to stalk or not to stalk?

There seems to be a lot of problems lately with the word stalker. I have received many reports from men and women alike that claim that they use the term very loosely. A woman once told me that she called a man a stalker because he called her three times in the same day to ask for a homework assignment. The woman admitted to being overweight and having stringy hair with lots of acne. She then agreed with me that the guy was not stalking her, and that she should not flatter herself. She hadn't been on a date in two years.

I spoke to a man recently, who claimed that a woman sent him five text messages, three of which were funny jokes. He told me that he had labeled her a stalker, and that this was unfair. She was just trying to be friendly to him, and he had overreacted. He was just not interested in her so he reacted with anger, and reached for the cliche 'stalker girl.'

For me the word stalker can be applied when someone is outside your window with a flashlight at night and continues to tap on the glass with a nickel.

2 beauties and 1 fat one

The above is not a movie title but a common occurence throughout our pubs and clubs. It has become ubiquitous, and has struck the nightlife at all levels. Single men, who venture out on the weekends, claim that this scenario has been playing out since 1978. Though no one can be sure of the exact beginnings of this scenario, men everywhere are fed up--saying that that the beautiful girls are using the fat girl to look good and are testing the meaning of the word friendship, which is tenuous at best.

Last weekend my sista Brent watched a pub situation unfold that was appalling at all levels. A group of men were chatting up a pair of beautiful girls but the larger one did not receive one speck of attention. She looked glum and sipped sadly on her bottle of beer. One of the men (feigning a bathroom break and feeling bad) went across the street, where he knew of a superb pizzeria. He hurried back with two slices of sausage pizza and stood in the doorway. It was amazing (as Brent described it) that the fat girl came running towards the pub door and gobbled up the slices in a way that did not seem human but, in the words of Brent, pelican-like. She was just thankful for the attention, but realized that two slices just didn't do the trick.

The creep factor or the sketch ball...ewwww

There are two phrases that are all abuzz these days in your typical bar or nightclub. The first one is the 'creep factor'. There are many ladies out there who have quipped: "You see that guy over there...he is such a creep." The creep factor label comes with no explanation, small anecdotal evidence and is an unfortunate moniker for some gentlemen who fall under this category. I have heard many a lady utter this phrase in the last few years, and I am still searching for a detailed definition. Gentlemen, watch out. It seems that every move you might make might make you a creep. A gentleman ordering a turkey sandwich for lunch could be a creep. A gentleman combing his hair might be labeled a creep too.

The next catch phrase is 'sketch ball'. This phrase is usually thrown around with little care too. I have heard many a lady state: "Do you see that guy drinking a beer?...Well, he looks like a complete sketch ball." When I have asked for more explanation, there is silence. Creep factor and sketch ball are inextricably linked, and tossed around so effortlessly.

A man goes to the bar and sits in a corner with a beer. He takes out a pad of paper and begins to draw naked ladies in open view of everyone. He then jumps up on the bar, puts on his sunglasses, and drops his pants. He is really a lady. Creep factor and sketch ball.

Saddest news in the last 15 years or so...

I recently turned on the radio and gave an attentive ear to Alanis Morissette's lyrics: "The old man turned 98. He won the lottery and died the next day." Although the tune originated in 1995, I heard the lyrics for the first time two days ago. I can not think of anything at the moment that resonates with more sadness than the fact that this poor old man had won the big one and then passed on. Lord knows that he had been playing for years and finally picked the correct numbers. I can't believe it taken him that long; I thought everyone scored a winning ticket by age 40. With the jackpot, I imagine that he had planned to build a luxurious home or take a trip around the world. But life had a funny way of kicking the old man in the ass. Just as he tried to make plans...death came out of the shadows. The geriatric got greedy and paid the price. I lost my appetite for the rest of the day having discovered the saddest thing in the past fifteen years or so. I won't be listening to the radio for a long time. I have begun watching the news where things aren't so grim.

On a facebook milestone...

I currently have around 985 friends on facebook, and am close to the 1,000 mark. I never ever thought I would reach that number when I joined the site a few years ago. Of the 1,000 people or so, I would venture say that I speak to about 5 of those people and really do not know the other 900 people.

In the next few weeks I plan to pass the 1,000 mark and I believe this tantamount to a baseball player reaching the 500 homerun club. When I hit the 1,000 point on facebook, I plan on inviting my only 5 friends to have a small party at my house. Chips and salsa will be served with some light beer and half a bottle of flat champagne. During the course of the party, I will log into my account and delete the 995 friends and keep the five friends that I talk to. I will then try to add back the friends that it took 3 years to gather. I will update this blog in 2012 and see if I can get back to 1,000 in due time. I know that time is against me because I hear that comebacks are a bitch and require steroids.

Where the hell is your hall pass, bitch?

The days when hall monitors trolled the corridors may be a thing of the past. However, the word is that some hall monitors are still in existence. Some of these monitors wear the flashy arm band that distinguishes them as a member of the student body assigned to keep order as students shuffle through the halls. When class is in session and the halls are silent, a hall monitor will make sure there is no funny business erupting in the corridors. The hall monitor may think that the job is noble. Often times the hall monitor might think that becoming a monitor is a great resume builder and will perhaps look attractive to colleges. This is far from the truth. Even colleges are claiming that the position of hall monitor is just a euphemism for a mild-mannered retard.

