Things are Good, Part XIII

1) I keep hearing people on tv say something like “You know, if your father heard you say that he’d turn over in his grave.” What the hell is this? The WORST thing we can think of is someone turning over in their grave, MAYBE harrumphing loudly with their disdain? Wow. “Oh no!! What if Pop can awake from the dead, hear what I was saying, and TURN OVER in the box we stuffed him in six feet in the ground!! Man, that would be awful!!!” Assuming said person COULD actually do something, wouldn’t we be more inclined to say “If your father could hear you now, he’d get up out of his grave and walk over here and beat the living shit out of you.” Now that might get my attention. Thinking that MAYBE someone in a faraway grave turned over doesn’t really make me decide to NOT set up a pyramid scheme to rip off Brownie troops. When I was a kid it was always “When your father gets home he’s going to KILL you”, which would of course scare the hell outta me. If my mother had said “If your father could magically hear you speak 47 miles away from here, he’d be so furious he’d spin around once in his office chair”, then i mean, camon.

2) I’m a little weirded out by this being the 13th installment of “Things are Good.” I’m not saying I have triskaidekaphobia (the fear of the Number 13, eggheads) but I’m definitely aware of it. For instance, I avoid 13th floors. And my 13th beer is usually hard on me. If I have $13 in my pocket, I always get rid of one dollar. I don’t like that my first and last name combine to make 13 letters. Hell, maybe I DO have triskaidekaphobia. And yes, I’ve spent the last 5 minutes trying to make a joke re: triskaiDICKaphobia being the fear of chicks being scared of my 13-inch cock, but maybe it’s time to move on.


3) Theodore attended his first dinner party the other night. Little guy was so proud of himself! What the hell IS that yellow stuff on that pasta, though?

"That's right -I'm drinkin, bitches!! Fuck you I AM DRINKING!! I'm gonna pound this shit then hit the Nest and fucking RAGE, you little bitches!! drink! drink! drink!! drink!"

8 seconds later. Hmm.

The next morning. Oh, he'll tell you he's fishing for a quarter he dropped. But we know SOMEone's puking his own stuffing out. Poor bastard.

4)Babies having babies. I believe I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking: Slut.


5) If you had been Buzz Aldrin on Apollo 11, wouldn’t you at least have thought about shoving Neil Armstrong aside and being the first man on the moon? I’ve read a lot about how he always resented Armstrong stepping on the moon first, him being the Commander of the flight. Hey, asshole – there was NO ONE ELSE ON THAT WHOLE WORLD!!! Who coulda stopped you? Let’s see: shove Armstrong aside and be known as the first man to set foot on another world, or as the guy named after the sound a vibrator makes. Tough one.


6) Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly squeeze in any more amazingly bad television, I’ve found myself hooked on that fucking Lisa Loeb reality show. The one where we cry for Lisa cause she’s searching for Mr. Perfect and dammit, sometimes being rich and famous and cute and having a working vagina just isn’t enough!!! Anyways, she’s primping for some big date she’s got and her stylist (another thing I have in my life that I take for granted – my personal stylist! XOXOXO thanks always Angelo!!) cutting her eyelashes with scissors. I don’t know if that really seems worth it. First of all, if this dude even remotely notices ANYTHING about your eyelashes then at least you’ll have something in common to talk about at dinner: how much you both love sucking dick. I’ve stared into the eyes of many a woman I’ve loved before (while counting to 25, which is the appropriate amount of time before you can then reach out and grab some chest fat) and I can’t say I’ve ever noticed their eyelashes. So to risk having a sharp pair of scissors accidentally dig into my eyeball for someone who won’t even see them seems a bit odd. Especially if, you know, YOU FUCKING WEAR GLASSES!!!!!!!

















