Random Thoughts on Life.

Sometimes I like to write my thoughts on life. Sometimes I don't write for long periods of time. But I always come back. So fuckin read these.



Don’t say “Can I ask you a question”, because you’ve fucking cornered me you sneaky bastard...and I don’t like it.


The other night I saw a Daddy Long Legs, and thought, that has got to be the most BALLER bug name ever. And who the hell named it? A bunch of Entomologists were probably sitting around eating Cheetos by an above ground pool and one was like “Aight, next up we found this spider on an outside wall, chillin like he runs the place.” And then another one was like “Look at him with those long ass legs.” And then the first Entomologist was like “Shit, Imma call him Daddy Long Legs.” Entomologists are just a bunch of lazy stoners I’m convinced. I mean, these dudes saw bugs that were super small and someone literally was like “Welp, I guess we’ll just call these, uhhhhhhhh, No-see-ums, cause like, you can barely see um.” I’m pretty sure that is an 100% accurate depiction of what went down.



I’m convinced lighters are all in a secret cult. Think about it, whenever you need a lighter they're NO WHERE to be find. And everyone is like "does someone have a lighter?" And everyone said they thought they did, but they don't know where it is. Then the second the need passes, 20 lighters show up, and none of them are yours. And they're always super different, one has an American flag sticker, there's always a white one, one that doesn't even work anymore. It’s like all the lighters met up, went into hiding for a bit, and then the leader like "Gentleman, I think it's time to make our debut again."


Is it just me, or do old people with walkers LOVE crossing the street?


Can we all agree that Carl’s Jr. has completely gotten out of hand. Now they’re just taking other sandwiches and putting them on top of burgers. That shit ain’t right. They just came out with the Philly Cheese steak burger. Really? What’s next, the Italian sub burger. “From Carl’s Jr, you love Italian subs, and you love cheeseburgers. Well how about the new Italian Sub Cheeseburger from Carl’s Jr. We’ve taken our delicious massive cheeseburgers, and then added hoagie bread, lettuce, tomato, mayo, more cheese, and 4 different types of deli meats. For a real man.” Because also, they always have to be challenging dude’s masculinity if they can’t take on their sandwiches. Like, if you were a real man, you wouldn’t be afraid of a little thing called life threatening cholesterol levels and massive heart attacks.


I saw a sticker the other day that said “There’s NO excuse for domestic violence.” And I thought, come on, there’s gotta be like ONE.


Sometimes when you love something so much you don’t realize weird shit about them. Like I JUST noticed Morgan Freeman rocks a fairly thick gold hoop in his ear. Kind of mind blowing.


Wow, you’re calling me a stalker? Really? REALLY? So just because I sit outside your house with binoculars all night, hacked into all of your social networking accounts, and taped a GPS system underneath your car to constantly monitor your whereabouts, THAT makes me a stalker?! Oh...it does? Ok then, that’s my bad.


It’s nice to smile at strangers. But not for too long, without blinking. That normally creeps them out.


Why is the saying "if I had a nickel for every time..." I'd say "if I had a million dollars..." cause even if I only did something once, guess what, I'm fuckin rich.


Nothing makes me feel old quite like watching “The Real World” now. I remember a day when I was thoroughly entertained by my peers on the show. I’d think, “how cool are THEY?!” Bein all hot and sexy, ignorant of anything outside of themselves, fighting for no reason, and drinking until the sun comes up! Now I just find myself disapprovingly shaking my head and feeling utterly sorry for them. I just think they’re just slutty, idiotic, misguided children who literally don’t have a teaspoon of self respect or dignity. Kids these days....And then I finish my glass of Ensure, adjust my recliner, and put on Two and Half Men.

And now for a couple pictures....

Here's a man standing on the sidewalk along the FDR drive in NYC causing a huge traffic jam...I don't know what statement he was trying to make but I'm pretty sure I get it. Because of the bananas on his head, he was saying that the world is "bananas" or "crazy" and our priorities are all out of whack. Here we are sitting in traffic when we should be at home with our friends and family, really appreciating life. The orange in his mouth is definitely showing that we the people are sort of gagged by the government, we no longer have a voice as the mass media dishes out distractions and false information to flood our mind and prevent us from really vocalizing our opinions on what's going on. His bicycle shorts that he wears above his belly button are sort of saying "I've had it up to HERE, and I can't take much more." And lastly the carved out coconut with the straw once you break it down he's drinking Coco which can mean chocolate or "sweetness", and then Nut, or again "crazy". It's a statement on drinking the Yin and Yang of life. The sweet and crazy, or, the good and bad. We as human beings are made up of all of these things. He's definitely trying to communicate that....OR, he's hopped up crack and moonshine and is wearing a Banana Hat, YAY!!!!




