Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Hey guys. I'm trying to update my blog more often, even if its with shorter, more concise posts (like "Microwavable Meltdown.) But, I've been working on a couple other narrative, "sort of based on actual events" posts. I'm trying to get something finished by tomorrow, but recently decided to obfuscate my dogs. This game is actually quite simple. I grab one of their toys, then pretend to throw it and watch them run after nothing. After several hours of this I tell my dogs that I'll give them their prized toy, but decide to throw it on the roof, and then make myself a sandwich. If I end up missing in the coming weeks, have the police question my dogs. They were probably involved.

Anyway, I'll have a post about either an ad I made in my economics class that got me in trouble, old people, my stupid dogs or public service announcements up tomorrow at the earliest, Friday at the latest. Whichever post I'm able to finish first. That's all. Now, go back to your porn.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

No. 121 "Microwavable Meltdown."

The following are directions on how to make a microwavable meal. Enjoy.

  • Grab the packet of food you want to poison yourself with out of your roommate's refrigerator.
  • Read the intentionally ambiguous directions. If they are not in English, contact a landscaper.
  • Experience trouble with the wrapper.
  • Use a sharp object to cut yourself with accidentally while attempting to remove the packaging
  • Curse God.
  • Place the fodder into your microwave for the median recommended time.
  • Wait while your food cooks for what seems like an eternity. During this time you can either stare at your meal as it revolves in the microwave or walk around your home aimlessly.
  • Remove from microwave. Not forgetting to burn one's self with the food itself, or the plate you used to cook it on.
  • Never let item stand for two minutes to cool down.
  • Take a bite of your meal, only to realize that it is still cold.
  • Microwave for an additional forty five seconds.
  • Read the nutritional facts. Consider a new workout regiment
  • Attempt another bite. Decide that it is done and sit down to watch a reality program.
  • Half way through, realize your meal still isn't fully cooked.
  • Microwave for an additional thirty seconds, not forgetting to push the buttons aggressively.
  • Remove item from microwave once again. Take a bite and immediately be burned with scalding, radioactive goo.
  • Be rushed to the hospital with third degree burns.
  • Die.

Monday, July 19, 2010

No. 120 "Men Are Scared of Spiders, Too."

There are an abundance of stereotypes out there. Whether it be that black people are the best barbers, Puerto Ricans throw the most festive parades, or that women suck at driving. The truth is, many of these are unfounded. But, the greatest fallacy of all, is that men are not afraid of spiders. You ready for the truth?

We are.

Now, I could discuss the fact that spiders are basically miniature monsters that kill dozens of people each year. It's not about that. Spiders are just fucking terrifying. They have eight legs; which help them run faster than humans or slow automobiles. They are poisonous; a legitimately health concern. And, they're icky.

A few months back, my girlfriend that I made up for this story screamed like she was being attacked by malnourished grizzly bears. At first I ignored her since I was in the middle of an intense game of solitaire. After the fourth or fifth shriek I closed the door, as she would frequently seek my attention for the most mundane of tasks, and I did not feel like dealing with her. Eventually, I feigned interest and walked over to the living room to see her atop a chair pointing towards the ground.

She began to berate me for my indolent response time, and not doing the dishes like I promised I would earlier in the evening. Then, she saw something move and remembered why she called me over in the first place. Apparently, a spider had broken into our apartment and was harassing her while she was watching The Real Housewives of New York. No one can torment my girlfriend, except me! I immediately ran over to the spot where the spider was attempting to make a home and/or redecorate.

Then, I saw the spider with my own eyes, lets call him "Steve." I expected to see a tiny insect that I would haphazardly squish with one of her stilettos, then pick up using an old In Touch magazine. I was nonetheless incorrect. This motherfucker was bigger than my car. The only explanation that I could come up with at the time was that one of my enemies had caught an average sized spider, attended medical school, became a mad scientist, genetically engineered the spider into a monster, and then had the wherewithal to sneak him into my home years later. Looking back, this was probably not the case.

When I advanced upon Steve, I promptly leaped back and let out a very girly yelp. I pretended that I stepped on a tack, as to dissuade my girlfriend from thinking less of me, but then quickly realized I was wearing closed toe shoes.

The feral creature stared at me with his eight beady eyes as I tried my best to keep from soiling my cargo shorts. It was at this point that I considered packing up all of our belongings and fleeing the city, leaving my landlord to deal with Steve and eventually be eaten in front of her family. Then, I remembered that I had a non-refundable John Mayer tickets the next night, and came to my senses.

