other colors of women, so why wouldn't [white] men like them? But there is something about these guys I've always thought was a little different. And the thing is, I can't put it into words. And I can usually put everything into words. Often times disgusting words. Maybe it's me fishing around for those stereotypical high school character traits I've always attributed to these white guys suffering from yellow fever. But it's like the arrow in between the 'e' and the 'x' in Fedex, once you see it, you cannot not see it. Actually, that analogy doesn't really work. Like at all. I think I just wanted to use it to see if the reader knows what I'm talking about. And to sound creative. I'm going to hold onto that one and figure out how to use it some day.

I have come across a few black dudes or latinos who are really into Asian women. (And not just the Wu-Tang clan.) It's just not nearly as often. Black dudes often get distracted by the Extra-Fat vanilla ice cream, but I don't think it completely distracts them from all the other flavors. And latinos, especially the short ones, seem to be down to try just about anything (see: barrel-shaped Mexican women). Are Asian girls a White People Problem? Yes.

If you've ever hung out with my friends in NYC you will quickly notice that they are mostly male, and they mostly like other males. If you called me a fag stag, I wouldn't deny it but I would prefer you call me a fruit fly. They are absolutely fabulous! (For full effect, lisp the s's from here on out.) More than one of these friends has told me on different and separate occasions that if a white guy is really into yellow girls, he is gay. And when I thought about all of my past experiences with white men and their Asian girlfriends, it put things into a new perspective. I can't say that I think this stereotype is true, but I won't say it's not true.

So what is it that makes these g-rods think these white guys are masking their peter appetite with Asian girls? Do Asian girls have some sort of secret masculinity that I'm unaware of? Are they all Madonna fanatics? Do Asian girls rip off their shirts at the slightest hint of dance music or a chance to get a tan? Is it because Asian girls often lack shape? Does this lack of shape have these white guys lickin' their lips for some pre-pubescent boy flavor? I don't get it. But at the same time I think I do. I kinda see it. Asians are usually timid and non-confrontational. What better way to cover up your true sexuality than with a slanty-eyed girl that isn't going to ask questions and giggles at 93% of the shit you say?

Whatever it is, I know it doesn't matter. Who cares why these white guys prefer Asian girls? Maybe it's the porcelain skin, or the petite frames, or the good grades, or maybe because it's a permanent video game partner. Or maybe it's because they really do want penis in and around their faces. Oh well. I'm just fascinated about this conclusion my gay buddies have come to. White guys can go right on liking The Yellows. It don't matter to me, I like the brown ones with the butts. Actually, who am I kidding? I like the ones that look at me for at least 3 seconds. I'm in love with them at 4.

I think it was the white half of Drake that said, "Shout out to Asian girls, let the light dim sum."

Might not be gay, but sure is a...

Nothing to say.

I've been staring at this goddamn screen for over an hour trying to figure out something to write and I have come up with nothing (keep reading). I was going to share a bunch of screenshots of notes I have on my phone but then I realized I didn't want to explain why I use the word "faggot" so many times in them. (They're ideas for jokes. Not really jokes about "faggots" but for some stupidass reason I thought they sounded funnier when they had the word "faggot" in them. Yes, I need to use the word "faggot" to get cheap laughs. No, the jokes aren't any good. No, I don't dislike guys that like guys and girls that like girls. Why am I explaining myself to you? Are you really offended? I was going to call you a "faggot" but I decided not to.)

Writing jokes is really hard. I tend to come up with the same ideas over and over again and it gets boring. I'm sure you've noticed. I'm short. I have a pathetic penis. I can't figure out why girls don't like me. (If I took the first two self-degrading comments I made seriously, I would have probably figured it out by now). White people are corny. I hate everyone. I hate myself. Boohoo. Blah blah blah. Nobody cares.

I actually hate people that say they hate people. Because I'm arrogant enough to think: "You have no idea." What a fucking idiot I am. And what a lame ass thing to think. "I hate more people than you!" I wonder how many people hate me on first sight. Who am I kidding? Nobody gives any fucks about me. And that's not a self-loathing, head-in-my-hands comment. It's a fact. Why would you people care? How arrogant am I, to think people actually have an opinion of me when they see me?

Today one of my dogs threw up in the elevator.

It smelled like diarrhea.

Fun.

I'm Tired Of It.

Don't think I don't notice how much I talk about myself. Whether it's preaching about dreams or sharing my tale of asking a girl out through Facebook, I'm completely aware of how pathetically self-absorbed I am. Sometimes I read through my tweets and sigh at all the I's I come across. And most of them are self-deprecating. If I think I'm so goddamn terrible then why do I keep thinking about myself and sharing my pathetic personal experiences with you people? I guess it's because I have nothing else to talk about.