I saw this in a Skymall magazine and it literally blew me away. This has got to be one of the most mind-blowingly dumb inventions I've ever seen in my life. Aside from the massive equipment that looks awkward, bulky, and I'll bet pretty heavy, I have yet to understand the purpose of this. Ok, sure you can make a phone call and be like "What up mutha fucka, where are you? Oh you're just watching reruns of Dancing with the Stars, that's cool. Oh me? I'm just UNDER FUCKING WATER STARING AT FISH RIGHT NOW!" And I'll be honest, it's a pretty cool call to make. $1800 cool? Nope, not a fucking chance. The only other call would be to 911, and it will be pretty short considering your mask is filling with water as you try to speak, and 911 is screaming "please tell us your location?" and you're like "under wagagagaga" followed by a long dial tone. So if you keep reading, you'll see it says you can use it in a pool. What fucking idiot is going to hook up all that massive equipment just to dive into a got damn backyard swimming pool and make a call? Here's a thought, how bout you make it RIGHT before you dive in? Or how about after you get out? It'll still do the job, I promise, and you know what's in your pocket? $1800. The end.

Can I Talk To You For a Second?

You know what pisses me off? When Americans decide to get all cultured and accenty but only when it comes to food. Seriously, fuck you. And it’s always some mutual friend that you already can’t stand. You’re getting pizza at Sal’s and she’s ordering and she’s like “and if you can just be light on the moo-tzah-rrrrell.” And you’re all like “What? Did she really just say mozzerella like that? Here’s another few at the top of my “you pretentious fucking douche” list. Cahrehhhoow-s-aaahnt…You’re not French, you’re from Long Island. Just because you fucked a French dude in the bathroom of a club while you were backpacking through Europe does NOT make this ok. And it’s always people that don’t even know a foreign language that feel the need to be like “I think I’m going to heat up some Mah-nih-gohot”…Bro, it’s Manicotti. Just because you’re Italian like 14 generations back and you rock a wife beater with one of those gold horn necklaces does not make that acceptable. But ya know, you don’t see it as often with Mexican food. Man I could really go for a barrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-hee-toe.”



Have you ever noticed nobody gives a shit if you have a cold? I mean everyone has sympathy for the flu and I get it. And with the recent swine flu madness that’s all anyone cares about. But I’ve had awful colds that parallel serious illness and I never get the sympathy I’m looking for. No one really cares because they’re fairly common, but sometimes you feel like you should be in the hospital with a morphine drip. I’m all congested and I can’t breathe or sleep or eat, and my throat’s all scratchy and I can’t inhale air without coughing or sneezing. And sometimes you just want the warm comfort of people feeling sorry for you, like “oh dear God, are you ok? Did you say you have a COLD?! I’m taking off work to take care of you, and I’m calling the Doctor. That mofo is a makin a house call. You know what? Let’s have the doctor just move in here and be on call for a few days.” But nooooo, no one even asks how I’m feeling. At best you get “Oh that sucks, did you take Tylenol?” Fuck your Tylenol. I need 4 blankets, matzah ball soup, a down pillow, a cold compress, a light Swedish massage, some positive reinforcement, Green tea and honey, some DVD’s to watch (preferably a nice mixed bag of comedy and drama), and a hearty handful of Percocet…and Codeine. Then I want you to sit and eagerly listen while I whine and complain for a couple hours about how bad my throat hurts, and do you understand how much it sucks that I can’t smell or taste anything? I mean, I’m hungry but I can’t even taste the food, do you know what that’s like?



Promoting the weight of a food product should never be allowed. Pizza Hut, are you kidding with this Pizzone situation? The fact that it’s over one POUND of cheese and dough and meat and sauce and fat , does NOT make it super awesome. Stop weighing the thing in your commercials on one of those old fashioned metal scales, as it comes crashing into frame like a boulder. America, you are so fucking fat, you make me sick. Seriously. You might as well be like “Hey out there, who wants type 2 diabetes?! Who wants a meal that’s your entire fat intake for a day, plus some?! Can I get heart disease in the houseeeeee?!” Just out of curiosity though, how much do those things go for? Six bucks? Really….Do you deliver? Wait did you just say you serve wings now? Ok, you’re fucking fat, but I just need to call you real quick….to ask something…separate, from ordering food…yeah…




You know what else I hate. When I’m all zoned out at the gym, doin weights, Ipod pumpin, got that glazed over post-cardio “out of body stare” goin on, and I get a tap on my shoulder, and some queef –ball is like “hey, wanna switch off on sets?” I’m sorry, who the fuck are you? You can’t just wait for the machine like a normal person? I don’t KNOW you. And yes, I’m too much of a pussy to actually say no to your face, but inside, I’m hating you so hard right now, I mean with every ounce of my being, can you feel it? I’m sending you telepathic hate waves. Why would I want to get up, wait for you to do a set, dripping with sweat, and then sit back down to do mine? We’re not workout buddies, you’re a 43 old hairy overweight dude with a comb over. So I’m always like “actually, I’m just finishing up if you can give me a second.” But the truth is, I wasn’t finishing up, I lied to you. Are you happy? Use the God damn machine.




I feel like the term “Fuck You” never really made complete sense to me. I always had trouble breaking down exactly what it meant. I mean, you say it when you’re really angry at someone, but what exactly are you trying to tell them? Are you threatening them with the possibility of having sex with you? Is it a shortened version of “I’m gonna fuck you?” With that logic, wouldn’t it really be a diss to yourself, because you’re proclaiming that it would awful for them to end up having intercourse with you? Or do you hope they get fucked? But does is it mean getting fucked literally, by a stranger or whomever, or more like their life should get fucked. Like their entire state of being, should just be fucked. I’ve thought long and hard about this and I think a more effective way to get your point across to someone you really hate or you’re super upset with would be “Rape You.” Think about it.