Several years ago I had an unfortunate experience. A young lady had somehow ignored the hall monitor and refused to answer the young man wearing the idiotic armband. The monitor asked her: "Where is your hall pass, bitch?" but got no response. This young lady was about 20 minutes late to my class, and I questioned her when she tried to enter. I said: "Do you know that you are twenty minutes late?" She paused and then replied: "I'm sorry...I was being raped in the boys' bathroom." I let her into the class and then took her straight to the office. This was no laughing matter, and the hall monitor came with me for support.

Be careful of hikers who travel alone...(a work of fiction)

Gregory climbed the mountain in the morning and he got to the top of it at noon. From the top he could see the entire Atlantic Ocean and it glistened under the sun. The water shimmered and the cliffs below were jagged, dangerous and a bit too prominent. He looked down below and saw tiny trees. The foliage was in full bloom and there were lots of pretty yellows, oranges, and reds. It was a perfect autumn in New England and Gregory thought that God was showing him the world and he wanted to also tell Gregory that he should be happy that he was in it.

Gregory saw a man and a woman kissing on top of the cliff. The woman wore white shorts and a blue top and the man wore black jeans and red shirt. Gregory was alone and no one would notice what he was wearing nor did anyone care about the loser. He climbed to the top alone and he would return to the bottom alone and no one would ever know that he climbed the mountain. He would not tell anyone because there was no one to tell.

He took out his camera and snapped a photograph of the ocean below. He watched an enormous liner go by in the offing and he knew that it did not look so big from his vantage point. It looked very small. Gregory then took a photograph of the man and woman embracing and kissing in front of him. She was beautiful and he was not. His nose was huge.

Something sinister raced across his mind and then Gregory tried to dismiss the thought but it kept surfacing, unbidden. As much as he tried to push it under, he could not. It was there in the very front of his mind. Perhaps if he closed his eyes he could make it go away. But it did not and it loomed larger in his conscience.

Gregory sat down briefly and then he walked towards the couple embracing each other. He whispered something to them and they turned around to wave at him. And that was when Gregory pushed the both of them and they tumbled forward over the cliff. The woman’s face hit a rock and clunked and then her vagina split open on the next boulder. The man fell forward too, smashing in his head, and he lost his penis immediately and then his left eye. Gregory wondered if they would ever reach the ground. It looked like there were miles to go before they reached the bottom.

The water looked beautiful; he pretended like he didn’t hear the screams below. It was a marvelous day and he waited for birds to sail overhead. And minutes later they did and Gregory began to descend the mountain. He was all alone and it was lonely at the top too for him. When Gregory got to the bottom he felt refreshed and vowed to climb the same mountain again the next day. He was no longer shaking and it just seemed normal to him that he did what he did. And he was happy that he did it and wondered if he would ever be sad.

And when he got home, just to make sure he wasn’t, he grilled a hamburger and ate it with lots of cheddar cheese and mustard and catsup. He was not thirsty--therefore he did not get a drink but sucked on an ice cube instead.

Smile and look pretty...

A popular news website chose to botch a weekend rewind of its nightclub parties. What happened was very obvious to me. In all of the club pictures of the beautiful ladies, the website inserted the names of each woman as they smiled for the camera. In other pictures (where the women were heavy set and not so beautiful), the website stated: "A group of girls having fun" or "Partying the night away." It was clear to me that this website did not want to dignify the women who had gone out for a few cheeseburgers before they hit the dance floor. I think it would be in their best interest to give names to every girl regardless of how many ice creams she can eat for breakfast.

born in 1980...

I have met many people lately who were born in the year 1980. It was a great year to come to our earth, but now there seems to be a problem for a lot of these 1980ers. Next year in 2010 these 1980ers will turn 30 years old. For many of them they are saying that their last year of freedom before they turn 30 is on them. Many of them are saying the big 30 will be hard--that perhaps their feet will fall off while they are walking to turn on the television. I am trying hard to empathize with these adults, who fear their eyeballs might fall out when they hit the big number. I want to say to all the 1980ers---make the most of your last year in year twenties. Maybe sleep a lot. Lastly, happy early birthday, bitches. Who's a jolly good fellow now?

Teachers dating their students

This is another problem that is giving us teachers a really bad name. Teachers across this country are taking advantage of their students, and in some ways they are participating in criminal behavior. Sick.

What would make a teacher of thirty-nine want to date his or her student of fourteen? Perhaps that teacher should just have attended the prom back when they were in high school in order to have curbed this need for aberrant behavior. These types of incidents are so widespread these days in America, and I can only point to one solution. All prospective teachers must undergo a psychological evaluation before being allowed to enter the classroom. On that note, I think anyone who wants to become a teacher needs to head his or head examined for problem areas.

