Snapea Crisps.

"Snapea Crisps. Hot Fries For White People."

Don't believe me? Google "Snapea Crisps" and look. Hybrid names = Stuff White People Like. I'll Google it for you.

Yikes.

Yikes #2.

Starting them off when they're young.

Young Republican.

En route to a far away foreign land that will be talked about for the rest of her life. Mexico.

No comment necessary.

And what is one of the first pictures you get when Googling "Hot Fries"?


Don't ack like you didn't know...

The Ace Hotel.

You all know I'm not one for complaining but last night's events were ridiculous. To make a long story short. Me, my roommate Josh, and my friend Donna went to the much-hyped Ace Hotel for their Friday night of fun. Q-tip from A Tribe Called Quest spins every Friday while many brown and white people put their socioeconomic differences aside for a little ass shakin' and pussy poppin'. All of this at the very low price of $10/person. Here is what I thought was going to happen:

The three of us were going to walk into Liberty Hall, listen to some Tribe Called Quest and other Hip-Hop classics. We'd dance a little (even Josh), get our Crunk on, and go home with smiles on our face. I was even planning on getting a little crazy and maybe making some eye contact with girls that were taller than me.

That isn't too much to ask for right? Here is what actually happened.

We got there and paid the cover. There was some shitty boring music playing. They only have one bar with a bunch of fuckin' morons bartending. And if you order more than one drink you have to show multiple IDs (even though it's a 21+ show). Magically a lot of the richer looking white people that surrounded me weren't asked for multiple IDs but of course I was. (Sorry white people, I don't hate you. I'm just really jealous.) $6 for a Tecate is absurd. Hitler should have strung up the people that thought charging $6 for a can of Tecate was acceptable. 45 minutes into the evening the police showed up and told everybody we had to leave because The Ace Hotel doesn't have a liquor license. So after spending about $70 on 6 drinks and listening to shitty music we were asked to leave. I then went up to ask for a refund and was told that it wasn't "possible." I think teleportation isn't "possible." I think a "cool Australian" isn't "possible." And I think a fat black girl who isn't fun and funny isn't "possible." But never did I think getting reimbursed $10 when not receiving a simple service was without a doubt an IMPOSSIBILITY. I complained to the bouncers. I even got PTA-yuppie-mom on their asses and said they should be ashamed of themselves. This was before we got escorted out of the hotel by little fatso police officers for "trespassing."

This morning I woke up livid. What kind of scam are they running over there? And why aren't there any repercussions for anything ever? Was it always this way? Back in the day if you looked at somebody wrong you could challenge them to a duel and go outside and have the chance to FUCKING KILL THEM! You know what I was able to do? You know how I showed them that I meant business? I SHOT them an E-MAIL. Great. I can't even slam a phone on somebody. Nope, I can just respectfully complain with good but not great grammar and a mediocre vocabulary. OOoOoOOoooO I SHOWED THEM!!! Take that evil wrongdoers.

It's like paying money to go to the circus, buying treats, taking your seats, and then being told that the elephants don't feel like being bossed around today and then asked to leave. It's actually not really like that at all but I'm analogy-less. It's like paying a prostitute to have FunTime, going up to the room (or behind the trash can in the alley) and then being told, "Hey I have AIDS and....a penis. If you don't like that, you gotta go." Not really like that either.

So basically you know what my Friday night event was? I paid $10 to stand in a room. Somewhere in the world I hope there is an art exhibition that is exactly that. The Art of "People Are Total Assholes."

Head in your hands.

"Why isn't my grapefuit juice purple?"

"You're now listenin' to the mu-fuckin' greatest! I hope..."

"Wait. Fuck. I'm in the wrong building (pronounced 'biw-din')."

"You don't know me...dad."

"I'm in love with a stripper. And he doesn't love me back."

Can't quote this guy because I've only heard one of his songs.

"Life's a bitch. And then you die. What exactly are the benefits of being God's Son again?"

"I'm in prison. And it ain't for MURRRRRDDDDDAAAAA!"

"Brrrr. They didn't put sprinkles on my ice cream cone!"

Do these Top 3 remind you of something? (Look up.)

"Of course I hate my mom. Duh. But don't even get me started on my dad!"

"Why don't people listen to my white people problems anymore?"

"I specifically ordered persian rugs with cherub imagery!!! What do I have to do to get a simple persian rug with cherub imagery uuuuugh" via Twitter

iPhone Apps.

I've been considering getting an iPhone for a little minute. Since moving to New York, I've convinced myself that it would definitely enhance my experience. What if I would have had an iPhone the time I saw a brother dressed like a Samurai from head to toe eating a slice of vegetarian pizza? (I know this because I followed him. Don't judge. When's the last time you saw a real-life Samurai? Especially one with so much soul?) Or what if I would have had an iPhone the time I saw that 15 year-old Hasidic Jew's penis? (Don't ask. The image is forever burned into my brain. If you really want to know, I'll share the story at some point.) So I guess I pretty much only want the iPhone for its camera, although I'm not sure what a picture of a 15 year-old's penis would get me besides a prison sentence.