Dudes are never more passionate about a subject than when they’re talking about their friend’s girlfriends that they HATE. I’ve had numerous conversations with guy friends and the heart and passion and feeling that comes through their voices about these women, it’s unparalleled. “Yeah, she’s a fucking VEGAN, and now suddenly he’s afraid to eat meat around her, cause she’s sensitive. It’s like the devil fucked Hitler and shot her out. I never even see him anymore.” I mean on the reg these guys are the most apathetic dudes around. They don’t seem to have strong opinions about anything in life. But somehow it’s like the passion of Kirk Cameron talking about Jesus when they emphasize how these women are the most insanely awful human beings to walk the planet. Ladies, you best get along with his friends, because they will make it their life’s work to hate on you so hard, you can taste it. And eventually they win, or your man officially has no friends left.




Do you what know the best part of owning a dog is? Eating like a fucking pig. Follow me here. When my dog was alive (RIP), and food fell on the floor when I was eating, I literally never thought twice about cleaning it up. My dog would be running over slopping it up in no time, licking the floor spick and span. Now that he’s gone, I often forget. Things will drop off the table and I just think “the dog will handle that.” But he never comes over. And then I’m surrounded by a floor of crumbs and food. Or sometimes the waiter comes over and is like “get a busboy, this chick’s a fuckin animal.” And then the busboy comes over and cleans up all the salad I’ve dropped on floor when I was trying to make it all choppy chopped, and he’s muttering in Spanish vulgarities under his breath. You know, you would think purchasing a “restaurant dog” would fix that situation, but then the humane society comes in because you keep it in your trunk and now you’ve got more problems. I say, just clean up after yourself.



Is there anything stranger than when a commercial has testimonials by paid actors? What’s going on there? It’s kind of a mind fuck. I was watching an infomercial the other night and the people seemed really amped about the product. A little too amped some might say, but they were getting me excited about it. Then a graphic faded into the bottom of the screen that said “testimonials by paid actors.” How does that even qualify as a testimonial? Ok, so what you’re saying is, those were all lies, and those people aren’t real. That’s like if I went to a bakery and I was about to buy a cookie and I was like oh that cookie looks good, and the bakery clerk was like “it’s soooooo delicious and moist, the chocolate just melts in your mouth. My life is better for having eaten that cookie….Except I’ve never tasted it and they pay me to say this. I don’t even work here! Just make 3 easy payments of 75 cents.” Oh cool, great, box it up!




I’m pretty sure there will never come a time when someone says “Can I talk to you for a second?” and something awesome is about to happen. Basically, I think it’s a safe bet if someone says that to you, shit is about to go down. You’re either sleeping with their girlfriend, about to get fired, or you just said “Rape you” to their mother.




Is it just me or seemingly simple things are extra complicated at hotels? Every time I stay in a nice hotel it’s like the lights and television need to come with a fuckin instruction manual. You’d think I grew up among the Amish and confused by the concept of electricity all together. I’m always trying to figure out which switches connect to what lights, and it’s always a fun surprise of unpredictability. It’s like when they were building the hotel, a bunch of electricians were wiring up the rooms and one of em was like “Hey Murray, Johnny, Little Tony, how bouts we make this here switch by the door actually turn on the bathroom light? Wouldn’t that be rich?” And then the Little Tony is like “That’s the best thing I eva heard. And what about if we make it really friggin hahd to figure out where the switches are to turn off the lights by the bed?” (Mid way through I decided the electricians were from Boston.) Anyway, what kind of irrational people are designing hotel rooms? Or have you ever noticed sometimes a switch doesn’t turn anything on? I always wonder, what the fuck is this switch doing? (As I switch it on and off a few times testing it), jump cut to some homeless dude living in the basement of the hotel trying to wack off to some jizz mag and the light’s strobing on and off like a god damn rave. Let’s just keep it simple folks.

Oh no they di'int!

Is Clinical Strength Deodorant really necessary? Have we evolved into smellier people or did we feel inclined by our level of technology at this point to just be like “Well we have the capabilities, shoooouuuouuuld weeee? And then a Scientist in his lab coat shrugs all cute and his associates and are like, “Aw hell Henry, why not!” That means there’s a clinic dedicated to this, testing the levels of a deodorant’s power in a fight with BO to the death. So what, regular deodorant is just like some Mexican in a warehouse mixin a bunch of shit together with a big wooden ladle? I feel like all deodorant should just be clinical strength, right? Or how about just Clinical Deodorant? Don’t just make it as STRONG as the kind made in clinics. Let’s stop fuckin around and really do this.


They’ve started making serving size bags of chips and cookies and things like that. You know what I’m talking about? Those 100 calorie bags, tryin to help people out if they are dieting or just curious like “hmm, wonder how much I consume?” Here’s what those bags have done to me. They’ve firmly established the fact that I….am…a fat ass. Seriously. I look at those bags and get choked up. Because truth be told, if we’re talking about MY serving size, grab about 5 of those 100 calorie bags and pour them in a bowl. Now grab a jar of salsa, mix it with half a container of hummus. Ok good, now we’ve got a snack. There’s something about mindlessly eating Wheat Thins out of the box that helps me convince myself that I’m having a small amount of baked crackers grown in a breezy field of grains. And now I have to confront the harsh realization that I’m Jabba the Hut and have an appetite of someone from The Biggest Loser…before the show. I wish those tiny bags would just go away. Put them wherever Crystal Pepsi and the Electric Car reside.