A lot of crusty-faced administrators are now posing questions to potential teachers before hiring them. Some have asked tactlessly: "How do I know you will not be the next molester to victimize one of my students?" In short, we beg of you teachers to get on an internet dating website and molest someone your own age. After you've done that, give them a short homework assignment. Double spaced, bitch.

Hospital food not the worst anymore...

The myth was debunked about three days ago now and it's been quite the hot topic. Hospital food is actually no longer the worst food in the country. Boarding school food is now the sole winner in this contest. While many patients in the hospitals around the country described their food as horrid and wished for sudden death instead, the boarding school students in our country have described the disgust for their food with more conviction. The students took jabs at undercooked or overcooked slabs of meat that were not fit for serial killers or child molesters. They also took shots at the vegetables that were served too rotten for consumption or not ripe at all.

The students and patients actually sent samples of their food to judges in various parts of the country who are paid a handsome salary to bite into these little disasters. There really is a job out there for everyone. The unemployed should look into these opportunities.

We cannot disclose the boarding school winner, but we shall say that they offer a special dish called cheesy eggs, which looks like a pile of shit that has been lightened with finger paints. Just sprinkle some pepper on top of them and that should mask some of the taste.

A sure way to repel women?

While it is getting harder and harder to meet new people in 2009 (due to the fact that everyone just uses the internet), it is doubly hard when a man chooses to approach a woman and decides that smoothness is too boring an approach. While smoothness has been historically been a part of a suitor's game, many people are taking to odd openers. My sister Brent recently told me about his friend's recent advance in a San Francisco bar. Brent's friend initially introduced himself to the woman, but then added something I would have thought a sure repellent: "I had a bout of diarrhea this morning." The woman was so taken aback by this opener that she found herself actually striking up a conversation with the man. She could not believe that she had not walked away.

On the cusp of a new decade, it's high time we all started introducing ourselves in other ways. The other day I introduced myself to a woman in the gym. I said: "I don't know about you, but I am going to shit my short running shorts." We are going out tomorrow night for a candlelight dinner.

Parents must take responsibility...

It was last week that I left a coffee shop and found a retarded man pissing on my car tire. I yelled at the boy-man, and then ran towards my car. It turns out that his mother was just getting something out of her trunk and didn't see that her son was pissing on my tire. She apologized for his actions, but I could not accept it.

I think it's important that parents keep watch over their children. Having a retarded child does not mean that the parent can relinquish his or her responsibility for her son's actions. This goes for all parents in our country. I hope all parents are mindful that some children need to be watched more carefully than others. I could have had a gun that day, but I chose to leave it at home on the kitchen table beside the bowl of fruit.

crusty school administrators

I received a call the other day from a crusty school administrator. His voice was horrific and garbled. He wanted an interview with me, and he was looking into his crystal ball to find a good time for the both of us. I waited until he picked a good time, and then this crusty adminstrator broke into a fit of laughter. It turned out that it was my sister Brent, who had done a great job impersonating a crusty administrator. His voice was perfect--allowing me to think that this crusty administrator had been in the same shitty school district for the last 30 years and wouldn't leave his post until the grave called him.

The point of the story is simple. It is time for crusty administrators to take leave and retire to a little island with a bunch of other crusty people. It was unfortunate that Brent played this trick on me, but he taught me a valuable lesson. I hate crusty adminstrators, and can't speak with them nor work beside them. It is not good for me nor our society's children as a whole. It is sad that many of them run our country's schools.

too much at the beach...

I was appalled the other day when I witnessed a cooking show, where the chef lived on a beachfront property. While she was preparing filet mignons and appetizers with several strange names, there were four men playing beach volleyball in her backyard. When she had finished preparing the filet mignons, she made these delicious filet mignon sandwiches with some special sauce and then took the appetizers and sandwiches to the sand.

I have played beach volleyball on several occasions, and there was a bag of stale Doritos and a tall can of Pringles chips. While we had cans of Natural Light to wash down the food, these beachgoers were greeted with a tray of martinis and food that was too good to be true. The moral of the story is simple. Let's keep beach volleyball pretty basic--we don't need gourmet meals before we smash a ball over the net and try to make sure our opponent loses his hearing. A bag of Sun Chips will do just fine.

Just shit them

There's a new phrase out there and it's taking this country by storm. Just shit them is out there on t-shirts and inspirational posters. Instead of the usual words that tend to inspire (integrity, courage, honesty, perserverance), people have taken a liking to the expression Just shit them. The three words tell the world that you literally have had an accident in your pants or that something has happened to you that you find remarkable or unbelievable. It is obviously the best of both worlds; there are two explanations that you can use. Please visit a Just shit them outlet near you to add to your attire.

My sista, Brent

I have received more emails in the past few days asking about Brent. Who is he exactly? I met Brent about nine years in a boarding school in New England. Brent was a teacher there too, who decided that working with students who put semen on the railings did not suit him. I had come up with the word 'semenize' to describe a situation where someone puts semen on a place that it does not belong. I then realized that the word 'semenize' had a prior existence and that my creativity was in fact not so creative.

