I didn’t forget Passover. I just forgot to write about Passover, which is what I am remedying in this vary post. Monday posts usually reflect on the past weekend like this Monday’s post did. Yesterday, I found pictures of Kristen Stewart at the premiere of Remember Me. I thought to myself, “Self, you know what these people like? Pictures of Kristen Stewart and humorous dialogue featuring Kristen Stewart. They also like the Isley Brothers.” Apparently, I couldn’t have been more wrong.


This past Monday and Tuesday nights were the great Jewish holiday of PASSOVER. You all non-Jews may remember Passover from the Charlton Heston movie The Ten Commandments. Remember all those scenes where the Egyptians are getting their comeuppances? Well, that is Passover. You may also remember Passover from another piece of pop-culture, do you remember this fella’ named “Jesus”? There is a famous painting of him entitled along the lines of “The Final Dinner” or something similar, which preceded Jesus getting killed by the Eye-talians. Well, Jee-zus was celebrating Passover with his amigos.

Passover focuses on the story of the Jews escaping from the tyranny of the Pharaohs in Egypt, the 40 year journey on foot out of Egypt, and eventually making it to the tropical beaches with coconut trees in nowadays Israel. To celebrate you read out loud the Haggadah which is more or less a how-to-guide to doing a Passover Seder, play some story related games, and eat specific foods. You do the same thing pretty much two nights in a row and you do it every year. So, at this point I’ve heard/read the story at least a few dozen times and I still have a lot of the same thoughts/questions concerning it. And take a wild guess, but I’m going to share those thoughts/questions with you all – whether or not you respond in the comments section. Today I will talk about “names” in the Haggadah and the “plagues”.


The story of Passover is pretty great. As mentioned, many of the best scenes in The Ten Commandments are from Passover, and we all know that The Ten Commandments kicks fucking ass. Not to discount the name Moses because it is a great name, but there are tons of great names in the Passover story. Mostly the names you are dealing with are names of Rabbis who helped compile the Mishnah or the first major written redaction of the Jewish oral traditions. Some of these Rabbi names are Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarphon.

The brilliance of the Passover service is that you are reading this at home out loud. In doing so the pronunciation of these unique names and other unique words/phrases are pretty questionable. For instance these Rabbis above appear together in the Haggadah because they’re all sitting around talking in a place called B’nei Berak. So maybe it gets read at my house as Rabbi “Ee-laser” is hanging out in “Benny Barack”. Benny Barack sounds like a pretty cool place. It’s where the kids smoke hookas and drink ginseng laced cocktails. They play all the hip music at Benny Barack from Lady Gaga to Phoenix.

Hey man, I was at Benny Barack on Thursday with Rabbi “Tar-fawn” and guess who showed up? Julian Casablancas from The Strokes! I know it was crazy. He played some new jams which were cool and then he ended it with an amazing version of “Last Nite” off of Is This It? Great times.

The Haggadah does not go into why any of these Rabbis were seen as such scholars. It really just mentions them as scholars and you take their word for it. I have a theory why people respected their opinion back then and why we continue to – the names sound badass! If you were given the opportunity to either follow a Rabbi Eliezer or a Rabbi Dave then I’m saying Rabbi Dave will have a lonesome crowd. Rabbi “Ellie-Ay-Zer” just sounds way more powerful than “Dave”.

“Listen up people, there is a great debate going on over something pertaining to something with Moses, ok? So the debate is between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Dave.”

“Eliezer is right.”

“Excuse me? You haven’t heard the debate yet. I only had a chance to tell you who the debate was between and-

“Come on. Dave? Dave!?! Fuck Dave. Eliezer is a cool sounding guy. And cool people are always right.”


And that person would be correct. Fuck Dave. Eliezer does sound like a cool guy and guess what he is a cool guy. Where as Dave? Remember, fuck Dave. No one dismisses Eliezer that way. No one says “fuck Eliezer”.

My favorite name in the Haggadah is most definitely Rabbi Jose the Galilean. I know that you are not supposed to pronounce his name Rabbi “Hoe-Zay” like he is a Mexican caballero, but how can you not!?! I think you are supposed to say Rabbi “Yo-se” or something similar with the “y” sound, but screw that. Given the opportunity to either say “Yose” or “Jose” then you say “Jose”. In my mind, Rabbi Jose is dressed very similarly to every other Rabbi except he wears a sombrero and maybe carries a revolver. Ok, maybe I picture Rabbi Jose as Eli Wallach from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Maybe just maybe. Is that a crime!?! No, I do not think it is a crime.

Who says I’m wrong? Galilean? Galilee? So many places’ names have changed throughout the years. How do people know exactly where any of these guys are from? Who says Galilee isn’t really nowadays Cancun, Mexico? Crazier things have happened. Crazier things have happened in the very pages of the book you are reading when you run past Rabbi Jose from “South of the Border” with his pistolas.


The Ten Plagues

Blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, pestilence, boils, hail, locust, darkness, slaying of the first-born.

These are the ten plagues that God brought upon the Egyptians. They all suck. I’m not going to lie- each one of these plagues suck. If you were only hit with one of these plagues then you would just write that year off. Summer of ’99 I was plagued by wild beasts, I don’t fucking talk about 1999 ever. I couldn’t imagine being hit by all 10! Man that would suck. Suck is a pretty big understatement, but I think it summarizes the suckiness being plagued by something would be.

So blood – in The Ten Commandments they show the “blood” as all the fresh water turns to blood. Woof, that would suck. Could you imagine you’re out for a jog and you go to take a big swig of Gatorade and instead it is blood? Ugh that would suck. Blood is not a thirst quencher or a good source of electrolytes.

I think we can put frogs, lice and locust together. A few frogs, lice even or locusts aren’t that big of a deal. You could easily catch a few frogs and redistribute them somewhere else. Lice you just use chamomile lotion and burn your sheets. And locusts you can kill because all insects are asking for it in my opinion. Free reign on killing insects! But a “plague” amount of any of those things would suck. And then you don’t deal with one, but all three! You’re being chased around by frogs, scratching your skin raw from lice, and the locusts won’t shut up.

Pestilence and boils can be grouped together as well. Again, a plague amount of boils or pestilence would suck on its own let alone together. I think I can safely say in a society that is ridden with boils and/or pestilence that NO ONE IS GETTING LAID. I think even if the rivers were filled with blood, there are regular frog attacks, and locusts are making noise that people would still find time for some between the sheets action or even through a hole in the sheet action. Even lice!?! I think once you have lice and so does the other person that you can get back to banging. I’m pretty sure if one person has crabs and if another person has crabs that nothing is really preventing them from doing it. But boils! No one is fucking anyone else covered with boils. The pestilence is pretty obvious too. Once boils and pestilence hit Egypt there was zero sex drive through out the land.