There’s always something generically creepy about cat people. I understand one cat, but once you hit more than two, there’s an issue. “Oh Dorothy? She’s a cat person.” “A cat person? Ohhhhh”…Dorothy is now weird, after being described by two tiny words. But you know what, I sort of get it. They’re easy to clean up, you don’t have to walk them, and they’re just sort of, there. But there are two types of people that take the torch and then jog around with it like they’re competing in the Creepy Olympics, and I don’t want to ruin it for you, but they take the Gold. I’m talking about Bird and Ferret people. I don’t like when people have birds and talk to them like humans. Just because they can mimic words, doesn’t mean they understand what the fuck you’re talking about. I was helping a friend out at this theater and the main theater lady had a bird sitting on her shoulder the entire time. And she kept talking to it in the midst of our conversation like it was human, and she could just ignore me for a moment. Wow, you’ve just made me hate you. The term bird brain exists for a reason. It’s a tiny feathered creature that would peck out your eyes if you ever died in your sleep. It doesn’t love you. And don’t even get me started on ferret people. These are the same people that wear big pastel sweatshirts with the places in Central Florida they’ve gone on vacation. These people go see Barry Manilow in concert, and have every Disney movie on DVD. Ferrets are like long rats. Ferret people always have weird contraptions and toys that take up entire rooms dedicated to the leisure time of their ferrets. They will try to convince you that ferrets are up to par with dogs. No..uh uh. Congratulations. You’ve just won the disturbing pet award. The prize? A life time of loneliness, enjoy.



Where’s Olestra? I know it made you poop, but that’s ok. Why doesn’t anyone care that the only things left with Olestra are like Pringles and Ruffles? I mean, it tastes the same as regular fat but has no actual fat in it and like a tenth of the calories. Hello? Do you need to read that again? Science has answered our prayers and no one is doing anything about it. I just downed a huge bag of Olestra Ruffles the other day and I was just so ecstatic, I almost had like a mini voluntary seizure from sheer excitement. The emptiness inside of me was filled with such happiness that I could finish the entire bag in one sitting and have none of that lingering guilt. Why does NO ONE care it was all the rage a few years back and now it’s just a blip on the radar? Why aren’t we frying like EVERYTHING in Olestra, and I mean everything. I’m like really upset about this. Olestra, if you’re out there and you’re listening, someone in LA misses you.


I feel like now that Google exists, it should be a child’s choice if they want to go to school or just google topics that interest them.



Is there anything more underrated and yet awful, than getting a paper cut? It’s like the most bone chilling feeling in such a tiny tiny form. It’s not even the actual moment of impact, it’s often the memory of it that’s actually worse. Later that day when I’m recanting it to a friend, that’s when it happens. It’s usually then that my brain is like, “oh yeah, you mean THIS feeling” and bring back that indescribable thing that takes over my entire body like a tidal wave of heebie jeebes. You know what else is awful pain in a bitty form? Stubbing your toe. Nothing makes me more livid at inanimate objects than when I stub my toe. I just wanna take a sawed off shotgun and blow the shit out of my dresser or the corner of my couch. I usually fall the ground in pain, angry at the world, dramatically screaming at the closest person near me like “This fuckin couchhhhhh!”, cradling myself and rocking in the fetal position. I don’t really know any other way of dealing with it.



Have you ever known someone who seemed completely normal, but thought that they had a great singing voice. Then comes the day you hear them sing, and they’re not good…at all. It’s right then, that everything else up until that moment is void. However cool or normal they seemed doesn’t matter. They’re now officially fuckin weird. They’ve ruined their entire reputation in your mind in the blink of an eye. It’s like on American Idol. My roommate and I place bets as to whether a person will have a great singing voice. You can normally tell in the pre-interview when someone is a little off. They dress like they’re from the Renaissance era, they’ve brought props, they’re overly cocky, the list goes on. But every now and then, a completely unassuming person, who thinks they can sing well enough to be in a national singing competition comes along. And then..they blow. They blow huge, massive, donkey balls. And it makes you think, what’s wrong with that person? What are they hearing in their head? And most of all, what the fuck are you thinking? It’s an amazing dive into someone’s deep psyche in one brief moment. It’s like, I love to dance. And I can get my groove on at a club and feel relatively unashamed about it. But I’m not about to show up for J-Lo’s music video auditions in warm ups and a sweatband and tell them I’ve got Latino flava in my blood. Cause I’m smart, and I know my skills. Wise up, kids.




When did Dr. Rey from Dr. 90210 get so effin creepy? I mean, he was always breathy and gross, but now he goes into work everyday dressed like he’s at a Persian Night Club. He’s also constantly hitting on patients to the point where it makes me so uncomfortable; I have to mute the show like it’s a scary movie. “Oh, look at you. Look at youuuu. You’re gorgeous, what beauuuuutiful girl, ohhh yesss.” And this is while he sits on a stool holding a woman’s robe open and just starting at her breasts like a dog waiting for a piece of food to fall off the table. Keep it professional bro. If you watch close enough you can actually see him mentally jerking off. And since when is it appropriate for all your scrubs to be cut-offs? This isn’t Jenkinsons Pavillion at The Jersey Shore, it’s Beverly Hills. I always forget, do plastic surgery patients look for their doctor to have the same personality traits as a date rapist? Here he is folks. It’s ALWAYS a good time to bare a little waxed chest.