Brent also did not understand why students made doo beside the toilet bowl and refused to squat over it. Those same students who made a doo in the toilet refused to flush the commode.

My sista now lives in San Francisco and enjoys a career in the advertising industry. He recently told me that he could not work with students who tried to jump out of windows. Brent was glad that he made the switch. He is quite happy now, and he deserves the blog dedication. I only wish he would accept the recognition.

Little Britain 'a comedic masterpiece'

There is no comedy series out there that matches the comedic wit of Little Britain. If you have not seen all three seasons of Little Britain, I advise you to get out there and do so. It is unlike any other comedy vignettes that you have witnessed. The last episodes 'Little Britain USA' are equally as phenomenal. The actors who portray the many characters are some of the most talented figures imaginable.

Little Britain serves as a panacea for a hangover or a bad day.

serial killer question...

There have been many instances on internet dating websites where women are be overly careful to a meet potential lover. I have spoken to many friends who have used these sites, and have been dismayed at this cliched question that is extremely despicable. Many men are asking women to join them for an evening out on the town, but then receive a peculiar response: "How do I know you are not a serial killer?" Women should respond in a less dramatic way. A better answer might be: "I am still unsure about going out. Maybe sometime soon."

Labeling a man a serial killer is a sure way to get the man to run for his life. It is not that you have exposed him for latent homicidal tendencies, but that the question is perhaps the rudest thing you can ask if you indeed want a date with the man.

calling a department store

Everyone has called a department store to ask if his or her precious item is available. I called a store last week to ask about the availability of a certain type of water pik, and was astounded when the salesman picked up the phone and said: "Thank you for calling Albert's where everything is twenty percent off and so get there by Friday before the sale ends. How can I help you?" I was speechless after I listened to the salesman's response to my hello. I wondered why he decided to pick up the phone at all.

My item was out of stock and would have to be shipped from a store in southern Uruguay. The estimated arrival was 2 months.

office bathroom stalls...

It was getting ridiculous to start off the morning the way I had to when I was working for the law firm. Every morning I went into the restroom and ventured into the stall that I adored. I usually had company beside me. I will never forget the guys next to me that were doing the same thing. I heard their asses crackling like a spit fire, and had to control myself from vomiting. They had no shame in doing their business. One of the paralegals shouted: "Can you hear that ass?" I sure could.

I often wonder if we can silence an asshole like we silence a gun. Our technology is reaching new heights and there must be someone in Bangladesh who is at work right now in a laboratory. Let's get this issue under control so that workers can go about their business peacefully.

Flipping over the pillow...

Today in a moment of weakness I became a fan of 'flipping the pillow over to get to the cold side' on my facebook status. I have to say that this is the dumbest fan club where I have ever accepted membership. While I love the cold side of the pillow, I can deal with the warm side if need be.

I feel bad for the person who created this fan club. The person needs mental help quickly and should not wait any longer before checking into an institution. I believe that the person should be put on the fourth or fifth floor of the mental hospital while the members of this ridiculous club should be committed to a lower tier--perhaps the second floor shall do. I just hope that the pillows are cold...

Furnish your home with craigslist...

You may be surprised to learn that craigslist offers an array of goods to spruce up your home. Be sure to head to the furniture link on the website and browse through a variety of decor possibilities. From bookcases to lamps and art pieces, there will be something for everyone on this site and save you a trip to the store. The other day I needed a little desk lamp, and decided to look on craigslist for the item. I just typed in the word 'desk lamp' and there were five possibilities. I selected the best one that I saw ($10), and called the owner of the piece. Because he was only 3 miles away, I drove toward the home and picked it up. The lamp is now giving me great light and I saved myself a trip to the store. Some might say this is no way to promote businesses and help save the economy. I say fuck it.

origin of the word 'silled'...

There is another phrase out there that is gripping our nation, namely the word 'silled'. I have heard many people talking about its origins during cocktail hour. There is a certain amount of controversy about where it all began, but it was in fact my friend Brent who coined it back in 2004. He had been walking the streets of San Francisco one morning in search of a good cup of coffee when he heard some godawful screams.

It didn't take long for Brent to locate the gut-wrenching noises. Above him (about 3 stories up) Brent watched a man's head bob in and out of a window. It looked as if the man was doing the traditional bob and weave, but this was not the case. The man was being silled from behind, and there was a great deal of spit flying out of his mouth. Brent covered his face to make sure he did not get soaked.

The man was getting a good 'silling'. He was getting fucked in the ass on a window sill, and the term now encompasses any mishap in life--a simple fender bender to a case of identify theft. It's no fun being silled.

Billy Mays...

We all are mourning the passing of Billy Mays today. When my friend Brent heard the news, he asked me about the cause of Billy's passing. I told him that I did not know the autopsy results, and he quipped: "Do you think his intensity got the best of him?" I responded with a simple 'yes'.

The lesson is very simple, people. We must make time to smell the roses, and take up that little relaxation on the hammock. Might as well put a couple of ice cubes in a glass and fill it up with lemonade.

love for our midgets...