I’m not entirely sure about the vagueness of “wild beasts”, but let’s just all agree that being attacked by anything that is referred to as a “wild” “beast” would SUCK. “Beast” is a word people use to describe big, scary and tough – add in “wild” and no one is happy. There is no way you can downplay the sentence “you might get attacked by a wild beast outside”. That is a panic switch phrase.

Again, “darkness” and “hail” are not the best in the idea of a plague amount of them. I think the two compliment each other insanely well in terms of torturing the Egyptians. If you needed to get around in the “darkness” what would be the last thing you would want? Probably ice rocks falling from the sky that you cannot see pelting you. Also the wild beasts thing would suck added with the darkness. Not only is it tough to see outside, but there is a high percentage chance waiting in that darkness is a jungle cat poising to strike and a mess of ice rocks falling from the sky. Great.

And, of course, this is all leading up to the tenth and final plague “slaying of the first-born”. That would suck.

Counting of the Plagues against the Egyptians

Jews don’t really get much chance to gloat when reliving their history. Passover is kind of the big chance to rub it in. Following the mention of the ten plagues is a discussion about how many other plagues God dealt the Egyptians. It starts out with the initial 10 that are noted and later in the Red Sea the Egyptians were hit with 50 plagues. The next few pages is more or less a battle of semantics over how much the Egyptians got their asses handed to them by God with his hilarious plagues. It is really kind of a moot point they are making because either way the Egyptians got the shit kicked out of them.

They try to devise a rubric assigning numbers to certain phrases from the Bible. For instance:

For it is said: “He sent against them the fierceness of His anger, fury, and indignation, and trouble, a band of evil angels”: `Fury,’ is one; `Indignation,’ makes two; `Trouble,’ makes three; `a band of evil angels,’ makes four.


So with this logic you multiply these 4 by the 10 plagues in Egypt means they got hit by 40 plagues. Also, this means in the Red Sea – 4 x 50 plagues – they got hit by 200 plagues. In this calculation the Egyptians got FUCKING TROUNCED BY PLAGUES! But there is another school of thought:

For it is said: “He sent against them the fierceness of His anger, fury, and indignation, and trouble, a band of evil angels”: “the fierceness of His anger,” is one; “fury,” makes two; “indignation,” makes three; “trouble,” makes four; “a band of evil angels,” makes five. Thus you must now say that in Egypt they were struck by fifty plagues, and at the sea they were stricken by two hundred and fifty plagues.

So this means that, God WHOOPED THE SHIT OUT OF THE EGYPTIANS MERCILESSLY! I’m not really sure why this debate is needed except to really laugh at how motherfucking badly the Egyptians got torn up by plagues. Seriously, if God hit you with one plague it would suck. If God hit you with 10 plagues it would suck that much more. And now these two Rabbis are arguing whether or not these people were hit by 200 or 250? Yo bro, they’re dead regardless. Those people got fucked up.

200 plagues? 250 plagues? Who is counting? It’s over. Did the San Francisco 49ers beat the San Diego Chargers in Super Bowl XXIX by three touchdowns or four? Who cares? They got destroyed. It wasn’t close at all.


And finally, doesn’t everyone want to start a band now called “A Band of Evil Angels”? I know I do. Also, I’m sure it would have SUCKED getting attacked by “a band of evil angels”. For one, THEY’RE ANGELS! A plural amount of ANGELS are attacking you. And two, THEY’RE EVIL! I’m just saying, I own a bass guitar and “A Band of Evil Angels” needs to happen.

Well? WELL? WELL!?! Is she or not?


She’s fighting it. I don’t think Kristen Stewart is smiling on the outside, but she is most definitely smiling on the inside. Kristen is trying with all her might not to smile right here. Let it out, Kristen! Give us a smile. We just want a little smile that’s all. We’re not asking for too much. Just a teensy weensy smile never hurt anyone.

Clearly, she wants to smile. Kristen Stewart wants to smile. But for some reason she is also not wanting to smile. This predicament of wanting to smile and not smile has brought us to this current paradox of is she smiling or not. The obvious answer is she is not smiling. But Kristen looks like she is holding back some giggles. A bit of a giggle attack is happening underneath that desheveled hair and she is bracing the walls to defend herself from it.

Let’s get a closer look…


There we go. It’s like the damn Mona Lisa in a leather jacket. What’s up, Kristen? Why no smile? I can almost hear her inner-monologue repeating “Don’t smile, Kristen. Don’t smile. Don’t smile. Don’t smile. Damn it, Kristen, don’t smile!” But she wants to smile. She wants to let out that glow. The warm glow of want and youth and smiling teeth. Nevertheless, she is not smiling.

Is she smiling now? Did she start smiling yet? Check the picture again. QUICKLY! The corners of her mouth are almost at 51%. I think currently they are at %50. Once they go even a slight degree more then we can consider it a smile. A close mouthed smile, but a smile nonetheless. I think if we just sit here and wait for it she’ll break. Shhhh no one tell Kristen.

Ok, Kristen. You win. I’m going to stop talking about whether or not you are smiling. I’m just going to put my camera down. And just walk away. No one, including myself, is curious if you are smiling or not. I’m just going to-


DAMN IT! We weren’t fast enough. I think she started to smile and then saw our clever plan for what it was. I blame you all for not being conspiciously enough.


Definitely not smiling. Ahhh! I think we missed our opportunity. I believe her lips have gone from 50% to 42%. Not a total failure, but things are not looking good. We may need a bigger boat to catch this great white whale. That’s a reference to Jaws and Moby Dick. It also makes no sense. There are millions of pictures of Kristen Stewart smiling, so her smile is not too hard to find unlike a mythical whale that a ship kills themselves trying to find. Plus I’m just looking at pictures and a bigger picture wouldn’t help with getting Kristen Stewart to smile. Or maybe it is a reference to a bigger camera to take a bigger picture of Kristen Stewart’s non existent smile. Ahhh, what if the camera is so big like novelty gag big? It is a 4 foot camera that I am pretending is just a regular normal sized camera and Kristen sees that. She would probably laugh and/or smile at that. Seriously, who doesn’t like a Gallagher/Carrot Top-esque prop joke? Ok, so then the metaphor would make more sense I guess.

I wonder what Kristen Stewart is thinking now as her non-smile becomes more non-smiley.

Kristen Stewart (KS): I’m not smiling. You all might as well put your cameras away because it is not happening today, folks. This is a serious red carpet. This is a non-smiling red carpet appearance. This is all just mind over matter. I want to smile, but I want to not smile as well. And I’m not smiling.


KS: Still not smiling. No, I hear you. I hear you yelling to smile. I hear you nearly barking at me like an angry pack of dogs to smile. Not today, buddy. Do you know what movie this is? It is Remember Me. It is some serious stuff. This red carpet is serious stuff because the movie is serious stuff. What’s the movie about? Hmmm… I don’t know, but it is serious. Rob said that Pierce Brosnan is in it, so it probably has something to do with James Bond or being James Bond. That blonde chick from Lost is in it. I snuck up on her in an alley once with a ski mask and whispered into her ear ‘I’ll cut you if you touch Rob again’. She’s stayed in line since. So the movie could be about James Bond having a slutty blonde daughter who just got rescued from a paranormal island and is trying to hook up with Rob and it is all really serious, which means no smiling.