Wait, like, for real?

I really hope there never comes a time where I need to run for my life, because I’m pretty sure, I’m dead. I mean realistically I can probably run at full speed for like maybe 3 blocks, possibly 4. But let’s be honest, whoever is chasing me theoretically is trying to kill me, so they aren’t going to give up easily. I mean running as fast as you can is like crazy hard. I’m just hoping that weird adrenaline thing you always hear about kicks in, like when a mother can lift a car off her child. The thing is, I know if that time comes I’m gonna be so pissed when I never get superhuman speed and I’m just out of breath and sweating coming to that realization like, “Aw fuck, I am so getting murdered right now.”



Have you ever woken up and realized you really have to pee but somehow your body has managed to contort itself into just about the most comfortable position humanly possible? And the thing is, it’s not like you’re just on your back or something. It’s like your arm is under your head and you’re sorta on your stomach but also on your side and one leg is stretched out across the bed but bent a little and your other arm is tucked under your body but balled into a fist. It’s like this complex position that somehow all of your body parts communicated while you were sleeping and were like “We fuckin did it, we all worked together and here we are.” So then you wake up, at first there’s that moment of pure unadulterated happiness…until your brain realizes you have to pee and you’re gonna have to get up, so you have this internal conflict on what to do. Do you just try to go back to sleep and wait until your body wakes up because you literally can’t hold it in any more? Do you try to memorize exactly how each of your body parts are positioned and try to recreate it after you go to the bathroom? Or do you just say “fuck it, I’ll change my sheets in the morning” and free yourself of that constraining urine right there in bed. Of course you get up… but may God have mercy, you’ll never quite find that position again. It’s so frustrating. I normally end up shaking my fists up at the sky screaming at the heavens something to the effect of “Why have you forrrrrsaken me!!!!” Dramatic? Possibly, but once you feel a sleeping position that’s comparable to floating on a cloud covered unicorn woven from Silk that made love to a Brookstone massage chair under a gentle blanket of warmth and comfort’s lovechild, you’ll understand.



I know it’s a little dated, but why did we ever stop talking about the fact that John Tesh decided to try a music career?


You know what’s recently started to piss me off? Have you ever been watching a commercial and it just cuts off in the middle and goes on to another commercial. I’m not sure why this has become annoying to me, I mean I hate commercials. But something about leaving me hanging, I just need to know the fucking conclusion. The most recent example that made me want to dial up Pillsbury on my cell piece and keep saying, “Well then let me speak to YOUR manager,” was this; A father and daughter are sitting at a kitchen table, the father is eating a fresh crescent roll and the daughter goes, “Dad, how come the boy I like, acts like he hates me?” And the father goes, “Well honey, he’s kinda like this crescent roll,” as he tears it open and…BOOM the commercial cuts off. What..the..FUCK? How is the boy like a crescent roll, seriously, I need to know. Is it something about the boy being flaky on the outside but moist and warm in the middle? That sounds nice. Or maybe French people like to eat young boys for breakfast in quaint cafes? It’s like a demented version of an S.A.T question. Do crescent rolls not understand why their bodies are changing and why they get boners in the middle of math class? I don’t know, but I bet it’s really profound and the commercial ends with the father gently brushing the hair out of his daughter’s face, scarfing down the entire crescent roll in one bite and then condescendingly whispering, “Does that make sense? Now go get Daddy a beer.”



Have you ever had an awakening about something seemingly normal, but all the sudden you realized how fucking fucked up it is? An example is pregnancy. Have you ever just looked at a pregnant woman and thought, “Holy shit, there’s a human being growing inside of that woman, like a person, stretching her stomach, just shackin up in there.” It’s normal stuff, that all of the sudden seems alien to you. The other day there was this little girl on TV and her front teeth were missing. We normally look at this and think “Awww, she has no front teeth, that’s adorable.” But all of the sudden, it just freaked me out. It’s just weird that we can look at a toothless child as something precious, but not an old person. I mean, when an adult is missing teeth we immediately think, “Now there’s a homeless Meth addict” but a child’s face just looks physically different to us, because it’s natural for their teeth to just be falling out of their face. I don’t know my point here, but it’s just weird. Kinda like how a woman growing out her armpit hair is just Nasty McGrossenstein, but a big thatch of hairy pits is awesome city for a guy. Maybe my point is, I should stop smoking so much pot.



When a dude’s sportin a V-neck shirt, you're workin with about an 80% chance he’s a douche bag, just sayin.



I hate to break it to you, but when a baby is born it looks like….a baby. They literally all look the same for like the first two months. I never understood when a baby pops out and someone in the family always has to be like, “Oh my goshhhhh, he looks exactly like (insert husband of wife’s name), just LOOK at him, he has Uncle Gary’s forehead and Janet’s eyes.” Nope. He looks like a smooshed face that just got squeezed out of a Vagina. He is generic BABY. It’s hilarious when they have paternity tests on Maury and they literally put up a split screen of an infant next to the supposed baby daddy. Then you have Leanne standing up and screaming, throwing herself all over the stage, “LOOK at HERRRR, she has your EYESSS and your NOSSSSE!!! How can you deny her!!! She looks JUST LIKE YOU!!!!” Bitch, you could make a case that your baby looks just like Barry Manilow, it’s a fuckin infant. On a separate note, I feel REALLY bad for Sholanda. Watch below and find out why.