It was some years ago that I dated a midget. She was about 4'3" and had red hair. I will leave her name out of the blog to protect her smallness. Lord knows she would not be too pleased with me exposing her small frame. The fact of the matter was that she wanted marriage, and I did not want to make babies with her. We all know that they would grow as big as a bedroom pillow and that would add to the struggle in life.

I had often gone out with Annie like many couples do when they are in a relationship. We went to restaurants, the theatre, and the park. One day when I was walking out of a coffee shop a man approached me and said: "Hey man, you are the guy that dates that midget. You are one sick bastard." We all must remember that midgets are people and they need love too, as the old saying goes. I gave Annie all my love.

walking the streets of Manhattan...

It wasn't long ago when I strolled the streets of Manhattan in search of a place to have a little lunch. What I observed in my walks was the same on every street. Every person walks rapidly with a kind of tunnel vision and will not dare look at the person who is passing by in the opposite direction. There must be a tacit agreement among walkers in NYC. Don't dare meet the eyes of another person. This could mean instant death by the lasers that shoot out of the other pedestrian's eyeballs.

I found my little bistro and had a lovely sandwich. Once I returned to the streets I looked ahead and learned my lesson quickly. It was my naivete getting the best of me. Keep your head up there. Stay strong. Don't speak unless spoken to.

grocery store part 2

My experience the other day at the grocery store ended with a silly question posed to me by the cashier. After I had placed all my items on the counter and waited for the scanning process to end, the lady asked me a question: "Did you find everything you were looking for today?" My first reaction was to say no--that I did not find toilet paper in the store and that I would be forced to borrow my neighbor's rolls when I got home.

I held my tongue, and said that I had discovered everything.

I'm wondering if any other customers these days are greeted with a question after buying their groceries. It sure seems that we have regressed.

becoming a fan

It is great that we are all fans of something in this world. However, I urge all of us to use caution when giving our personal information to a website that supports our interests. I joined a website five years ago to support a local baseball team, am receiving emails every week about the status and stories surrounding the team. When I realized that I was not the same fan I was five years ago, I revisited the website in order to block further emails to my account. It was not that easy, my friends. I navigated and navigated looking for an icon that may allow me to turn off emails from them. I finally gave up; there was no such thing. I am committed to receiving emails from them until they lower me into the ground. Be careful showing your enthusiasm for something these days. It might come back to bite you in the ass. Sorry for the cliche. It's late.

we all scream for ice cream

The other day I had the opportunity to witness a young mother yelling at her five-year-old son in a health club. She told him that if he continued with his idiotic behavior she would take away his ice cream after supper.

I could not mind my own business, and I had to address the young lady. I told her that it was unacceptable to deny the boy a dessert that is part of his childhood. She then told me to mind my own business and said she hadn't asked my opinion. I told the young woman that denying ice cream to her child will ensure that the boy grows up with tremendous frustration and will only contribute to his homicidal tendencies as an adult.

I got an email from the woman and the attachment showed a picture of the boy eating a giant banana split. Was I happy now? I suppose I was.

bums in the midst

I had the opportunity to pass by an elegant restaurant the other night. There were many well-dressed patrons enjoying cocktails and fresh fish and other delectables. They were all dining on the patio that had a lovely wrought iron fence to enclose it. A bum, wearing sweatpants and a sweater (in the middle of summer), held up a cardboard sign as he passed the people who were simply trying to enjoy their meal. He then collapsed on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and began to convulse, as if he was having a seizure. A few people who had witnessed the event continued to pass by and let the bum continue with his spasms. The customers eating their meals looked up from their filet mignon and then resumed eating.

I did the same thing. That is a horrible example of leadership and compassion. I never knew what happened to the poor bum.

Be careful when fine dining. A bum is just around the corner, but no need to worry because he probably won't ruin your evening. Carry on.

hangover cure

Many people are writing about the perfect hangover cure. My method is very simple. Try playing a game of checkers while drinking half a glass of grape juice. If that does not work, head to your local hobby store and pick up a remote control car. Set it down on the asphalt and watch it race off down the street. That should do the trick.

Trick the teacher

I once had a student write a research paper about the results of the Spanish Inquisition. It was well-written, but the female student was very crafty in it. She inserted a line in the middle of the paper that made no sense (i.e. jubbble gibbles wibbles snibble honk tommy goes fishing). The point of the crazy line was that it was absurd and she had caught me offguard. I had read the paper but had skimmed some parts of it, failing to see the insertion. When I handed her the paper she asked me if I had read it completely. Of course I had. But clearly I had not done so effectively due to the fact that there was a ridiculous fragment inserted perfectly where my eyes would never see it. Well done. A+. I urged her to try that trick again. It was very creative.

Bars Part II

Lately I have been going out to the bars on the weekends for a drink or two. What I am seeing is very discouraging. Everyone in the bar thinks they have achieved 'superstar' status. Everyone thinks that he or she is the most special thing in the entire universe. I approached a pretty woman last week and asked her how she was doing. I expected: "Good, thank you. How are you?" What I got was a tad different. She quipped: "I am a fucking rock star." After that comment I did not feel the need to pick up the thread of conversation. I let the lil rocker party her lil ass off in a corner.