KS: Listen, asshole, I said no smiling! I am wearing a LEATHER JACKET! This is my no smiling gear. Get it through your fucking heads! NO SMILING! It’s a serious movie with serious acting and it deserves a serious red carpet appearance by me. Get your fill of pictures of me not smiling. Keep flashing away like the little monkeys you are. I’m just going to stand here in my heels, my sand colored skin tight pants and shit kicking leather jacket and I’m not going to smile for a second. A single second! Just keep clicking away with those cameras you little monkeys! Keep taking those pictures you camera toting monkeys!


KS: Ah hem. That almost made me smile. The picture of an entire crowd of little monkeys with cameras taking pictures of me. How do they know how to use those cameras? Who taught cute little monkeys how to use cameras? And why? Because it would be cute? Maybe they are dressed up like old timey reporters. Big overcoat and a fedora with a little slip of paper that says “press” on it. I need to stop this immediately before I start smiling. The monkey processes the film and gives it to the monkey editor of the paper. They pay the monkey in bananas. A direct deposit of bananas into his banana bank account. Oh man, I need to really stop thinking about this.  SERIOUS MOVIE! This is a serious movie! NO SMILING.

Random Woman (RW) (Off Screen): Hellooo?

KS: Did anyone just hear that?

RW (Off Screen): Heellloooo? Kristen?


KS: Shit, this is going to make me smile.

RW: Heelllooo, Kristen? Kristen Stewart? Miss Kristen Stewart? 

KS: Go away, lady. This is a serious red carpet. I cannot smile on this red carpet. Serious movie! Serious Kristen Stewart! I am in a LEATHER JACKET! Doesn’t anyone notice how serious this leather jacket is? Sand colored skin tight pants! Anyone!?!

RW: Heellooo? Oh dear, is it Ms. Kristen Stewart? Not ‘miss’? I know you are not married, but some young ladies prefer a ‘ms.’ instead of a ‘miss’. It sounds a little more dignified. The air of mystery with a ‘mizzz’. Pardon me, helllooo? Kristen? Ms. Kristen Stewart? Could you trouble us with a smile? Just one smile? 

KS: Someone needs to get this fucking woman out of here before I start smiling. Did you monkey photographers plant this woman? Is this a set-up? Because it is almost working.

RW: Heellloooo?

KS: Damn it! Stop saying it like that!


KS: Is she gone?

RW: I just wanted to politely ask-

KS: Fuck. Why won’t she leave? Just leave, please. I’m trying not to smile. I told Rob I know this movie is serious and I want to be serious, so I wouldn’t smile. So please, just leave. Just leave and stop asking for a smile from me.

RW: Well, yes, but we would love a smile. I understand this is serious, but we still would like a smile. We humbly beg. I am begging you. I am an old woman with cats and a slight British accent. I beg you. I beg you for a smile. Us plebians have little to live for. We are peasants. Your smile is gold. It is the charity that the Lord grants us because he has taken away so much from our meak existence. We are mole people and your smile is sun light. We are pathetic potato farmers who have dry soil and a lack of … potato… seeds? We need your smile, Kristen. Ms. Kristen Stewart. Lady Kristen Stewart.

KS: Please fucking stop! Please stop.

RW: The Lady Kristen of Stewartship. The Stewartown of Kristen’s Ladyship. The great ship of Kristen Stewart’s lady parts. The SS Stewart Lady parts Kristen’s. Queen Kristen Stewart. Queen Stewart of Kristenton. Please a smile, Mrs. Exemplorary Queen of Stewartship Kristenton the Captain of the SS Lady Parts. Please a smile! One smile! Just one! Helloooo? I know you like it when I say ‘heeellllooooo?’


KS: Will you shut the fuck up and get out of here!?! I’m not smiling. End of story. I made a promise to my mouth that I wouldn’t smile. And I’m not! Serious movie. Serious red carpet. Serious leather jacket. Serious Kristen Stewart. Serious non-smiling face/mouth. Got it!?!

RW (off screen): Fine. I’ll leave.

KS: Good then go.

RW (off screen): I was anyway.

KS: Good then get out of here.

RW (off screen): I am. Stop worrying about it.

KS: I’m not. Just move on.

RW (off screen): I will. Just give me a second. There are people in front of me.

KS: Whatever.

RW (off screen): Whatever yourself.

KS: I will.

RW (off screen): Just one smile?



KS: Finally, she is gone. Whew, I almost smiled during all that. I think I’m just going to play with my hair. I’m not smiling. Just playing with my hair. I’m not going to think about cute little monkey papparazzi taking pictures for their cute little monkey US Weekly magazines all edited and put together by an office full of depressed cute little monkey cubicle workers. They’re drinking coffee and taking cute little monkey cigarette breaks. They’re having little cute monkey nervous breakdowns from all the stress of publishing a weekly magazine and maintaining a daily updated website. Meanwhile, they went to a little cute cute little monkey liberal arts college just outside of New York City and graduated with a journalism degree thinking they would be producing news pieces for the cute little monkey equivalent of Brian Williams and the cute little monkey news, but instead they are working for a shitty fluff magazine focused on celebrity diets and trying to get pictures of me smiling on a red carpet. Not today, you cute little monkey bastards. I’ve made it through the worst of times. Now, I’m just playing with my hair. So suck on that motherfucking cute little monkeys!


KS: I want it. I feel bad that you are taking time out of your busy cute little monkey schedules to take pictures of me and I’m not smiling. I won’t break my promise to Rob and to my lips that I won’t smile. But I’ll fucking want a hole through your cute little monkey bodies. Take a picture of my want you damn dirty apes! It is a glorious want! A serious want! Oh.. no. My lips? My lips!?! They are curling. Not the ice and the stone and the sweeping, but they are curling upwards into a smile. Oh no! I had them at 40% and now they are going back to 50%. Oh no! I can’t stop them! I think they are at 51%. Oh damn me and this want! It is too much to not smile. I need to maintain! Hold Kristen, HOLD!


KS: Uh… where is everyone going? Where are all my cute little monkey photographers going?

Monkey Photographer (MP): It is simple – if you’re not going to smile then we have no reason to be here.

KS: But my want! What about my want?

MP: We have literally billions of pictures of you and your want. So we’re just going to call it a night. You win, Kristen Stewart. If you say you’re not going to smile then you win.

KS: I do? I win? It’s over? You’re telling me I actually won? I didn’t smile and I stayed serious?

MP: Yep, it appears so. We can’t wait around here forever. We have other premieres to go to like Hot Tub Time Machine. Nothing is serious over there. Everyone is smiling.

