For the Hallo"win"

It's that time of the year again. That time when people dress up and pretend to be someone else. It's just like cosplay, except this time even cool people do it. Yep, it's Halloween, a time when less clothes mean a costume. My costume this year is great; I'm going to be a slutty blog writer. What I'm trying to say is that it's that time of year when every night is Friday night on AMC. And ABC Family plays a bunch of Halloween themed kid's movies. But the moral of the story is that you should have fun with Halloween. It's pumpkin season. You can't pass a Starbucks without knowing that. And it's hard not to pass a Starbucks (they're everywhere). This actually reminds me of the time that I was in a Starbucks and saw a couple covered in tattoos. But this woman had all three witches from Hocus Pocus on her back. Like really big, straight across the top. Sarah Jessica Parker, Bette Midler, and the other one. Staring at me. Looking into my soul. I don't know where this is going, but I was reminded of it. Happy Halloween. It's a scary good holiday. 

Pandora

Sometimes, I listen to Pandora Radio, which is a FREE internet radio service. Once again, it's FREE. I am not about to complain as if it's a service I pay for. That being said, here's my beef. I'll go on, and I'll make a station based on an artist. For example, let's use Mumford and Sons. Ok? Hit play. "And I will wait, I will wait for you. And I will wait, I will wait for you." That's great. Thumbs Up. That song ends, and now what do I want to hear? Roll Away Your Stone. But what comes on? Home, by Phillip Phillips. If I wanted to hear Phillip Phillips, I'd watch American Idol. And no one wants to do that. No! Bad Pandora! Ugh. But, there is a silver lining, because the Musical Comedy radio station is pretty good. Pretty good, but not perfect because every so often, a Daniel Tosh stand-up bit will come on. It's not hard to realize what happened, though. You know that algorithm that says that "All musicals are gay, but not all gays are musical?" Pandora mixed it up and as a result, I get Tosh's stand-up. He's not musical. Hahaha, silly Pandora. In conclusion, can someone fix that?

 

I'm not narcissistic, but...

• I do think everybody is always talking about me all of the time.
• I have to refrain from liking every single one of my statuses, posts, and tweets.
• the one person that I would like to eat dinner with, if I could eat dinner with anybody, would be older me. 
• Hollywood stole the rights to my life and made the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I have yet to see a single royalty check.
• I'm pretty sure every girl I meet is "in to" me.
• when I get a compliment, I'll shrug it off to see if I can get another one. 
• if I make a joke and nobody hears it, I know at least one person heard it. 
• I've yet to read a fortune cookie that doesn't directly apply to my life. 
• I really am a huge fan of myself.  

Random Writing

Where does the time go? My guess is into the past. My point is that this will be random. Here are lines I've written that have yet to fit somewhere, but have a certain ring to them:

"that moment when you doodle in your notebook and it looks like a swastika"

"Religion is something that I'm always misplacing. I'll find it every now and again, and then quickly forget where I put it." 

"Macklemore is like a white Eminem." 

"The Wizard of Dr. Oz" 

"luck of the iPod" 

"write fan fiction about Stu Pickles" 

"I have a very low tolerance for large amounts of alcohol... in other people." 

I'm Not A Jew, I'm Jew-ish...

I come from a long line of Jews who complain about long lines. Just a funny background statement. Anyway, I was walking home on Sukkot. What's Sukkot? Sukkot, or Sukkos for all you suckas out there, is the Jewish festival of the harvest, the feast of tabernacles. So I'm walking home and I saw a Sukka. I know, right? A Sukka on Sukkot? What are the odds? About as much chance as a bear shitting in the woods. A Sukka is a shack-like structure built in the middle of a field or campus, for all you nerds out there. Inside a Sukka, one usually sees fruits, vegetables, and Jews. So I'm just a lonely passerby, and no sooner do I begin to pass the Sukka, when two Jews emerge like bees from a hive, which is weird because they're not WASPS, they're Jews! One goes away from me, one comes towards me. He approaches me and asks "Excuse me, are you Jewish?" I clasp my hands to my nose and scream "No!" but its too late. I've been found out. Call the vacuum repair guy. He beckons for me to take what's in his hands. There's a lulav and an etrog. Time Out!! Now, a lulav resembles a piece of bamboo. And an etrog looks like a bumpy pear. I grasp the two plants, and begin to rub them together, to make a baby lultrog, I presume. I rub and rub, like a cricket, and I pray and pray, like a praying mantis. My enlightened soul floats like a butterfly and stings like an atheist. I return to my body. I had been reciting prayer and feel clammy. He takes the plants back and thanks me. I walk away, feeling like a Jew-ish person, betrayed by my own nose. 

Vince Gilligan's Island

(Parody of Gilligan's Island)

Just sit right back 

And you'll hear a tale

A tale of a meth based cook, 

That started in Albuquerque, 

Aboard an RV’s nook.

The chef was an ailing teachin’ man,

The student filled with dread, 

Five short seasons began that day, 

When Crazy Eight was dead, 

Crazy Eight was dead.

The business started getting rough, 

Some mercury was tossed.

If not for the lying of ol’ Heisenberg,

The money would be lost.

The money would be lost. 

Two planes crashed above his house 

When he let Jane choke on her bile

Vince Gilligan, 

You crazy fool,

This millionaire

Made from crime,

Has gone too far, 

The professor has broken bad, 

On Vince Gilligan's Isle.