That lil rocker believes that a gold dingleberry drops into jasmine-scented water when she gives her tush a shake. Poor thang. Her doo is the same as everyone else's doo.

a message to college kids

I often end up talking late into the night with my friends who despise their careers. There is one particular man who has told me that he can't stand being a doctor. He tells me that he is so sick and tired of sticking his hand up old ladies' assholes. I try to assuage the pain that he feels, but also try to give him a healthy dose of reality. The choice to become a doctor comes with certain pitfalls that are perhaps unseen. He agrees with me, but says that his tolerance has worn off.

This message goes out to all the college kids dreaming of a future. Make sure you know what you are getting yourself into. I became a teacher and was ill prepared when a student of mine threw an exam in my face and called me a 'fucking faggot.' In the case of my doctor friend, he had no idea how much time he would be spending probing an old hole that deserves to be left alone.

I could see how my friend was fed up, but he did not have to go into the field of medicine. It is our choices that bring on unimaginable situations. I suggested that he quit medicine and sit on the couch for the rest of his life with me serving as his butler.

one simple installment of $9.99

There's a favorite saying that is reaching epic proportions. It is simply: "One simple installment of $9.99". This catch phrase is spreading all over the country. Whenever people are having problems, they are of course asking the question: "How much can it be fixed for?" This problem can be a simple gas leak or a flat tire or perhaps a botched haircut. This can also be a broken bone in the wrist area. With effortless charm, many people on the other end are reacting and they are reacting well: "With one simple installment of $9.99." With that price, the problem disappears.

Many ask what were the origins of the catch phrase, and the answer is very simple and can be found on television. Simple installments are heavily solicited for products people may use once or twice. Ten years down the road they will put the product on a small table for a topless garage sale in which they will remember the simple installment they made years ago. It will bring a weak smile.

internet dating

Men should be careful. There are many instances where I have heard that men are receiving 'winks' from beautiful women. Many have reported that these women are prostitutes who are waiting for their pray on a dating website. If you receive a 'wink' from one of these women, the best thing to do is to ignore it or do what I would do. Simply ask: "Are you a prostitute?" Usually a lack of response confirms the suspicion.

I would ask all prostitutes from refraining from using dating websites as a means to turn a trick. The people on these websites are seeking a long-lasting relationship that will perhaps last a lifetime. But we all know that is probably not going to happen with our divorce rate. Men will undoubtedly go back to the websites and seek out the prostitutes that once solicited them and find that they are no longer interested in them. They will then fly internationally to seek their pleasure in some distant brothel.

defenestration

When I was at a boarding school, there was a boy who couldn't take it anymore. On a chilly night when there was four feet of snow on the ground, he opened the window and jumped out. The boy survived that day because the snow of course acted as a cushion for the impact. It was months ago that I learned that he had taken his own life. He had succeeded on a sunny day when there was not a crumb on the asphalt.

There was a bit of sadness when I heard this news and it makes want to make sure all boarding schools around the country are locking their windows so that a possible jump will fail miserably.

Let's prevent defenstration in this country. It's no way to leap out of this world; it is too painful.

elephant walk

It doesn't stop and I don't know how to stop it. You see I live in an apartment on the second floor and there are four levels. Thus you make the conclusion that I have people living above me. We all have hardwood floors. The people that live above me have to be elephants. They cannot be human since they stomp on the floor like a circus elephant would squash an ant.

I have tried writing letters but this has been futile. I have slipped many pieces of paper under their door to tell them to please walk carefully, as they are stomping on my ceiling. These polite entreaties have not worked. The stomping has continued.

This leaves me no choice. I have a friend who works as a clown in a traveling circus, and he has given me literature on how to tranquilize the heaviest of beasts. I have to be pro-active.

vacuum blues

I like to dine out on occasions and have had the same experience happen over and over again. Although I would enjoy the opportunity to visit restaurants whose entrees are listed for $40, this does not happen very frequently. So I eat at restaurants where the cost is more affordable for my thin wallet.

During the course of my meal or perhaps afterwards, a cleaning staff has been using an unmotorized vacuum cleaner to pick up the crumbs on the floor. I often grow sick when I see them pushing the instrument back and forth. I become a disgruntled eater very quickly.

This is a most irksome affair, and it is about time that the vacuum dies a slow death. Restaurants need to stop this before the mess grows into a pandemic. I might be forced to eat at home for the rest of my life.

platitudes

Let's make an effort to go about our days without the use of platitudes. I often have heard such expressions as 'no rest for the weary' or 'keep your head up'. I think we would all feel a lot better if we did not resort to such stupid phrases to aid our existences. Next time you feel the need to pull a platitude out of your cliched bag, try inventing something new. Say something different. Tell your friend or contact something he or she hasn't heard before. It might be refreshing to string together a new series of words to give a solution to a problem. I'm all ears for getting down to the nitty gritty.

dingleberry

There has been a lot of talk lately about the definition of a dingleberry. A dingleberry is simply a piece of dried feces that sticks to the anus. While it is common that humans may acquire dingleberries at all times of the day and throughout their lifetimes, a dingleberry is most notable in the canine species.