KS: I can’t believe this. I thought this was going to be impossible. I really thought I was going to smile.

MP: So did we. We even had that old woman with the British accent try and make you smile, but you didn’t crack. You did good, kid. I’ll see you and your want around, Kristen Stewart. Maybe at the next airport you are at.

KS: Ok, monkey photographer. I’ll see you there. Wow! I can’t believe this. I’m so happy. I can’t believe I maintained my seriousness for this serious movie. I am so happy I could…


KS: SMILE!!!!! Oh fuck. I can’t stop smiling now!

MP: It worked boys! They old fake goodbye worked! No one beats the monkey photographers! NO ONE! Get your cute little monkey paws on your cameras because she is smiling, baby. Kristen Stewart is smiling!

KS: IT FEELS SO GOOD TO SMILE! Oh I am just loving every second of it! The cute little monkeys! The crazy old heeelllloooo woman! Heeelllloooo! SS LADY PARTS! I feel my body radiating the heat of want through my eyes and my lips and my teeth! I AM SMILING!

MP: Do it, Kristen! Come on, boys, let’s sing it! Isley Brothers on 3. 1! 2! 3!

Monkey Photographer Choir (MPC): Who’s that lady?

MP: Come on, Kristen!

KS: I mustn’t. I am in a serious leather jacket.

MPC: Beautiful Lady.

MP: Who’s that lady? Just the harmonies, Kristen.

MPC: Lovely Lady.

MP & KS: Who’s that Lady?

MP: I think she’s got it fellas!

MPC: Real fine lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Hear me callin’ out to you. ‘Cause it’s all that I can do. Your eyes tell me to pursue. But you say look yeah, but don’t touch, baby.

MP: nah, nah, nah don’t touch! Here we go, Kristen!


MPC:  Who’s that lady?

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Sexy lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Beautiful lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Real fine lady

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: I would dance upon a string. Any gift she’d wanna bring. I would give her anything. If she would just do what I say.

MP: Come ’round my way, baby! Shine my way!

MPC: Who’s that lady?

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Beautiful lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Lovely lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: Real fine lady.

KS: Who’s that lady?

MPC: I would love to take her home. But her heart is made of stone. I would keep on keepin’ on. If I don’t she’ll do me wrong

MP: Do me wrong, yeah! Do me wrong, Kristen Stewart!


It is Monday. The start of a new working week. It is muggy and gray outside in New Jersey. It is not uplifting. It makes this whole back to work again thing that much more depressing. Thank you, March. Can’t you just go away and give us SPRING already!?! On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of last week it was pretty nice out. Thursday was a little cooler. Friday was cold. Saturday was cold. Sunday was meh. And today sucks. Thanks a fuck ton, March.


Saturday night was the highlight of my weekend. The UFC had a pay-per-view event in lovely Newark, New Jersey, which I went to. Ahhh, the sights and sounds of Newark, New Jersey. It’s a majestic place with a sparkling new Prudential Center arena surrounded by an entire city filled with violent crimes and go-go dancing. That’s right, go-go dancing. Who knew that Newark, NJ was so fond of the classical dancing art of the “go-go”? I saw three go-go dancing bars over the span of three blocks all on the same street when I was trying to leave Newark before I was killed.

The UFC event was great. The fights were entertaining. The guys I was hoping would win did win. The most interesting part of seeing a fight live is your seat neighbors. Human beings are crazy. Once you step outside the secure confines of your own solitary existence you are forced to interact with other human beings. I will say again, human beings are crazy. Not always crazy in a bad way. There is definitely good crazy. Each one of them is fully ridiculous in their own ways.

I have been to a few of these UFC events now and I think most of the people, like most of the people in life, are good people or completely forgettable. Being completely forgettable can be good when your intention is to just not leave a bad impression on someone. In these types of situations where you are forced to sit next to someone for 5 hours, making sure to leave a non-negative impression is your goal. Leaving a positive impression is something completely different, just not being a douchebag is good enough. Most people are not douchebags, but douchebags leave a much greater impression than the forgettables obviously. As far as my seat neighbors on Saturday night, two were fine to great and two were more of the douchebag variety. I wouldn’t label them specifically douchebags because I do not know them out in the real world, but I would categorize them as something similar.

Besides my friend, the guy to my left was an enormous man and he had Tourette’s. He didn’t yell or say anything inappropriate. He simply would head bang every once in awhile like he had to shake a tick out of his brain. At first, I was thoroughly scared. I was thoroughly scared because I didn’t know he had Tourette’s and instead just thought little demon voices were speaking in his head about murdering everyone in our section. Then the head banging became routine and understood over time. So I have a 6’3” maybe 340 pounds gentleman next to me guzzling $8 beers and he frequently head bangs. Not the worst seat neighbor I’ve ever had at an event.


The guy to my right was an insanely affable gentleman from Dallas, Texas. Actually, let me make note that he was born in Key West, Florida and eventually moved to Texas. Let me also make note that he was well over 300 pounds and probably 6’1”, but he was an athletic 300+ pounds. Remember, he used to be the lead off hitter in some minor league baseball circuits when he was younger. That is, of course, well before he started his construction company. I’m getting ahead of myself. Currently, his company is in the process of building three homes. This is a little more work than he would normally like. He generally only likes to have two home construction projects going on, but the opportunity presented itself for the third home and he went for it. The reason why he is worried about putting too many resources into the home building is that his construction company’s main source of income is through outdoor construction for homes like pools, decks, driveways, fountains et cetera. Business is going well for him in Dallas, naturally, but what about his personal life?

The eldest, 18 year old son, is currently in Junior college. He is taking some courses about company management like a construction company. He is looking forward to joining his day with his business. There is a birthday in the family this week as one of his daughters is celebrating her 15th birthday. Congratulations. And even more congratulations are in order for his second wife. First, let us all recognize again how smoking hot this second wife is and how she is physically way out of his league. Secondly, let’s remember she has already blessed Texas and this man with two children. Well, guess what? She’s pregnant! Again!?! I know! So congratulations on that. I imagine that will be another truly happy moment for his family.

I could go on. I definitely could go on. I know a ton about this man. We talked quite a bit. At this point, I’m pretty sure I could write at least 1000 words on him. I could write about how he doesn’t drink or do drugs nor does he curse really. I could talk about why he loves fighting and college football. I could talk about how he initially did not like Josh Koscheck, but over the past couple years he has developed a fondness for Koscheck because of his will to win. I know an awful lot about this man. I could write an ode to this enthusiastic Southerner who considers himself Texan first and American second. I could write chapters on his life. I could write a soliloquy in his honor. I could spread the word on this man and his genial disposition. But I wouldn’t know what to call it because I have no fucking clue what his name is.