7) Prayer MIGHT not help heart patients. Really? THIS is fucking news these days?!?!?! Hmmm…gee, the thoughts in my head that I try to transmit to some pretend fairy in the sky that I don’t even know exists DOESN’T help cure the human heart? Wow!! What about “does prayer have an affect on winning the lottery?” Or “does prayer make the 11 girls out there I may have impregnated NOT be having my baby?” Well. Maybe 8. By “8” I mean “2”. Okay, zero. Please God, PLEEEEEEEEASE let me fucking get laid soon…


8) I just got an email where someone used the phrase “extremely unique.” Now I feel sad for the people that are merely “unique.” How far do I have to go to be “extremely” unique? I guess me piercing my nipples would make me “unique”; me piercing YOUR nipples before cutting them off and putting them in my pocket would make me “extremely” unique.

9) Nope. Prayer still not working. Great.

A Night Out with Xmastime

People always ask "What's it like to hang out with Xmastime?" so I've put together a little photo journal of a normal night out with me at the Levee. Photos courtesy of the always-fabulous The Girl Who. Let's take a walk people!!


Ahh, my buddy Serge and his lovely wife Monica…


…seconds before she’s in Xmastime’s death grip. “run along now, Sergey boy!!! She’s mines now! Git!!!” Note that in the background Dave is about to pass out. Yes, Monica just cut one. Dang.


“Hmm. DOES the denial of absolute truth make one self-refuting….?”


“…hahahaha!! Remember when Monica cut one!!! Wow!!!”


Xmastime and Dave are reveling in another witticism they’ve tossed off about F. Scott Fitzgerald.


Seconds later they realize what they said was gay and are ashamed. Hmm.


Hey, I’m just resting my eyes! Next to a 2-foot tall Sierra Nevada. Where's my product-placement $$$$!!!!


Actually I’m saying Grace before pounding PBR all night. I should apologize for thanking the Lord for our gifts which we are about to recieve? And is Kirk actually licking his chops while looking at me? wtf?


Still saying Grace. Hmm. Must have a LOT of PBR to be thankful for. I’m so courteous to the Lord!!!! Obviously it's paid off, as he has blessed my life so much (awkwards cough)


Okay, now I have actually passed out ON Monica’s face. Hey, does this count as sleeping with a woman? AHA!!! Dry streak is over at 949 weeks!!! FUCK YYYYYOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU EVERYBODY!! Might be time to call it a night now, though.


HELL no, I’m back!!! Practicing my numbers with Dave!! Lil carnival trick we do in bars – I count out the number one, he counts out number two, then I take a chick and do her in the bathroom while Kirk shits in the sink. Brings down the house every time.


Dave has fucked up and counted out the wrong number. Monica breathes a sigh of relief: "Thank God - I HATE the bathroom at the Levee!"


Wrapping up the night. Good times, great friends and....oh goody, Monica has cut another one. Sorry Dave!

THE BEST OF, Vol. 1

You asked for it, you got it....the readers will now pick their FAVORITE XMASTIME POSTS OF ALL TIME!!!! As Xmastime hits the 6-month mark, it's time to reflect on how 1) self-congratulatory 2) desperate for praise (from women) 3) HANDSOME! Xmastime is. So scroll through the archives back to November and vote for your favorite posts - on Friday I will post the winners. And yes Watty, I know...we're ALL winners. Christ. Please send entries to ilovexmastime@yahoo.com

Things are Good, Part XII

1) As this is the season to think about these things, and my life is about to be taken over by college basketball (don’t worry ladies, my foot-long fuck pump doesn’t need to see the tv, only my eyes), I tell you what I’ve noticed through the years about tournament basketball. It’s the end of a tight game, maybe it’s tied with 3 seconds left and the coach calls a timeout and frantically waves his guys into a huddle, and then you see him whip out an eraserboard and frantically diagram a play. What the hell is this? You’ve spent the last six months of your life taking 4 hours a day to drill plays into these players brains, you’ve practiced every possible play for every conceivable situation, and now here it is, the single most crucial 3 seconds of the season and maybe your whole career, and you throw everything out the window and come up with something brand new in 20 seconds. “Fuck it! Reggie, you stand here, Luke is gonna throw you the ball here…” etc etc etc. Shouldn't you be prepared here, shouldn't your team already know what to do? Do I pay $75 to see Bruce scramble round at the last second and change the chords to “Badlands”? n-y-e-t. It’s like my grandfather always said to me – “kiss me the same way we’ve always practiced, Sugarlips.”