This is an important message for dog owners. It is imperative that dog masters keep the area around the anus clean. It is not unusual for a cute little dog to parade around town with a most unwelcome sight on its behind. It is the responsibility of the owner to make sure that your furry friend does not let dingleberry madness explode in this culture. We have enough problems already.

If you see a dingleberry, remove it quickly. With a flick of a toothpick, you should be able to pry it off and set it free. A hammer will not be necessary.

late nite talk shows

I am often saddened to see a preponderance of superstars that roll across our late nite talk shows. It is a shame that we have to listen to their petty family stories or dull anecdotes about them tripping down a flight of stairs. I used to be a big fan of talk shows, and then grew frustrated when listening to these actors and musicians. Many of them speak to the audience as if they had not a care in the world. Life, in essence, is perfect. Not so. Not so at all for the rest of us.

It would be refreshing for once if a late night talk show host constantly invited a bunch of losers onto the show. I would be more interested in hearing about their lives. What about an athlete who spent 10 years in the minors and never made it to the bigs? What about the 30-year-old man who has never touched a lady? Is there a person out there that has gone on twenty job interviews but never received an offer? Let's embrace these figures. It's high time that we listen to these people whose struggles define them. They are the true superstars; their stories will be compelling.

a lil train

I have a friend in New England who finds that life brings hardships. He knows that days are sometimes long and difficult. He understands that the trials and tribulations are consistent and only grow as the years pass. Sometimes he sends me a little text message over my morning coffee to remind me of the difficulties and misery that finds all of us at some time. The text is two words: ALL ABOARD. These two words would only make sense to me--he is telling me the train is leaving the station. This train that he speaks of is the bullet train...he is thinking about catching it every day but he doesn't. That bullet train keeps on plowing ahead without him.

I sip my coffee, take a bite of toast, and dig into the morning paper. I know there will be comfort on the front page of the daily reporter. I thank him for the kind uplifting words and begin my glorious day. I try to rise and shine. Those are my three words for him. Rise and shine.

I was wrong about the newspaper and read about a triple murder that happened in some godforsaken alley beneath a cold drizzle.

filler time

I have a lot of friends these days who love to call me when they are on the run (i.e. filler time). There are many of them who love to chat me up when they are waiting for a stuffed pita or a calzone to finish plumping up. They simply have nothing better to do. There are some friends of mine who call me when they are waiting to catch a train or a plane. Some friends may be descending a stairwell and find the time right to ring me up. When they arrive into the land of honey, they are no longer available.

I must admit I do this 'filler time' thing too. The days when friends called on their couch to say hello seem like a memory or a thing of the 1980s. This 'filler time' is inextricably linked to my idea of the 'busy' man or woman. It is ruining many things and has to stop. I can't write about this anymore. I got to run.

bumper sticker

A lady with a bumper sticker reading 'classy lady' got out of a real jalopy today. I'm surprised the door didn't fall off when she shut it. I wondered why anyone woman would want to publicize this. A lot of men out there are into real whores or that has been my experience for the most part. Perhaps a different bumper sticker like (finding the whore within) would be more appropriate and a tad more in vogue. It's just a sign of the times.

phrase i hate again

NEEDLESS TO SAY...then don't say it.

got doo?

I once went out to a fantastic restaurant with a very pretty woman. The meal was rich and it did not settle in my stomach very well. If you must know, there was bacon encrusted steak and rich cheeses and macaroni and salad. We shared a lovely chocolate dessert too with a dollop of ice cream on the side.

Upon excusing myself to go to the bathroom, I told her the truth. I said: "It's nothing but a doo thang, baby."

a phrase I hate...

I really hate the phrase 'half-priced munchies'. You tend to hear it a lot now because of our awful economy. I have walked into a restaurant and bar but soon leave after I am handed a menu with this expression emblazoned across the top of it.

I give no explanation. I hand the menu back to the waitress or bartender and search for a place that does not demean itself with such idiotic expressions. I have not eaten a 'half-priced munchy' nor do I want to any time soon. I would rather choke on a bone and be surrounded with good friends who never took a CPR course.

bars

I really love going to bars and watching hot chicks on their cell phones. When you are out on the town take a look in front of you or perhaps behind you. Chances are there is a pretty girl on her cell phone.

Don't think girls are the only guilty ones. Guys do it too. They take out their phone to send that unnecesary text message to look as if they are truly important. This is happening everywhere in American bars--the omnipresent texter who wants to appear popular in an age when I don't care.

The omnipresent texter is usually among a group of dudes at the bar. I love walking into a bar and seeing a little sausage fest going on somewhere. Their dicks are blazing, their phones are out, but there are no ladies around them. Makes me wonder...should have stayed home and made a TV dinner.

busy

I have met a lot of women lately who say they that they lead "busy" lives. That is a horrendous statement and so off-putting. I do not care about a person's busy life, and a woman's busy life is not attractive. I once had a friend who, when confronted with a busy woman, called her a 'hot busy shit.'