Lastly, the two guys who sat behind us were ASSHOLES. That’s the problem with going outside. You are bound to run into some assholes. The Tourette’s guy and his buddy were nice of guys. The man from Dallas was a very nice man. And then there were the two assholes sitting behind us. We got to our seats at 7:20 pm. These assholes started talking at 7:22 pm and they did not stop talking… well I left my seats at like 12:20 am or so, but I’m sure those two assholes are talking somewhere. Where? I’m guessing Philadelphia.

At no point in the 5 hours these assholes wouldn’t shut up did they mention where they were from, but I would put every dollar I have earned and will earn that those two idiots were from Philadelphia. Booing who everyone is cheering, cheering who everyone is booing, hostility, blue collar attitude, general arrogance and nihilism, inability to modulate the volume of their voices, the overall depressing nature of their laughter signifying they have never known happiness and are actively living a life in which they never will. That and the fact that they knew nothing of North and Central New Jersey. They knew some of South Jersey, but only really far South stuff tourists go to like Wildwood, Ocean City, and Atlantic City. All that means they’re assholes from Philadelphia. I WOULD PUT ALL THE MONEY ON THAT I’M RIGHT!


Every city, town, rural country area has their own brand of assholes. Assholes are not an East coast thing and not a West coast thing. There are assholes on the West coast. There are assholes in Middle America. All over the Bible belt there are assholes. In every town across the nation’s “bread basket” there are assholes. There are most definitely international assholes as well. French assholes, Egyptian assholes, British assholes, Indian assholes, Chinese assholes, Iranian assholes, New Zealand asshole. There are assholes on every continent of this beautiful planet.

I would bet at a scientific research facility on Antarctica there is a guy named Brian walking into the kitchen area and Brian is inquiring, “I’m sorry, but didn’t we ask specifically for 9 slices of coffee cake? There are 9 of us in total and we asked for 9 slices, so one for each of us, right? Did someone eat my slice of coffee cake?” And the one female researcher, Rebecca, that Brian has had a crush on since she arrived back in June, but has not told her any of this and is hoping she will just come to the conclusion on her own because he always makes sure she has the newest equipment to work with replies, “Carl ate your slice of coffee cake. He said ‘if you snooze, you lose’ and then he ate it.” And Brian’s response, “Carl’s an asshole.” And Brian is right; Carl is an asshole.

If I had to describe to someone what is the perfect storm of characteristics that make an asshole: lack of reverence, judgmental and always unimpressed. Those three facets and being obnoxiously vocal about it. An asshole never wants to join the winning team of inter-subjective happy thought.

“Hey man, don’t these fireworks kick ass?”

“Pfffttt, no they don’t kick ass.”

“What? Really? They are literally explosions in the sky of color and light. What’s wrong with that?”

“I know what they are. I’ve seen fireworks before.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them before too. And they are still mini bombs that are shot into the sky to blow up into a kaleidoscope of primary colors. That’s pretty fucking cool.”

“I’m not against fireworks altogether. I’ve just seen better that’s all.”

“Is that all? You can’t enjoy something unless it is the absolute best version of itself it could possibly be and in many circumstances it actually has to out best whatever the last best incarnate you already saw was? Maybe I’m wrong, but I am enjoying these fireworks right now for two reasons. 1. fire, rockets, high in the air, loud bang, flash of light and pretty colors. That’s one reason. 2. There are approximately 526,000 minutes every year and I would say I spend roughly 525,930 of them sans fireworks. ‘Sans’ means ‘without’. I spend by far the majority of every given year without fireworks exploding a safe distance over my head for me to enjoy. So, when given the opportunity to spend a few minutes watching fireworks explode instead of worrying about all the other shit in this world that isn’t recreational fireworks viewing – I try to enjoy it.”

“Whatever, asshole.”

“Nah, man. You don’t understand the implications of that word. You’re the asshole.”

That’s an asshole.


Anyway, I’ve been to four MMA events in the past year and the crowd is mostly not assholes. That is a phenomenal compliment if I say so myself. I can think of exactly what assholes there were at each event. It isn’t an overwhelming number either. For the most part, MMA fans are pretty knowledgeable. They’re kind of forced to be. There isn’t an ominous home team you are supposed to root for or teams at all. They’re all individual stars and in doing so you have to actually remember a lot. You need to remember specific things about each athlete. And the same guys don’t fight every week, month or every 6 months. A fan has to be more than just a fan of one guy or one team because it just doesn’t work that way. Let’s say your favorite UFC fighter is Rich Franklin and Rich at best fights 3 or 4 times a year, but you want to watch every UFC event. You’re going to have to come up with at least several other fighters to cheer for.

By and large, I think most MMA fans operate like that. These people can be great, but for the most part they will be forgettable – which is not a bad thing. And then, of course, there are always the assholes.

I have a headache.

It is probably the result of not going to work on Thursday and then having to go to work on Friday while other people did the opposite. Nevertheless, I have a headache right now. If I don’t focus on the headache and instead focus on a different task then I won’t notice it anymore. With it being Friday and all, I’ll just focus on all the questions you the lovely commenters asked me. I am so lucky to have you asking me all these questions for a great moment like this when I have a headache and need something to distract me.

Let’s see what questions I have, won’t this be fun!?! Hmmmm…

“If you had to choose between a blueberry muffin and a waffle which would you pick and why?”


What? WHAT!?! What the fuck? Seriously? This is your question!?! Do I want a blueberry muffin or a waffle? That’s it!?! A decision between one cake breakfast food and another is the first question I get. This is ridiculous. Just ridiculous.

A blueberry muffin or a waffle? It’s not even a question about what I would like for breakfast. It isn’t an open ended question concerning what I eat for breakfast. Or what do I like for breakfast. Literally, just what would I choose between one or the other. Even better, is the lack of options mixed with “had to choose” presupposes that it doesn’t matter if I like blueberry muffins or waffles.


I have to choose between the two. HAVE TO! What if I’m allergic to blueberries? What if I’m allergic to waffles? Not necessarily the ingredients of waffles separately, but in some way them mixed in a batter form, the waffle iron, and the waffle shape of the object are all poisonous to me and I would die from eating them. In this scenario, it does not matter that I’m deadly allergic to both blueberries and the enigmatic waffle itself. So in essence, I AM CHOOSING WHICH WAY I WOULD RATHER DIE! By blueberry poisoning! OR! By waffle suicide! A su-waffle-icide!

I will skip this question because of its absurdity and move onto the other questions… THAT DO NOT EXIST! Not one other fucking question!?! What the hell. Is it my imagination that last week I questioned whether or not I should even ask for questions because there seems to be a general lack of effort from you all with the questions? Is it my imagination or did some commenters acknowledge how terrible their questions or lack of questions have been and now they were going to try harder? Well guess what – you failed.