What is the opposite of a God complex? I think I have that.

So let's stop wasting time and let's talk about me.

Over the weekend I spent a lot of time thinking about how much easier it would be to be good-looking. And don't think I'm sitting here with my head in my hands feeling sorry for myself because of my pathetic penis and my height (that was yesterday). I mean, life is actually easier for people who are good-looking.

Good-looking person's schedule:

• 12pm: Wake up. (Waking up in the AM is for ugly people that have to have jobs to get money.)
• 12:01pm-Whenever the party ends. (Get treated like royalty, people go out of their way to help you, laugh at your jokes even when you haven't told one, and give you free desserts, toys, money, and blowjobs.)

The rest of us have to work really hard at our jobs to get ahead and be taken seriously. When we're done with our miserable jobs, where we spend all day bending over backwards for the lookers, we go home every night and self-improve. We have to take piano lessons, or we have to plan trips so we can backpack across a foreign land, or we have to read books, or we have to try to learn a new language, or we have to learn how to cook well. If we're not doing that, then we spend our time catering to good-looking people just so we can be around them and torture ourselves with aspirations of having their amazing lives. It never ends. And although many of these things can be enriching and a great deal of fun, they take up so much goddamn time.

Yes, that is what I am concerned about.

I'm not depressed about not being good-looking because I give a shit about my looks, but because I'm fucking lazy. I would like to come home and not do shit. Why can't I come home and sit in front of the TV and watch Seinfeld reruns? Why can't I just not own books? Why can't I just sit back and listen to a conversation at a dinner party and still come out on top, instead of constantly having to ask questions I don't really care to know the answers to? Why do I have to balance what I say to make sure I sound interesting but not sound like a Know-It-All? Why can't I have 0 hobbies and interests but know there is a pretty gosh darn good blowjob waiting for me just around the corner? Why do I have to do anything? Why is being not good-looking so much goddamn work? 

I met this lady at the dog park a few weeks ago. Over several different conversations on several different days I became more and more attracted to her. I think it's because she is incredible looking and she is completely weird. Those seem to be the two things I really care about. Is that shallow? See, since I'm not good-looking I have to worry about petty shit like sounding shallow. Anyways, after a few very different conversations, I found myself wondering what my life would be like with a woman like her. Then I realized I didn't really know much about her. So I had to ask a ton of questions. And eventually made it a point ask her her name. She told me. I went home and Googled her name and two other tidbits of information she shared with me in previous conversations, where she went to college and what she did for a living.

My creepy search formula = Name + College + Job

And let me point out, it was only her first name. Google is amazing. The second link was her. It was a Wikipedia article. I decided to not read it because I didn't want to ruin the fantasy. So I just looked at her picture (yep). Would we get along? Where would we go on vacations? Would the weirdness get annoying? Would I ever even have a chance with a woman that looked like her? Would it be different if I was good-looking (which is one (of two) of the real reasons I'm writing this)? And then I realized I was wasting my time because I was ignoring the most important question: Does she have a boyfriend? So I read her Wikipedia page (which was obviously written by her) and I got my answer. She does. And he's in a famous band.

Look at that. Really look at it. Being good-looking in this case probably wouldn't have changed the outcome of this. But since I'm not good-looking I have to constantly look for ways to distract myself from my terribly mediocre life. I had to make sure to get to that specific dog park at a certain time, I had to approach her in a way that wasn't overwhelming, I had to say pleasant things about her dog, I had to give an overly dramatic story about the rescued dog I was walking, I had to figure out what she did for a living, I had to ask her how she got into that, I had to ask her about her background, I had to figure out her name, I had to ask the right questions, I had to pay attention to her answers, on and on and on. I had to create and dwell on this entire fantasy that I constructed over weeks. WEEKS! 

Then I did what needed to be done. I clicked on a picture of her boyfriend and realized he wasn't really all that good-looking. He was just good at the guitar and touring with a famous band. She was the one getting away with being good-looking. She was skating by in our conversations because she didn't need to fill her good-looking head with ridiculous plots and fantasies. She had it easy, but what did that have to do with me?

I'm tired from all of the fantasizing about this and that. I'm tired of thinking myself in circles. So I guess I'm right where I started. Exhausted. Exhausted from wasting so much mental energy on wondering what it would be like to be good-looking.

I'm lazy, but I have so much self-improvement left to do. Maybe I'll start with some guitar lessons.