There is no trophy that one gets for leading a busy life. At the end the busy nature will come to screeching halt when the casket is lowered into the ground. The gravediggers will even be slow in shoveling in the dirt.

I will not give the time of day to a busy person nor should you. Turn your back and run as fast as you can. Time is a ticking. Get to your bookstore and pick up Bertrand Russell's IN PRAISE OF IDLENESS.

oops.

How many adults (twenty or thirty somethings) do you know out there that have shit their pants? I have heard many young men and women doing this activity lately. I am wondering if it is a new phenomenon. My sista, Brent, shit them while running like a maniac through the streets of San Francisco. You see we had just eaten at a little diner for breakfast. I had told him not to get the blueberry pancakes. He did not listen, and hence the shitting began. We were walking five blocks back to his flat when he broke into a sprint. And the rest is well history.

Don't blame the dogs for poo on the sidewalks. Blame Brent for his zealous appetite. He likes to reflect back on that day, saying: "Oops, I just shit 'em."

I confess that I shit them many years ago while playing tennis. I went for a strong forehand and then just let one go into my shorts. Not pretty.

If you know of anyone who has shit em lately, please have them add to the pile.

grocery store blues

I am so sick of going to the grocery store. With 20 aisles available to check out the foodstuffs that I purchased, it does not surprise me anymore that only 2 aisles are open. The 2 aisles always have long lines with frustrated customers. It is happening all across this country.

I do not do my grocery shopping at 3 a.m. like a true sicko, but do go during business hours. Why are larger stores staffing themselves in a manner that is laughable?

I push my cart up because I have moved a foot. It will take 20 mins. for me to get through the line.

We must put an end to this or I just might forget about eating completely. Milk is not worth it anymore.

facebook status updates

These updates are so ridiculous (i.e. eating sushi with my best friend, drinking vodka, heading to the gym and then hiking, staying in with my man). We have become a nation where everyone is desperate for attention. We want everyone to know that our lives are more exciting than they really are. That is the only explanation for posting updates on our daily affairs. I have yet to see this post in all of the millions of updates that flash across my screen--AM READING A REALLY GOOD BOOK. Does anyone even like do that anymore? I mean like totally. Lame.

Death of M.J.

We all mourn the passing of Michael Jackson. He was an icon that touched all of us. The saddest part of his death is that it reminds me that we need tragedy to bring us together as a community and a country. I can't help but think back to 9/11 and see that the same type of emotion is now gripping our communities--the one where we are reminded of our own mortality. Death brings us closer to one another and makes us reflect that time is very short. It is not a stretch to say that death is lurking in the shadows for all of us.

Is it any wonder that Michael's music is flying out of the stores now? Why weren't people buying it up months ago? Months ago Michael was alive and well and ready for a comeback. It is his death that has made us all sentimental for him and for our own lives.

Man is a strange animal indeed. It takes an outpouring of sadness or a shock to make us take a step back, to become gentle with each other. Who's BAD?

American Women

American women are some of the most ungrateful species on the planet. I wonder if they have souls or if they share a collective soul constructed from acidic elements found in a nuclear disaster site. Unlike women in other countries, American women are brash and have a self-absorbed way that is transparent and horrific. Women in countries outside of the United States have a gentleness that trumps women in the United States. International women behave in a way that is respectful and show a tenderness that can not be found in this country. It is no wonder that many marriages end in divorce. No surprise there. Go abroad my friends.

Steroids

Women inject Botox into their faces and so do men. Many people are all chasing youth...trying to fight the natural process of aging and to get back a time that has long passed them by. Let it go boys and girls. A woman of 40 will never ever look as good as she did when she was 22. Same goes for a man. An athletic man of 24 will never play as hard or show the same talents at age 44.

Why do athletes use steroids? It is a very simple answer. We are a society of cheaters caught in a vicious cycle. That is what we have become in 2009. We are all chasing the good old days when things were just so much better---when we could catch up to the high heat, smash more homeruns...but now the wrinkles parade around our eyes and our chest sags.

Life's a bitch sometimes...and then you get old and that is the most precipitous drop none of us will escape. Has anyone that cheated that yet?

Teaching in 2009

It has taken me 10 years to realize that I have made the wrong career move. Teaching today's American children has become the impossible task. Students could care less about learning and are more invested in video games and texting. The classroom is a trench. I am now trying to come out of the trenches to see the light.

Teaching is an invitation to the lower class. I would advise all college majors to make sure they skate away from the field of education. Low pay and unjust demands by silly administrators will make your life miserable. Remember this: THE TEACHER IS ALWAYS TO BLAME FOR A STUDENT'S LACK OF PROGRESS OR BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS. That sums up the field today of education today. Where there is a problem, blame the teacher. Sick.

There are thousands of career moves...please don't give up your life for a position in the classroom. It is a servile role that is thankless in a myriad of ways. You will be disappointed in more ways than you can imagine. Don't make the mistake of trying to touch a life or change the world...not today. Some worlds are not worth changing but are better left in their horrific state.