The only question I even have is the damn “blueberry muffin or waffle” dilemma and that’s it. Thank goodness for that question I guess. I guess in comparison to the other questions, that do not even exist, it is the greatest fucking question I have received ALL WEEK! It’s damn genius in comparison. It’s a soul searching question that can only help unravel the perils our universe currently is in. Blueberry muffin or waffle? IT IS A BEACON OF LIGHT IN THIS DARK WORTHLESS WORLD! OH GOD THANK YOU FOR THIS “BLUEBERRY MUFFIN OR WAFFLE” QUESTION! AHAHAHA DEAR GOD IT IS BEAUTIFUL! IT IS MAGNIFICENT! AHHHHH!!!!

I guess I have no choice, but to pour all my efforts into this glorious question “blueberry muffin or waffle?” Oh wait, what’s this? “and why?” AND WHY? Oh sweet merciful Jesus! I take your sacrament into my body and feel renewed and cleansed of my sins from all the evil I do because there is an “and why?” at the conclusion of this most beloved, most holy “blueberry muffin or waffle?” question!


And why!?! Oh you see it. You do see it. You see my soul through these cold lifeless computer wires and you see how I want to explain “why” so very badly. It is in my nature to need to explain. I try to just answer, but there are so many corresponding factors as to how I have reached these decisions. I’m not some chaotic life form taking whatever is in front of me. I am discerning. I am thoughtful. I have reasons! My life is a dialectic parable. I am logic!

The humanity of it all. This is not a mere question that could have predestinational implications. This question believes I have a choice even if it is between only two items: blueberry muffin or waffle. I HAVE FREE WILL! I get to make this decision and not God. I get to stretch my arms and my brain and grab a hold of this choice like the bucking bronco it is and ride it to whatever crazy end it takes me – blueberry muffin or waffle! I, and not God, am taking this breakfast cake in my own hands through the act of answering this most important question!

There was a time when the atheist was different. There was a time when the atheist was pro-human and not anti-God. There was a time when men like Jean Paul Sartre wrote of the limitless power of a human’s free will and ability to choose. This power was so amazing that how could one believe there was a being greater than the human that could be pulling our strings and controlling our decisions and knowing their outcome. We as people defied fate or a supreme being because we ourselves had our own thoughts, our own actions and no one or no thing could stop us from exercising them.

This atheism was sexy. We are the masters of our own destiny. We are making these decisions. There is no higher power choosing a blueberry muffin over a waffle or vice versa. I MAKE THAT DECISION! It is mine! And I own it. This atheism was respectable. This atheism was positive. This atheism resulted in some of the finest writings of last century.

Today’s atheism is weak, boring and pathetic. Skepticism! I don’t believe in “God” because I don’t think there is a man in the clouds in a toga with angels. Is that it? That’s IT!?! That is all you have to say for whether or not there is a SUPREME BEING, AN INTELLIGENT CREATOR!?! Whether or not there is GOD!?! All you have to say for yourself is you don’t believe in a man in the sky? SHAME! SHAME ON YOU!

It is disgusting. It is laziness. It is the wasteful “thinking” of 1970’s. Yes, it is all because of you, 1970’s! This child like vision of the world. This narrow perspective. This idiocy being disguised as liberal. You have given us a bad name. I do not believe in organized religion too, but you are sullying my good name by only imagining God as some old bearded man in the clouds. We’re not arguing over whether or not Zeus exists! We’re talking about the INFINITE! Is there an overarching infinite existence that guides life itself? That is the question. That is the debate. Not some cartoonish super-man who lives high above Earth shooting lightning bolts from his doodlee-q and farting thunderclaps.


And this choice, I make today will be my own choice whether or not the infinite exists. Blueberry muffin! Waffle! I call upon your cakeness! I call upon your breakfastness! I call upon you! Give me your strength to help aid in my decision! AHHHH!!! I CAN FEEL THEIR GLOW!!!

I… I… I choose… I choose!… I CHOOSE! … I CHOOSE A WAFFLE!!!!!!!








And why? And Why? AND why? AND WHY? AND WHY!?! AND WHY!!!???!!!!!

I don’t eat blueberry muffins.

If it is a plain waffle, I’ll choose that. If it is a blueberry waffle then I would choose the blueberry muffin. I could eat around the blueberries and in that scenario I’d rather have the muffin. In general, I like muffins better than waffles. And I don’t like fruit in my food.

Thanks for the question.


I’ll see you all next week. And I still have a headache. And The Beat That My Heart Skipped is the best French movie. That is in reference to the commenter who said the best French movie was something that wasn’t The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Have a good weekend.

It’s Wednesday. It’s “wed” “nes” day. It’s “hump” day. It’s the “middle of the week” day. We’re going to talk about men’s penises today. It’s Wednesday and most people pronounce it “wendz” day, even though it is spelled- wait a minute. Did you meaning me, because I’m tying this, say we’re going to talk about a man’s penis today. Not just any man, but former NFL head coach Jimmy Johnson’s “Johnson”. And probably make generalizations about all penises. Generalizations are wrong! You penisist!

I have some sad news. I will not be posting tomorrow. I will be doing something. Something that involves me not posting. I’ll stop boring you with all these details. Needless to say that this something is going to prevent me from posting, so there will be no post. Jeez, look at me rambling with all these details about why I can’t post tomorrow. Sheesh, enough already, am I right? A little TMI – Too Much Informacion. Seriously, I’m going overboard with the details. So “no post Thursday”. But I’ll be back for Friday. Questions et cetera would be appreciated.

Back to the penis talk.


I did think “penises” was the plural for penis, but to be perfectly honest I double checked and looked it up online. Yes – that means if my mork does monitor the webpages I visit, one of them will be the definition of “penis” on Merriam-Webster’s website. I was correct that “penises” is the plural. Apparently, there is an alternate plural “penes”, which I believe you pronounce “pen” “ez”. Yeah? I don’t care what mixed company you are in and what the topic of conversation is (humorous or scientific), but if you say penes people will LAUGH! And think you are CRAZY!

Additionally, I learned something else while checking the penis plural at M-W. The origin of the word “bikini”:

In July 1946, the United States detonated two nuclear bombs at the Bikini atoll, an island in the South Pacific, which of course was big news around the world. A year later, a French fashion designer introduced a scanty two-piece bathing suit and named it the “bikini.

So, before 1947 no one thought that chicks should just wear bras on the beach? I find this ridiculous. Greatest Generation my ass! It took a French man to figure out that a chick wearing as little as possible on the beach or at a pool is a good thing? Does anyone else think it is CRAZY that the atom bomb was developed before the bikini? How on fucking Earth is that possible? I get that it took awhile for “thongs” to be created. I’m sure there was a time back in the day when women weren’t slutting it up with low cut tank tops and barely there short skirts. That period of time is called “MY PERSONAL HELL” and I’m sure during that period of time people didn’t think they can sell to women a string that cuts between their butt cheeks and call it proper underwear. Thank God it did happen eventually because the world is a BILLION TIMES BETTER because of it.

“Greatest Generation”? Pffffttt… those motherfuckers didn’t know about the thong!