Hey sweaty dudes at the gym, your awkwardly loud workout grunts are starting to sound uncomfortably sexual…you might wanna look into that, it’s off putting.



Why do I feel the need when I’m leaving a message for someone and they suddenly call me back in the middle of it, I have to talk to future them to let them know they’re calling. “Hey Tara, I just wanted to find out if…oh wait, this is you now. You’re beeping in right now, so I will be talking to you in person, bye.” I don’t like that. It’s a complicated thing talking to someone in the future. I mean, WHERE DO YOU BEGIN?!



Last night the Director of the Emmys, won an Emmy for directing the Oscars, and accepted the Emmy in the control room while directing the Emmys. And then my head exploded.

Random Thoughts. And a Couple of Wishes.

What’s up with those people that have their kitchen garbages in really odd places? I don’t wanna go on a God damn scavenger hunt to trash something. If you’re that person, gimme some insight here. Why can’t you just put it under the sink or next to the stove like the majority of people? We all know these people. You’re at someone’s house and you go to throw something out, you naturally go under the sink and they go, “Oh, the garbage is in the dining room closet down the hall behind the door”. I just don’t have time for people like that. “Oh, are you looking for the garbage?” “No, I wanted to see if there was a present for me hiding next to your stove.” “Oh, the garbage is actually two blocks away in the 7-11 utility closet.” These are the same people that keep snacks in their basement closets. “Go downstairs and grab the Doritos.” Ya know what, fuck you.


So in this little thing we call “The movie makin business” (said in creepy old man producer voice) there is something we call “ADR”, it stands for Automatic Dialogue Replacement. Basically actors go in and re –record or add dialogue that’s inserted back into the movie if things aren’t caught properly, or punch up certain jokes …So now I ask you, what happens in porn? I’m talkin hardcore pornography. It’s a movie right? Things happen and sometimes the moans and groans and “Oh shit, oh my God, I’m gonna cum in your shoes!” gets muffled. Do these porn stars go into a studio, fake orgasms and talk dirty like they're bumpin and grindin? Or do they simply say “Fuck it, let’s just have sex again and record the audio.” I mean seriously, why not? They should make it authentic. It’s not like porn stars have these morals like they can’t fuck for sound. That's a t-shirt waiting to be made "Will Fuck For Sound." They aren’t gonna stand on some high horse like, “I know I just got gang banged on film by the starting line-up for The Spurs, but I just don’t feel comfortable fucking for audio alone, it’s just not right.”



Flavor Flav claims he lost his virginity at the age of 6. When it first hit my ear drum I was like, yup, I have no problem believing that. But then I thought deeper…Turns out I’m still fine with it.



I noticed something very strange the other night. I’ve become quite a fan of Dateline, 20/20, and Primetime Family Secrets. You know, they have those creepy murder mystery specials. Man are they addicting. And they all have one thing in common, follow me here. Every time they show the victim on these shows it’s always a montage of weird candid pictures. Tons of them, just photo after photo of them not looking at the camera, engulfed in some random activity. Did they even know there was a camera there? I honestly think in my entire life I’ve been in like 5 candid pictures. I was probably at a petting zoo or doing a keg stand and someone snapped a photo of me. But literally every picture of the victim that gets popped up on the screen is like them drinking a beer on a boat unaware of the camera, them playing with children, or them talking to someone in a mundane work environment, and it just looks like someone happen to catch them doing it. I’ve come to one conclusion. Go home tonight and take a peek at your photo albums…If you’re rarely looking at the camera or there is a picture of you doing something on a mountain top, you’re probably going to be murdered, possibly by a family member…I’m just gettin it out there.


I’m sure over the years there have been debates about what the scariest thing on earth is. Well guess what? Debate…over. I’ve found the most terrifying thing on earth. Two words, Psychic kids. There’s a new show on A&E that focuses on these demon spawns. Cute little girls and boys seeing ghosts. You can't make me an ironic cocktail and expect me to drink it. Lookin all adorable and then talking to dead people, seeing spirits sitting in the same room as you! No. Thank. You. I can’t imagine what I would do if my child was seeing ghosts and solving mysteries. Possibly a quick hug and a “check ya later”, as I leave them on the doorstep of a very nice foster home. I'm joking, only because if I did that, they'd probably tell their ghost friends to haunt me, and I just don't have the time for that sort of thing.


You know what I’ve never understood, hydraulics on cars. Who sees someone bopping along the road in the most aggressive way possible and thinks “I’m green with envy.” I honestly can’t wrap my head around something that stupid. It’s like mindblowing. Why would you want a bumpy ride? Why would you want your car to go up, and then slam you down? If I had money, I’d lube up my wheels and make them out of a Slip-N-Slide, then I’d be the smoothest mofo on the block slitherin around like a Got-damn snake. That’s what I think is cool. Or how about, I don’t know, spending money on a car with good gas mileage, or a hybrid perhaps? No? You’d rather your car be lifted up and then dropped repeatedly? Ok, I’m not gonna fight with you, but I REALLY think you should reconsider.


