Wednesday, July 29, 2009





1. : extravagant exaggeration

I once called in sick to work saying that I woke up and couldn't feel my legs, despite what people think, I swear it was not purely hyperbole.

I am both an intensely good liar and a very bad liar. The good part comes from the fact that I know how much you should exaggerate to make a story good and the bad part being that when people hear my grossly exaggerated stories that take them with a grain of salt.

The problem with my aptitude to exaggeration is that occasionally insane things DO actually happen to me; the spider in my bathroom WAS as big as my hand, the man DID have a birthmark on his forehead that looked exactly like a swastika, the man who broke into the building WAS wearing a Santa Claus outfit. But because of my reputation, in the minds of my family and friends, the man who broke in was simply wearing white pants and a red coca cola tee-shirt, the birthmark was a mole the size of the top of a pin and there was never any spider.

It's a difficult cross to bear and therefore from here on out I'm going to under exaggerate everything that happens to me in an attempt to counteract the curse. I may come home covered in blood with cigarette burns on my face and no shoes and instead of telling you the GODDAMN HILARIOUS tale of being initiated into a gang I will simply say, "Nothing, I ate a sandwich, it was okay."

You see what you are robbing yourself of? Joy. Entertainment. Excitement. A momentary escape from a meaningless existence where, for a fleeting moment, you are transported to a fantastic realm, where reality is just another word for boredom and everything is a little bigger, a little brighter and a little more fantastic than what actually happened because what actually happened would be hardly noteworthy.

Actually, I just have nothing exciting to relay.

Monday, July 20, 2009





MEANING: 1. A person who idolizes Shakespeare

EXAMPLE SENTENCE: If you fancy yourself a bardolater it's best to also have something tough to back it up with, like, "And I also collect machine guns."

I'm a bardolater. Except for instead of Shakespeare, it's booze and instead of a idolization it's more like an quirky personality trait or a funny habit or as my therapist said right before I fired her, "A sick addiction that must stop immediately if I want to live past the age of 26," Judgmental anyone?

Actually I know a lot about Shakespeare, or Shaky-Shakes as I call him in private. I know that he was a pretty good writer but lacked the biting humor that greater writers such as myself possess. I've heard rumors that he was bisexual and more over I have proof of it. I knew that his neighbors often complained about his loud music and that he rarely washed his pants. I also once took a Shakespeare class where we were required to "translate" his sonnets into modern day lamens terms. It was in Community College, ok? For example the teacher would say,

"But be contented when that fell arrest,
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay."

And Tyrone would scream from the back of the room,

"Mutherfucking Shakespeare was arrested, yo."

Tyrone was the smartest person in the class, by far. I thought the sonnet was about falling asleep on a hay bale.

In fact if you want to know anything else about Shakespeare, you should probably just ask him, I’m done with this gay literary bullshit, I’m gonna go watch reality TV and really learn something.

Thursday, July 9, 2009




1. not to be persuaded, moved, or stopped

No matter how good you are at tennis a wall will always beat you, those fuckers are inexorable.*

This attribute, in my opinion is something that you are born with, not something you can cultivate or hone. I am certifiably not inexorable. I can be persuaded, moved or stopped with the promise of a cookie. In fact, I can do two at once, I'll move and stop at the exact same time and BLOW YOUR FUCKING MIND.

I once was persuaded to go to the New Jersey Ikea at 8:30 in the morning after throwing up all evening from a very rare and romantic illness (booze and drugs). I put up a fight at first. Put my foot down in a very real, strong way by calmly and confidently saying, "Uh, do I have to?" And when I was told that I did have to I didn't take it laying down, no sir-e. I waiting until the person in question had turned around and then I flipped them the bird. AND I also proceeded to mumble under my breath, "One day I'm gonna murder you." to which my needy friend said, "What did you say?" and I stammered, "We should get...a...mirror...too." And then just to stick it to the man, I threw up in a 19.99 steel polished trashcan shaped like an elephant in an Ikea showroom.

You see how I did that? That's called standing up for yourself folks.

It's not that I'm a push over it's just that I'm usually so drunk that my equilibrium is off and it's literally REALLY easy to When I'm sober it's a little harder, you have to have a running start and distract me by saying, "Look an polar bear!" before you come charging at my poor defenseless person.

The interesting thing about this affliction is that people who lack an inexorable demeanor usually become serial killers, or go on shooting spree's, or say really mean things behind your back. That's why neighbors of vicious serial killers in the news always are quoted saying, "He was such a nice guy, quiet, polite...he helped me take me trash in alot and once he even came to Ikea with me even though he was sick!" You rarely hear them say something to the effect of, "Well of course we knew this was coming, he was a boorish bully, totally stubborn and mean spirited, a total serial killer in the making. Nobody is surprised."

It's what my sister would call a quiet storm.

The moral of this short bedtime story being, don't make your friends go to Ikea, sick or not. Because they will end up stuffing a rag filled with chloroform into your mouth, putting you into a plastic trash bag, chopping up your body with a ax and stuffing you in their freezer all the while smiling and offering to help their neighbors take in their trash cans. Either that or they will say something really mean about you behind your back, which to me is way ruder.

*A spin of of a Mitch Hedberg joke. If you do not know him, your life has been wasted.

Monday, July 6, 2009

I'm sorry.

Dear Freakishly Die Hard Fan (s),

I would like to express my completely insincere and forced apology for my lack of diligence with this blog. Normally, I would blame it on the fact that I am really fucking busy. Like, seriously, really busy. But in this case, I was moving all week. Remember that dude ,who created the earth and the universe and glorious things like puppies and like six days and then had to crash on Sunday cause he was so tired. Well, I'm a lot like him, but craftier, nicer, more attractive and more important and obviously way busier.

So, to my millions (three) of die hard (bored) fans (family members) who wake up every day on the brink of suicidal depression and look to me as their one and only source of comfort and warmth in this cold, faceless, foreboding world. I'm sorry I let you down. Thanks to all of you for your letters of concern and the fancy cars you bought me and the many packages filled with cocaine and cash, that was really sweet and I appreciate your bribes and more importantly I accept them. So, no more lallygagging. I'm back bitches. Until I have something more important to do, or someone cooler to hang out with, or am tired or hungry or in a bad mood, or a mood too good to be shared and if there's nothing good on TV--you can count on me. I will be there for you, seekers of knowledge, 9% of the time.

And if I become lazy again with my posts, just keep sending me bribes. They really work!