 (Ending verse)

So this is the tale of our antihero, 

The DEA has to find.

Hank will have to use evidence 

To get inside Walt’s mind.

The mad man and his student have

Gone their separate ways, 

From actions unforgivable

Like poison on Brock’s lunch tray. 

No Gus, no Hank, no Boetticher, 

Not a single live body

Like Robert Kirkman drew

They’re all as dead as can be.

All bad things must come to an end, 

But it’s sure been worthwhile, 

From now on we’ll all tread lightly

On Vince Gilligan's Isle!

The Fall Begins Now

Whoa, is it Monday already? It seems like just yesterday that it was Sunday. Hmm. Fall started yesterday. Do you sometimes feel like fall is sprung upon us out of nowhere? Nah, me neither. Is it ok if I ramble tonight? I didn't really prepare much and got caught doing other work, so now I feel really unprepared and whatever. I'll just talk like this until I get tired of writing. That's fine, right? To have not prepared anything? I have next week's post in mind, if that's any consolation. No, I guess it isn't, you're right. Great, now I'm anticipating what you're thinking while you read this. Was I right? What am I asking you for? I can't hear what you say. Is everyone busy, or is it just me? I think everyone is busy. I'm probably gonna stop. There's like a ton of TV on to watch. Don't I have work, you ask? Yeah, but, TV, work, TV, work, TV, work........TV wins. 

Blogging: Part 3

Hey guys, guess what? I've recently come upon a lost page from my book about blogging. I found it under my bed next to an empty tissue box. Isn't that weird?Here's what it says:

 Blogging: Part 3

The secret to being a good blogger is to be quick but efficient. It may take a little stimulation to get started, but that's the nature of the activity. Everybody blogs differently, you know. People can be real jerks about it, but just keep going. The naysayers may spew there white hot rage at you, but it's all about that moment when you release your post. It feels so good. Whether you were last in your class or you graduated summa cum laude, you have the right to blog whenever you want to, even on airplanes. Get started today. 

I'm a 21 One Year Old Male

I don't think I ask a lot of you, reader. Do I? No, right? But let me ask you to come on a journey with me. Let's start by pretending, for the sake of argument, that I'm a 21 year old male. I said pretend, listen, I know it's a stretch. And let's agree that one of the privileges of being a 21 year old male is the ability to legally... how should I put it?... imbibe an adult beverage, or, say, purchase a whole case of 24 adult beverages. That's just my right as an older person. But only in this scenario. Don't forget, we're assuming that I'm a 21 year old male.

Now, where would one get such a delicacy? Why, only a beverage distributor, or weirdly, a deli nearby where I live. So, my next hypothetical move is to go to the distributor and select my crazy juice. I'm trying new nicknames for it. The nearest distributor is about a mile or so away. Boom! I'm there right now in the story via a suspension of disbelief. The old lady at the bulletproof window says go choose a case. Boy, I'm really enjoying being a 21 year old male. I'm now at the window, case in hand, handing over my valid I.D., which says that I'm a 21 year old male, you know, just for shits and giggles. The old cat lady at the window is now verifying my VALID I.D. But wait? Is that a frown on her ancient face. She passes my VALID I.D. through the machine again, and that devilish frown returns. Swiper no swiping! She gingerly dips my VALID I.D. into a smaller machine by the swiping machine, on which a light goes from red to green. Success!!!?

Now, another perk of being a 21 year old wallflower is that I'm legally allowed to have my VALID I.D. photocopied, or Xeroxed, if you're a Kleenex user. Check. Double Check. But what's this? She's now handing me a piece of paper, with blank spaces that I need to fill in. Height, Weight, Address, Date of Birth, and to top it all off, Signature. I'll take your pop quiz; I'm a good sport, and by good sport, I mean a 21 year old male with a VALID I.D.

You still following me reader? Good.

I hand the quiz back, hoping for an A+. The C U Next Tuesday behind the plastic window grades my work and writes F in bright red ink. What? I'll show you an F, bitch. What did I get wrong? She states that I got the signature wrong. What? My signature is like lighting, it never strikes the same place twice. Oh wait. It's like an opinion; everyone's got one. No, hold on. It's like a snowflake; each one is different. There we go. How the hell should I know how I signed my name 4 years ago on my VALID I.D., you white haired demon? Oh, so now you can't sell me my beverages because I didn't convince you I'm who my VALID I.D. says I am, specifically a 21 year old male in this made up scenario. Humph!

Ok, so.... should I come back later, or.... what? I leave flustered and defeated, like a 3 day old balloon. Or is it deflated, like the Washington Redskins on MNF? Apparently, they changed the rules. You now have to be 22 years old to purchase that neat, sweet, hard to beat, wheat depressant. I almost got my "hops" up. Sigh.... Snap back to reality. You're wherever you are. And I'm alone, in my room, drowning my sorrows with a bottle of Coke-Zero. It's fun to pretend. 

A Day of Labor

Happy Labor Day!

Here's a question for you all about my habits today. Was I working hard or hardly working? Hahahahahaha, both!! Sorry, it was one of my very popular rhetorical questions that I ask on here. I like to think of this blog as being unionized, since my one personality writes it, and my other one stands around and watches. And isn't that what today is kind of about? That ones not rhetorical, I really don't know and need your help. Anyway, it's late, you're tired, you have things to do, you're hungry, I'm making assumptions, I think we all need some rest. I'll leave you to your own devices, be them cell phones, iPods, tablets, computers.........