Actually, I just read up on the “invention” – yes, the INVENTION – of the thong. The origins are shrouded in mystery. It seems like it was either a Brazilian in the late 70’s or an Austrian fashion designer in the mid 70’s. The strangest credit was to former and dead mayor of New York City Fiorello La Guardia. In 1939, NYC had the “World’s Fair” and the mayor demanded the city’s nude dancers to cover up some and they wore thongs to do so. That’s a nice anecdote, but I think the credit will land with the Austrian or the Brazilian. As much as I would like to write Fiorello “The Little Flower” La Guardia’s life story as born in New York City in 1882, deputy attorney general of New York, Congressman for New York, Major in the United States Army Air Service, Champion of the Progressive Movement, Mayor of New York, President’s director of civilian defense and inventor of the THONG.


Wasn’t I talking about people’s pickles?

Over the weekend, I was watching some cage fighting. The UFC had a free event on the Versus network. The fights were memorable of course, but there was one commercial break that was maybe even more memorable. There was one particular advertisement featuring former 2x Super Bowl winning head coach of the Dallas Cowboys, Jimmy Johnson. What was Jimmy Johnson selling to America? Penis pills. Specifically “ExtenZe” penis pills. What? Yeah. What?


Turns out Jimmy Johnson is in several commercials for ExtenZe. Here is one of them:

This is not the commercial I saw on Versus, but the subject matter is pretty similar. Jimmy Johnson is talking about his dillywacker and other boys’ wangadoodles. Seriously, what the eff en ess? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because Mike Ditka was, and maybe still is, the face of Levitra.

If you don’t remember what Levitra is then imagine how I would react if this:


If Kim Kardashian and I were alone with her wearing that bikini. She slowly makes her way over to me. The entire time keeping an intense eye contact with me as she lightly runs her fingertips over any and all of her exposed skin. Kim gestures for me to lower my head so she can whisper something into my ear. She gets in real close so I can feel her breath on my ear and neck. Her nearly naked body is almost pressed up against me.

And then Kim whispers into my ear: “The Pittsburgh Steelers won the Super Bowl.”

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LEVITRA!!!!!!!!!

Or if Kim Kardashian whispered, “All charges against Ben Roethlisberger have been dropped and he is feeling physically healthier than ever before. Also, the Steelers just signed Brandon Marshall and are signing later today Ray Lewis to a 2 year contract. And they are giving you free season tickets.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! LEVITRA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, that is actually way better than whatever Levitra does. I think Levitra helps a dude get erect for a couple hours if need be. I’m pretty sure in my scenario I would be so crazy happy that I wouldn’t get erect as more I would go Super Saiyan.

On that note, the Jimmy Johnson commercials are very strange. Mike Ditka is a wild man. Nothing that Mike Ditka does is questioned out of fear of him killing you. I was a little surprised when he did the Levitra stuff, but not too surprised. I bet Mike Ditka didn’t even think twice about it. Want to support boner pills? Yeah, I get paid, right? Then sure. I like getting boners, I like pills that get me boners, so where is my money? The Jimmy Johnson ExtenZe commercials seem more personal and weird. The one I saw went like this:


Hot. Wouldn’t need a Levitra or an ExtenZe for her, AM I RIGHT? Jimmy Johnson is commentating at a football game and up walks this little number. She immediately starts grilling him, in the bad way, about him needing a pill for his diddlee stick. This is awkward. The Ditka commercials read to me more like Ditka is looking out for older guys who may need a boost. The Jimmy Johnson ones are more that Jimmy wasn’t necessarily getting it done in bed and now has had to seek a medical cure for it. I feel bad for Jimmy. I feel bad that he is having problems in the bedroom, I feel bad that he had to consult his doctor about it because that was probably embarrassing and then I feel bad that this random chick is questioning him about it.

Jimmy takes her questions in stride and answers them thoughtfully. This is the worst approach, in my opinion. Taking a timed and even approach in rationalizing to others why your pocket Dumbledore now has a prescription drug feeding it makes it really obvious that you needed that drug and you’re not just taking it for the hell of it. I get the idea of ExtenZe helps you be the best beyond what your normal best might be for anyone, but come on it just sounds bad. No Dave, I ride my bike with training wheels not because I can’t ride without them, but it just makes me even more balanced so I can ride with more confidence. True, but not cool.


Jimmy should have turned to her and said, “Listen here, sex muffin. Did you just ask me about my penis? That subject falls into one of those you learn by doing and not by listening categories. How ‘bout we take a couple minute to go into my dressing room? You can strip down and show me how you became a sideline reporter instead of maybe someone who is actually qualified to talk about football. And I’ll show you what I taught the boys at Da’ U about dealing with minxy critters like yourself. Sound good to you?”

The man won two, TWO, Super Bowls and he is politely answering penis questions that are laced with doubt and skepticism about him being able to get it up for a pretty lady? That should not be happening. He is a mouthy drunk Southerner who led two of the most successful football campaigns ever (Da’ U in college and Cowboys in the pros). Did he lose all of his money? Bad investments? Booze, women, gambling? What Jimmy? What!?! Why are you making these commercials!?!

Good news – you can get those questions answered by Jimmy at the invitation dinner with Jimmy Johnson sponsored by ExtenZe!


WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?! Jimmy Johnson is not only doing commercials for a pill about getting your “constan” to “nople” better in bed, BUT he is also meeting up with other men who can’t get their “Detlef” to “Schrempf” when they want it to!?! This is madness….

I won’t lie (this is Sparta!) that it makes me want to order the ExtenZe stuff. I really want to know if it is a guarantee whether or not I get to meet Jimmy Johnson if I do order it. If it was guaranteed I meet Jimmy Johnson I would order it in a second. Whether or not the stuff works is secondary.

“Hey man, guess who I just met this past weekend?”


“Jimmy Johnson!”

“Wow, really? “Dallas Cowboys” Jimmy Johnson or “Nascar” Jimmy Johnson?”

“What rational human being cares about “Nascar” Jimmy Johnson?”

“Good point – ok, so you met the 2x Super Bowl winning coach Jimmy Johnson? That fucking rocks. Where did you meet him?”

“At a dick pill dinner. He’s a nice guy.”

And that is when I leave the room as the MOST ENIGMATIC MAN EVER!


Well, it just had to happen. Those Democrats just had to ruin everything! They just couldn’t leave it all alone. Wasn’t everything just perfect before? Now it’s all over. Not only did President Barack Obama sign the Healthcare Reform bill, but he also signed away all of our freedom and now we’re all going to die in the next hour from being freedomless. What a shitty Tuesday, am I right?

I’m not sure what happens first in a communist socialist country. Does the dead rise and then volcanic ash rains from the heavens? Or is it the other way around? Is the ash a prelude to the zombie hordes? I know that floating demon skulls with bat wings is after whatever is first and second. The bat winged demon skulls are most definitely the third thing. And then there is, of course, the Angel of Death who will proceed to molest any and all corpses that are a result of the ash, zombies and demon skulls with bat wings attacking people.