My DVR gives me blueballs. Yup, you heard me. It knows how to leave me high and dry right me after it gets me all excited. It records my program and always cuts off on the most amazing moment. Whether it’s coming attractions for next week, what happened to the Meth addict on Intervention, or who went home on “I Love Money.” I sit there waiting, watching, nervous, will I get to see the end this time? And sure enough, right at the climax, I see that horrible icon that makes my skin crawl as the screen freezes, “Would you like to delete?” DVR, you are one evil bastard.

Here are two things I truly wish to happen before I die.

-I wanna to have a real situation where someone is staring at my so intently it requires me to turn to them and with no sense of irony proclaim, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” I bet that feels so good. But it could turn against me…They could actually take a picture, and then… I’m not really sure who wins.

-I wanna be singing in a recording studio and there’s that moment where the record producer is standing next to the guy at the soundboard, and they are both listening to me sing and the soundboard guy is messing with the knobs and all into it and he looks up, and the record producer looks over at him with his arms crossed and they just give each other that knowing nod. That fucking nod….We’ve all seen it. Like, “We got a fuckin hit on our hands.” I want that slow motion nod.

Did you get the memo?

To the guy who wears a bike helmet on the treadmill..I’m really not sure you should be at the gym at all.



The new commercial for Extra gum shows the piece of gum standing up like a slender body and then proceeds to call it the perfect 5 calorie snack. You know what I consider a perfect 5 calorie snack? A bag of tostitos, a bowl of salsa, and side of guacamole. Oh wait, 5 calories? Nothing, cause it DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST. I really hope they tag on an eating disorder hotline at the end of those commercials, so after these women nod their heads in agreement of Extra’s claim, they can immediately call the hotline and explain how fucked up they are. Who in their right mind considers gum a snack? Possibly the same people that consider a head of iceberg lettuce a hearty meal, and those people are called anorexic. Hey, with this line of thinking I got a great pitch for Aquafina, how bout, “Water, it’s what’s for dinner.”


If you think Carlos Mencia is funny, you should probably kill yourself.


Why is it that those nerdy historians and college professors that talk on History channel specials and things like that, act like they knew the people personally and were there during various events in history? They give all too detailed descriptions and strangely specific accounts of things that happened like hundreds of years ago. You got Bernard Theodore Jeevinsons, History Professor from UPenn and he’s all, “The thing was, when Abraham Lincoln first saw his wife that day, he laughed at her, like a low pitched chuckle. This was because she was wearing an excessive amount of rouge on her cheeks! And I’ll tell you this, she was not happy at his reaction, she scoffed and then poured herself an ice cold glass of orangeade and retreated into her study.” Seriously, how the fuck do you know that? Were you hiding in a cupboard? They all have these weird high horse attitudes, as if they were there having cocoa and crumpets with all of these historical figures. I bet all their sexual fantasies are about people that have been dead for hundreds of years like, “I have this fantasy of me and Harriet Tubman, she’s wearing a long ripped up skirt and a rag on her head, she's filthy, but she has this sparkle in her eye when she looks at me, and then I proceed to show her my underground railroad…if you know what I’m saying…get it? I’m talking about my penis.”


Just when I think I understand pop culture and what people are into, National Treasure 2 comes out in theaters and Las Vegas on NBC is blowing out the candles on their 100th episode cake. I give up.



I watched part of “Evan Almighty” the other day and quickly realized you could go back and reshoot the entire movie as a super disturbing drama about a deranged man falling into sheer madness. He’s convinced he’s talking to God and has to build an ark in his backyard because he thinks he’s Noah. He starts wearing robes to work and grows a massive beard. Fuckin crazy. It’s like a modern day Shining, except really shitty.



If you have children and after seeing a Sunny D commercial, you think, “I should add that to the grocery list," then you’re a terrible mother.



How come ghosts and stormy nights go hand in hand? Is that like the best weather to socialize in the afterlife? Do they know it’s scarier? Does a ghost call his bro and is like “Yo, look outside it’s thundering mutha fucka…wanna creak around an old house and scare the shit outta people?” And his bro-bro is like “I just opened a tub of Cherry Garcia but you know what, that sounds amazing.” Or maybe God gives them a heads up like “Good news fuckers, we got a pretty creepy thunderstorm brewin out in Wisconsin. You guys’ll have a giggle fest and total blast…tell the gang.” You just see a storm in a movie and you’re like waiting for the shit show. I think it’s almost scarier if I was like lying out on the beach on a summer day and I got fuckin haunted. That would be bonkers. I sit up to slather on some SPF 4 and then boo-yah, a fuckin ghost, in….my…grill. No one would believe me. My friend would come walking across the sand from the bathroom and I would be all “Ah, I was just haunted, like straight up, I saw a ghost.” “What? It’s a beautiful summer day, and we’re out on the beach.” “Exactly, it’s so ironic.” “Are you high?” “Yes.”



If it were a life or death and you had to either have a crazy overbite or a crazy underbite for the rest of your life, what would you chose? I know…It might be the hardest decision you’ll ever have to make.