As my girlfriend attempted to build a makeshift fort out of blankets and decorative pillows, I called Animal Control to help deal with our situation. They were quite unprofessional, to say the least. The woman I talked with mocked me incessantly and insisted on calling the "Pussy Police" for me. No help there.

Left for dead, I had to fight off Steve without anyone's help. I searched the apartment for a weapon to defend myself with. There were a few steak knives, but I decided against using them since I am not trained in close-quarters combat, nor do I want to get spider guts all over my nice steak knives. The best ordnance I could come up with was a bottle of AXE body spray and a lighter.

This improvised flame thrower would undoubtedly take care of our "Steve problem." I would be proclaimed a hero and be given a victory blow job by my girlfriend. However, I ran into some problems along the way.

When I came back, clenching my provisional flame thrower, Steve had mysteriously disappeared. Maybe he had heard me searching for weapons and ran away like a little bitch. That could be the case, but then again he might come back with his bigger, meaner spider friends to rape and kill me.

Then, I looked up and saw Steve crawling along the wall. I was unaware that spiders were capable of scaling walls without a rope and pulley or advanced parkour skills. I did, however, begin to fear for my life. I didn't want to spray my weapon at him while he was on the wall, dreading the idea of repainting the entire living room. It was at this point that I was ready to give up.

While hiding in my girlfriend's spider-proof fortress, I came up with a solution. I would cajole Steve into a trap using spider food as bait. I came out of the fort and began to ponder about types of food spiders enjoy. Having never seen spiders eat in their natural habitat, I microwaved a Lean Pocket and placed it on the ground. I then created a trap that would capture Steve right when he was about to chow down on spinach artichoke chicken flavored pocket.

And, so I waited.

After what felt like seventeen minutes, Steve hadn't fallen for my trap and instead took what looked like a nap. I was growing increasingly frustrated and hungry. After eating the lukewarm lean pocket off the floor, I came up with another idea. Steve would just become our pet. Whenever guests would come over, we could tell them that he was a rare dog breed from China. We could get him a cute collar and buy him gifts for his birthday. I could even take him on walks and scare the elderly whenever I grew bored. The girlfriend was not on board with this notion.

I had no choice but to go head to head with Steve. Again, I couldn't find him and began to search the apartment for him. While in the kitchen, he ambushed me and jumped on my back using Sun Tzuian battle tactics. I ripped off my shirt and got into a jujitsu fighting stance. Steve tried to run away, but I grabbed a fork and threw it at him. I only missed by a couple yards, but Steve had again escaped.

Steve ran into the living room and attempted to encroach upon my girlfriend's blanket fort. This was a smart move on his part, since she is much weaker and tastier than I. She began to scream and curse uncontrollably as Steve crawled on her cotton guarded citadel. Not wanting to puncture my girlfriend with polished silverware, I decided against throwing sharp objects at Steve. I determined that I would have to bite the bullet and remove him myself.

I opened the porch door, so when I did grab him I could toss him out of our home without having to struggle with the troublesome sliding door. As I approached Steve, I began to sweat like a sorority girl waiting for test results. I needed steadfast precision in order to pull off this feat. I reached over and grabbed Steve by the back. He tried to claw on to me with his hairy legs, but was too late. I drop kicked his ass over the balcony and slammed the door.

Our apartment is on the second story, so he probably survived the fall. But, Steve was not my problem anymore, as he would probably find a new group of people to terrorize, or just murder that annoying cat across the street.

I proclaimed my ascendancy over Steve the spider and knocked down my girlfriend's fort to signify my triumph, and because I enjoy dismantling forts. She asked if Steve was gone for good, and I assured her that I had kicked the shit out of him and tossed him over the balcony like a used condom. I had saved the day. She was immediately relieved, but then instructed me to clean up my dirty dishes in the sink as she went back to watching her television program.

No victory blow job for me.

Sunday, July 18, 2010


I will be going in a new direction with my blog. Instead of composing ways to spot sluts or giving advice on how to get yourself killed via lawnmower, I've decided to dedicate my blog to the less fortunate. So from here on out, no more dick jokes or ways to disappoint your parents. I will be detailing my life as a member of a local church group traveling throughout the world to destinations no one vacations at, sharing my experiences with others and...

Just Kidding.

I am, however, thinking about changing the style of my blog posts. For the last few years, the majority of my blogs were laid out the same way: 1) Introduction, 2) 6-8 highlighted topics that had to do with the overall subject of the blog, and 3) Conclusion that wraps everything up with a couple misogynistic or ethnic jokes.