Today I was trying to think of other iPhone features that would help or enrich my life. I looked up apps and questioned if any of them would actually be beneficial. Would I really be the chach at the party that whips out their phone to open up the Shazam app that identifies songs being played? A review of Shazam says "There’s nothing worse than when you’re at a party, you meet the perfect hottie and this awesome song is playing, except you have no idea what it is. How the heck are you going to impress her later by playing the song you heard when you met if you don’t know what it was?" Yea, I agree there is nothing worse. Oh wait. There is something worse. How about that hottie resting her drink on you because she mistook you for a bookshelf or some other inanimate object? That has to be worse. Anyways, almost every single app seemed to be the exclamation point to, "I am [fuckin'] privileged!"

Now I'm debating if I actually need an iPhone. Of course I don't. But what hypothetical iPhone app would considerably enhance my experience and enrich my life? If you read this regularly (Hi Ma!) then you're probably saying, "An app that would find Marty a girlfriend!" And to that I say, "Go figgity fuck yourself." (Not you Ma!) Plus that app doesn't exist right? Does it? Seriously, if you know anything about an app that can make this happen please email me (upper right corner of this page). I guess an app that would write a bunch of fake comments on my blog posts to make me feel better about myself would "enrich" my life but I like to think that people never comment because people who read this are too good for commenting and "Yelp."

Actually, I have an app idea that would change my life.

Puerto Rican kids next door bouncing that fuckin' basketball for hours on end? Too much of a pussy to knock on their door and tell them to stop because you don't want to get your computer stolen again? We have an app for that! Introducing the all new app for your iPhone...Trouble Dribble!

Of course I'm not sure how it would work. If I did figure it out I'd make bajillionz off of it. (White people would love me. I think "Loving Marty C." would beat out "clapping along to songs at concerts" as the #1 Stuff White People Like.) Maybe it would just allow you to turn on all of their stereos to that music they listen to. They'd surely stop bouncing the basketballs and start salsa and merengue'ing all over the place. But then you'd need an app to get that god awful music out of your head. And you'd also need an app to take care of all of the kids that would be conceived because we all know what that sort of dancing leads to.

There aren't enough apps in the world to make my life any better. Yet.

The Ending.

This is probably the best ending to a conversation ever. The end and possibly the beginning of a totally awesome new one.


I am officially back. For real this time.

Not playing at all.

Since I don't have a computer yet, I can't e-bitch as often as I'd like. So here are a few ideas to help you stay busy.

1) Watch the Bulls.

2) Play Pogs. (Then kill yourself.)

3) Go for a run because I hate when chubsters take up all my room. Why should I be inconvenienced by your laziness?

4) Get Crunk. Why don't people use that word anymore?

5) Slap people who say the word "Swag." Why do people always use this word?

6) Eat the rich.

I'll be back shortly.

Pool Party!

Sex-abuse defendant, 89, found unfit for trial

There is only one thing you need to read from this very short article to get an idea of how terribly stupid some people are.

"Chester Stabrowski, was charged in 2007 with abusing the boys, both under 13, at his home during a pool party."

Here is what my good friend Mr. Garrity had to say about this. (The reason this looks like a poem or really awesome song lyrics is because it's taken from an e-conversation I had with him.):
I was reading an article yesterday about a 90 year old man who molested two little boys.
At a pool party.
At his house.
So many things went through my mind.
A) Isn't 90 a little old to be molesting?
B) Pool party at a 90 year-old man's house should raise some red flags.
What is he even doing with a pool?
"That sounds good. Should we bring chips or dessert?"
And the kids were brothers.
This story just kept getting worse.
It was like the perfect storm of fucked up shit.
Then I saw his picture.
He looks like he is 150.

It's exactly what you picture a 90 year-old pedo will look like.

Probably figured he had nothing to lose because he's 90.

I couldn't have said it better myself. I do have a few things to add. This is a perfect example of bad parenting on all sides. Chester's parents obviously didn't love him. They named him CHESTER. Any child named Chester pretty much has their "Career" path figured out. No college degree needed to partake in Kiddie Fiddlin'. And could you imagine the life these two poor brothers are going to live now? Talk about sharing a bonding experience. My goodness.

I think the only thing that's positive that can come out of this is the fact that they finally have a good template for the 90 year-old pedophile NEWS sketch. As soon as a 90 year-old pedophile is at large, the NEWS could post this picture because we should always automatically assume that the guy looks something like this. Maybe a bit darker or with a different facial expression but always as perverted-looking as this maniac.

Now I'm imagining a 90 year-old on the run. Pants around his ankles, gripping his walker tight, moving slower than shit. Fuck. Now I'm imagining what a 90 year-old ball bag looks like. It ain't Pretty.