It’s safe to say that Tom Cruise has been a fairly odd guy these past few years, but overall I’m confused by one thing in particular. He’s got a booming career, an adorable looking child with the wardrobe of a socialite, a Stepford wife, and a strange religion he seems to cherish. The man’s got it “goin on” by all accounts. I mean did you see him riding on a snow mobile with Oprah harnessed on the back, wind blowing through his coiffed hair? This is the fuckin life, take a picture. So, can someone please tell me why he can’t seem to get the fuck over Risky Business? We get it, you danced in your underwear. What's the deal dude? The alienish smile that wipes across his deranged face as his gremlin eyes glimmer every time he talks about that movie gives my goosebump’s chills. It was a silly scene in a movie accompanied by a Bob Segar hit and now people dress like you on Halloween. Congratulations. By the way though, it was 25 years ago. Someone call A&E, the man needs an RB intervention.


Admit it, you know every word to the Golden Girls theme song…and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.


You know a quick way I can tell if people are off. If they try to harmonize while singing “Happy Birthday.” Don’t do that. If you do that I have to stop associating with you, and you seemed pretty normal up until now. C’mon dude, we’re just tryin to have fun, you’re not trying out for Nick Lachey’s new gospel choir. Especially when you are attempting to harmonize with people who are completely unaware of what you’re about to do. The same goes for breaking out your dance moves at a wedding. Not now.


If you just signed up for Classmates.com, odds are you really aren’t anyone I wanna reconnect with.

Kahnisms.

The Food Network is like porn for stoners. Sure it’s cool and kinda exciting to watch, but ultimately you aren’t gonna get to eat any of it, and that’s when you realize how sad you are.


If you have a British accent, you’ve just gotten 30% smarter. I don’t care who you are. Something about the accent just makes everything seem a little bit more intelligent. Like picture a Brit saying “My dog has a terrible bout of gas, brought on by lahge quahntities of broccoli.” How clever. Honestly, if a British homeless man approached me, I’d be putty in their hands. “Pahdon me Miss, sorry to tra-bul you, but could you spah any change?” Ah, is a 20 enough? And let’s be honest, for whatever reason you just pictured the British homeless man in an Armani suit didn’t you? Where as the freaky punk homeless chick that sits in front of my Starbucks sounds so American, all I hear is “der da der der der doo, I’m dumb, gimme money, I don’t wanna get no job.” Come on honey, get an accent.


Kristin Cavallari is cold hard evidence that life is not fair.


Can someone explain to me why I see enticing Dunkin Donuts ads on TV all the fucking time when there are literally no D&D’s in the greater Los Angeles Area? Talk about advertising blue balls. What dumb ass exec is like “Well, they can’t actually go to a Dunkin Donuts, but why not spend millions on TV spots just in case, I don't know, they leave the state?” You’re really fuckin up my shit here. In the words of Gandhi, you’re making me want to BE the change I see in the world. And by that I mean, email someone at D&D’s…or move….or just bitch about it to people around me, yeah that’ll work.

If someone asks you how you are, and you reply with, “Livin the dream,” with zero sense of irony, you’re a tool.


The best part about going to the movies if consciously throwing your trash everywhere and not giving a fuck. Admit it, it feels kinda good to be completely careless in this eco friendly age. Because it’s totally accepted in a wink wink nudge nudge kinda way. Yes it’s selfish, but we know they’re gonna clean it up. Sometimes I bring extra garbage with me, just a few small trash bags to empty out while I’m enjoying one of those zany Seth Rogan comedies.



Soy sauce is the best condiment on earth. If there was an acceptable way to drink it, and people wouldn't be all grossed out and judgmental, I just might.


The car I just bought has all manual locks and windows. Somehow I didn’t notice this until I took it home. It took a lot of getting used to. Manual door locks make it really hard to be casually prejudice. There’s no smooth way to lock my doors. I always end up leaning across to the passenger side, as my seatbelt pulls in the most obvious way possible and it looks like I’m about to take a fucking nap across my car. How am I supposed to protect myself from what looks like some sketchy Mexicano gang member who happens to be on the market for a stellar 2002 Toyota Echo? I mean really. Manual windows are also a fucking Amish nightmare. They make the art of car flirting a whole lot douchier. It seems like these guys always pull up to my passenger side, so again, here I go reaching across my car horizontally to roll down my window at a red light. By the time it’s halfway down I’ve managed to light the city of Fresno with the wind power I generated and the light’s fuckin green…see ya.


Has there ever been a time in all of history, when someone starts or ends a sentence with “No offense” and actually means it? Those two words are in actuality to drill in the fact that “Just in case you weren’t sure if this was an offensive statement, just to be absolutely clear, you should definitely take this personally.” It’s like an added sarcastic bonus thrown in to give you a metaphoric slap across the face.

“No offense but I’m not about to take relationship advice from you, I mean your romantic history is like Dawsons Creek on the fucking Titanic.”

“Your wife looks like Charles Manson and Roseanne Barr had a baby, no offense.”

“I’d rather you not make me a mix CD, cause your taste in music is like super shitty. No offense.”

My boss just mentioned it’s also fun to mix things up and just add “no offense” to really generic statements to make people rack their brain as to how the fuck it has anything to do with them.

“Did you hear about that 400 pound man in prison who lost like 90 pounds and is now suing the prison for malnutrition, no offense.”

Ah, wait, what the fuck?