Now, I enjoy writing these types of blogs because there is an almost never ending supply of subjects that I can write "how to" style blogs about. I will continue writing these types of blogs no matter what because its my niche and people seem to enjoy them.

But, I'm going to start experimenting with a more narrative form. I've done it a couple times with posts like: this, this, this, this, and this. I prefer this style, since it gives me more room to be ridiculous and not have to stay in a predetermined structure. I can also write about real life experiences that I mix with lies, exaggerations and dinosaurs. I feel that my blogs will become more organic and (hopefully) funnier. Maybe even a little bit poignant.

Probably not.

These new posts will most likely be 90% made up, although some of them will be based on actual events or people who will remain unnamed in order to protect the innocent.

I want to know your opinion on this, so vote on the new poll I put up. Or be a dick and don't.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

No. 119 "Running Into Exes."

Much like sharting, running into exes is something that everyone tries to avoid. You can go to different coffee shops or buy nick nacks at the "other mall," which is usually frequented by escaped convicts, but you will ultimately run into your former flame. Hopefully you will be thinner, better looking and holding hands with a super model when you encounter them, but that's not something I can help you out with. What I can help you with is how to handle your ex when that vexatious and awkward moment comes. Here's a grab bag of tips that both guys and gals can use.

This can only be accomplished if you see them first. So refrain from wearing giant sombreros or chicken costumes while out in public. Those tend to draw unneeded attention. Large plants and park benches are effective hiding devices when attempting to be hidden. You could also try to escape into a large crowd and skedaddle away. But, most of the time he or she will just end up noticing you ask why you are underneath a Chevy.

This is one of my favorite activities, and can really come in handy when trying to one-up an ex. When asked "how's it going?" Reply that your garage band just got signed to Capitol Records, you now drive a Mercedes and that you just started dating a famous celebrity that they have always had utter disdain for. They will probably be too nice to call you out on your obvious lies, but that doesn't mean that you still can't call her an obdurate bitch.

Pretend You Don't Know Them:
This game plan is only for the narcissistic and potentially sociopathic. Once your former lover comes up to you, look at them strangely and say something to the effect of "Um, I'm sorry, but do I know you?" This will enrage them since you two dated for over three years and have mutual custody of a dachshund named Bilo. Keep the game going and call him or her by a different name to enrage them further. Eventually they will just punch you in the face, but it'll be worth it.

Fake Phone Call:
Once the small talk has begun and you are sure that make-up coitus in the parking lot is not a possibility, you need to get out of there quickly. Pretend your phone is vibrating and answer it while they are in the middle of some topic that you don't care about. Then, act shocked or concerned while fake talking. After that, all you have to do is come up with some excuse about how your grandma got attacked by radioactive seagulls or that your car has been broken into by Japanese businessmen. Leave immediately, get out of his/her sight and continue shopping at Sam Goody.

Run Away:
Some may say that this is the easy way out, and they're damn right. But, usually the easy way out is the best decision. If there is a fire in your home, do you search for a blunt object, climb the stairs, break your attic window and jump three stories? No, you run out the front door and scream until a firetruck shows up. This situation is nearly identical. Once you see your ex, knock over the townspeople in your way and run like a dead-beat dad from child support. That's probably what she's looking for anyway.

There's an array of divergent methods to get away with this little trick. Simpletons can always use the celebrated "Holy shit! Look at that!" method of distracting an ex to avoid circumlocutory conversations about his or her pet that you couldn't care less about, or sort of hoped was dead. For the more advanced, I would recommend carrying a hand grenade on your person at all times. This way, if you run into that concubine or dickhead who you formerly dated, you can just throw the grenade in the air and create the best distraction possible: explosions.

Rent A Model:
This could get costly if you don't run into your ex for several years or they died and no one told you. Nonetheless, it is the best way to look cool when running into an ex. One can easily find a model on legitimate websites like Craigslist. Every time you go out, call up the bimbo or bimbro and have them join you while you go to the movies or donate your time to special-needs kittens. Once you eventually run into your ex, they will be so distraught with jealousy that they will have no choice but to kill themselves or at least sob uncontrollably for several minutes. You win!

Be Cordial:
Fuck it. Tell the bitch off.

So, whether you run into your ex while crying outside of her home late at night or while driving your car over him, you now have eight new ways to deal with a potentially maladroit situation. Of course, there are other ways to deal with the issue. One could always flee to another country or undergo extensive plastic surgery. But, it is rarely worth the time or money. Just go for vainglorious embellishment. Works every time.
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