I’m just perplexed that it had to come to this, but I’m not unprepared. Last night, I went out and bought 600 guns. I thought 600 was a good round number to purchase. It’s not too many guns like 1000 guns. Whew, that is just a stupid amount of guns. 600 is a lot more manageable number of guns to own. I bought 600 guns and somewhere over 300 million rounds of ammunition for the 600 guns. I was thinking I need just as many bullets as there are people in the United States.

I’m not saying that I will necessarily use the guns on the people of former-Free America, but with ash, zombies, demon skulls and Angel of Death rape happening all around there might be some citizens that go crazy and try to kill me. In that situation I should have enough fire power to handle them. Shit. What if exactly 601 demon skulls, zombies and crazy people attack all at once? Well I can easily kill the first 600 with my 600 guns and my amazing gun skills… but that 601st? Oh no. I think I need to buy a couple more guns.

Anyway, there are so many guns nowadays and the demand for them is so high because we all know that the end of the world is approaching so we need to stock up. I asked the gun store guy, Phil, where do all these guns come from? There are just so many to be bought and horded, just where do they come from? That’s when Phil enlightened me.

It’s a given that the first guns were forged out of Jesus’ bones by Jesus. I mean Jesus the God “Jesus” took the man Jesus’ bones and used his Jesus God powers to turn them into guns. Naturally. Obviously. But how do we get more guns from those original man Jesus bones guns?

First, a boy gun meets a girl gun.

Just like with humans, the boy gun has to approach the girl gun and start the conversation. Just like with humans, girl guns are full of themselves like that. The boy gun gets up the courage to talk to the uppity girl gun. The boy gun is charming and tries to make the girl gun laugh. At first, it doesn’t work. The girl gun is being bitchy. She just got out of a relationship with a different boy gun and now she projects all her hatred for that boy gun onto other boy guns who have absolutely nothing in common with her former boy gun boyfriend. Like nothing in common.

Eventually, the girl gun realizes how irrational she is being and actually listens to the boy gun. He is nice and pleasant and he is funny. The boy gun asks her if she wants to get a drink – maybe that weekend. The girl definitely has the free time to go get a drink with him, but she says she might be busy. But they do exchange contact information.

This forces the boy gun to keep being funny for the next week via text and phone calls until the girl gun finally admits she is free that weekend.

The boy gun and the girl gun go out to the coolest bar in town “Gun Bar”. It is a little too expensive for the boy gun, but the girl gun insisted they go there because it is where her girl gun roommate’s boyfriend takes her. Regardless, the boy gun is again charming and affable. He spends more money than he was hoping he would, but he did not expect the girl gun to consistently order only top shelf martinis.

They laugh, they talk about their jobs, they talk about their families and their friends. The boy gun spends an exorbitant amount of time listening to the girl gun talk about some girl gun she works with that she hates. The only bad part of the date was the 15 minutes or so after the 3rd martini where the girl gun accused the boy gun of staring at their girl gun waitress’ ass. It wasn’t staring per say, her ass was just so big how could he not take a second look.

The bar eventually closes and the boy gun takes the girl gun back to her place. She is feeling tipsy and hasn’t been with a boy gun since her ex boy gun boyfriend left her for her ex girl gun best friend. She invites the boy gun up to her place. 

They did start off watching TV. It was late and nothing was on, so the girl gun suggested they watch something on her DVR. The boy gun wasn’t too excited when it was full of “The Soup”, “Gossip Girl” and “True Blood”. The girl gun had 4 martinis on an empty stomach because girls for some reason forget to eat when they go out drinking, so she was ready to go before Joel McHale even had a chance to throw out his first spiky haired quip.

The girl gun and the boy gun begin making out. This escalates pretty quickly to heavy petting because the girl gun was pretty fucking drunk. The boy gun stops for a moment to ask about if they should be doing this on her couch because of her roommates. This is also brought up because the boy gun was hoping it would be an excuse to go to her gun bedroom. The boy gun did eat dinner before drinking, but he did drink a lot at the bar. Let’s just say he wants to get to the bedroom before the gun bourbon steals the gun lead from his gun pencil.

It doesn’t happen often to the boy gun, but it doesn’t not  happen. Catch my drift. 

Back in the bedroom, things get wild pretty quickly. The boy gun finds out an awful lot about the girl gun’s freaky side. It appears that the boy gun is not nearly as experienced as the girl gun, but he just pretends like this is all normal to him. Sure, I “69” all the time the boy gun says. Besides fighting the onset of “whisky dick” and the strange requests the girl gun makes in bed, the boy gun is even more startled by why there are so many pillows on her damn bed. She can’t possibly use all those pillows when she sleeps at night. Nevertheless, back to business.

Ten minutes later…

Finally, a position that the boy gun knows a little bit more about. Not that the other activities on the bed weren’t fun, but they were fringing on weird and most certainly uncomfortable. This is also when a great miscommunication happens. At no point leading up to this were gun condoms mentioned. Let’s just say that the boy gun doesn’t meet many girl guns and he doesn’t carry around gun condoms because it is a let down looking into his wallet seeing that same old gun condom sitting there. Plus he feels like a perv carrying one around.

Seemingly, the boy gun thought that the lack of mentioning of gun condoms meant that girl gun was on some type of gun birth control. Meanwhile, the girl gun is too drunk to really notice plus she assumed the boy gun would be good at pulling out like her old scummy boy gun boyfriend was. Too bad neither the boy gun or the girl gun discussed this with each other.

Naturally, the girl gun gets gun pregnant. The boy gun moves into the girl gun’s apartment replacing one of her roommates who left because of a huge argument over whether or not the girl gun should get a gun abortion. The boy gun gets home from work from his shitty gun job and tries to relax by watching some TV. Usually he likes to watch gun basketball and his favorite player gun Lebron James. But the girl gun hates the boy gun, for getting her gun pregnant and now her trigger guard and trigger are huge and swollen, so she makes sure to ruin it when he is watching gun basketball by talking to him about her boring day and then eventually yelling at him when he is obviously happy when gun Lebron James hits a three to end the 3rd gun quarter.  

After 9 gun months, the day has arrived. The girl gun is in the hospital giving birth. The girl gun told the boy gun she didn’t want to see him there in the delivery room. The girl gun and her gun OBGYN deliver the gun baby as she curses everything about the boy gun.

The boy gun waits nervously outside. The boy gun hasn’t smoked since college, but he ends up buying a pack in the waiting room. After several hours, the gun OBGYN appears. He has some good news.

The gun baby is a …..



That took an odd turn.

I’m not sure where I was going with the gun thing, but here is a cornbeef that Dawgz and I made last night. Oh God does that look good or what!?! We are the greatest cooks ever!

Let’s get another shot of it…


Simply amazing.

%d bloggers like this: