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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My last post about Kim Jong-il. (Maybe.)

Kim Jong-il probably thinking, "Not that big."

Over the past few years I've talked about how much I love Kim Jong-il. His love of Michael Jordan, his status of being the biggest buyer of Hennessy (what you rappers know bout that?), his bed made out of women (again, what you rappers know bout that?), his world record golf score (38 under par!), the fact that he invented the hamburger, and of course, his steeeeeeez! All these things made me love him. I aspired to be as cool as him. I mean he built a city just to be looked at. Gangster? Yessir!

But even though Kim Jong-il had the bitches (not the internet, they don't have the internet in North Korea) going nuts, and even though I'm still on the hunt for those sunglasses, I have to admit: He was a total fucking sonofabitch asshole. 

The saddest thing about Kim Jong-il's funeral procession was that people showed up. Some were probably forced to show up and some are probably so brainwashed they chose to show up either to upkeep appearances or because they actually think he's better than Tiger Woods (he's still good) at golf. Either way it's really devastating. 

I've often heard that you should never celebrate Death. I think that's bullshit. As I'm sure Wesley Snipes probably said in some movie, "Never say never." North Korea is a total fucking mess. When I think about it (and I often do) I really can't believe a place like it exists. How can we let a country exist that is filled with nothing but torture, agony, and delusions (sounds like my "About Me" on Facebook)? People are brainwashed and left for dead. I've read stories of labor camps where people are so desperate they have to eat the corn kernels out of logs of shit. Human logs of shit. I don't believe everything I read but when it comes to North Korea, I almost never doubt it. Why should we not celebrate Kim Jong-il's death? He was the cause of an undeniable amount of pain and suffering that will surely last a very long time. Him and his daddy killed Happiness in North Korea. That might be gangster, but it sure as hell ain't cool.

P.S. I wonder what Kim Jong-il wants in heaven (I don't believe in heaven). When you've had a bed made out of women in your actual life, I can imagine it's kind of hard to upgrade...

Maybe he asked for two beds made out of women. Or like a couch made out of women. Or like a recliner made out of women. Or like a toilet made out of women. Nevermind.

Steve Jobs.

I just got done reading Steve Jobs' biography. I swear if the shortest, fattest guy I've ever seen wasn't standing in front of me cheering me up by existing, I would have shed some tears.

I always thought Steve Jobs was a cool and interesting guy but I didn't really know much about him. I wasn't one to sit around and watch his new product launches, I never really read anything about him, and I was always taken aback by the sound of his voice. The passion, the drive, the intelligence, the excitement, the fascination, the artistry should not be ignored. He changed the world.

One thing that Walter Isaacson hammers into the reader's brain is that Steve Jobs made no compromises. He had a vision and tried everything in his power to make that vision a reality. No matter what. At times he would berate people and come off as an asshole. And I'm sure there are a million things about him that would have pissed me off if I was fortunate enough to meet him. I kept asking myself, did his genius give him the right to be an asshole? No. Probably not. But should he have apologized for it? No. Definitely not.

Almost everything that I've read about Steve Jobs the past few months has been more than insightful, more than inspiring, and more than meaningful. It's been life changing. That may sound dramatic. Good.

I'm not claiming to know anything about computers or technology just because I read some book and know how to use an iPod and a laptop. Or if the open hardware/software model that Windows follows is better and more useful than the closed Apple model. But I do know that the things Jobs created are fucking awesome. Nothing less.

When I first started writing this blog I was obsessed with the idea of being as perfect as possible. Is that childish? Maybe. So many people ask, "Well what the fuck does that mean?" I know what it means for me but I have no idea what it means for you. That's the way it should be. Even though many people say Steve Jobs was an asshole and a tyrant, I can't help but smile, knowing that he made no excuses for who he was. He was human. An awesome one. As perfect as it gets.

Happy Holidays!

I don't really ever ask for anything for the holidays. This year, I will. Appreciate the time you spend with your friends and family. I unwisely decided to skip the holidays this year (and last) to work and sit around by myself. No matter how much I enjoy being with my own thoughts, I've slowly come to realize that you should always appreciate the time you spend with the ones you love. Like everything in this life, it won't last forever.

I really hope this shit ain't too spicy. I never buy the nice toilet paper.

My dad (yes, my dad) decided to knit me a really colorful scarf. I love it. My brother finally couldn't take any more of my complaints about the food in NYC and sent me some Chicago giardiniera. Now I just need some Vienna hot dogs, Italian beefs, and badass pizza to put it on. (The United States Postal Service works just fine, wink wink.)

I wish all of you a Happy Holiday. Hopefully this upcoming year I'll get back to blogging with the vigor I had when 2011 started. Stay tuned and stay swell.

- Marty

Occupy Yosemite National Park.

It has been reported that Occupy Yosemite National Park is in full-effect. In a solidarity stand against Corporate America,  the protestors have decided to do even less until the economy is fixed before they go back to doing nothing. When asked what "doing less" means when you're already doing nothing, one protestor said, "We're spending even less of our own money. We're washing our hair less. We just give less of a fuck. I hate my DAD!" Their claims don't seem to make much sense. The apparent 12 year-old dreadlocks made it obvious that they never planned on washing their hair anyways, and their "hair" sure wasn't any "less" disgusting.

Where's a forest fire when you need one?