2) You guys know that Xmastime enjoys a lil porn every now & again. Well, or every moment I’m awake. But the other day I pop a flick on and there’s some jackass doing some chick (“really? In a porn flick? Wow!”) and the whole time he’s fucking her he’s stopping so he can film the action with his own video camera (NOT to be confused with the camera that’s, you know, FILMING the scene). I’m like, dude. Camon. THEN he starts holding things up so he can pull out his fucking Polaroid Instamatic and fucking take pictures!!!! What the fuck – he wants to have a record of his ‘performance’? HERE’S AN IDEA, ALL-STAR: BUY THE FUCKING DVD LIKE I DID!!! Or hey, mention to the director you might want a copy of the flick. Your dick will be falling off in a few weeks, least they can do is give you a damn freebie. Jesus Christ. Meanwhile the chick is bored out of her mind and actually invented Su-doku while lying there.

3) How come George W. Bush is a such a fanatic about shoving democracy down Iraq’s throat at all costs, but has never implied that Saudi Arabia should change their ways and become a democracy? Aren’t they as thirsty for a democracy as Bush says other countries are? Oh that’s right, I forgot – they’re going steady. My bad. Maybe George WANTS to shove democracy down their throats but hey, you know how it is when you’re dating someone. So I’m taking it upon myself to do him, and Saudi Arabia of course, a favor: Saudi Arabia, I declare war on you. Oh no no, don’t blame it on Honeypie, he knows nothing about this. He’s as surprised as you are. Right about now I picture Bush standing behind me making apologetic faces to the Saudis, acting surprised with that “oh gosh I’m SOOOO sorry about this, we’ll talk at dinner, please don't be mad…” look on his face. I will do this favor for my country and the rest of the free world. George, just like the time you made me hook up with Fat-ass France so that you could score with England, I’ll fall on the grenade this time. YOU’RE WELCOME ASSFACE!!!!!!!!

4) I really love it when I hear someone calls it “ValentiMe’s Day.” Cracks me up, like black folks down home saying that as kids they had “chicken pops.” I used to give physicals in the Air Guard and that was one of the questions I’d ask, and without fail I’d get “well, I had the chicken pops” and it never failed to crack me up. Awesome. “Chicken pops”, sounds like a cereal. And no, that doesn’t make me a racist since I also don’t give a fuck what happened to Nathalie Holloway.

5) Before I die, I’d like someone to explain dry ice to me. Baffling. Well, so is dry cleaning now that I think about it. “Dry goods” is weird too, do you ever hear anybody use the word “goods” in a sentence without them being “dry”? Nobody says “I going to the store to get some goods.” It’s always “…and if you’d please stop fisting my son, I’ll show you where we store the dry goods”, isn’t it? Fascinating. Hey, bonus points for anyone who while reading this started thinking about Scatman Crothers in the Overlook Hotel kitchen with Shelley Duvall and the little kid.

6) Speaking of dry goods combined with man on man action, I’m thinking that if I was gay and had a boyfriend, (as opposed to if I was straight and had a boyfriend, I guess. Hmm.) I’d want it to be Jerry Seinfeld. Let’s see: you KNOW how I like a horse face, and who has more of a horse face than Jerry? Those teeth come right outta the damn tv screen, don’t they? It’s like Carly Simon and My Friend Flicka had a son. Plus, he’s RIDICULOUSLY rich. No more extending the Prell shampoo with water, I got a feeling if I said “Hey Jer, buy Prell” the next day I’d own the company. Plus, he’s funny, which would be awesome in the sack. “Hey, what’s the DEAL with your dick buried in my ass? And how bout that airline food…” Jerry, call me. Maybe we can double with W & Saudi Arabia.

7) I don’t know about your computer, but mine has some super-active software shit that blocks pop-ups. And it’s so proud of its work that it CONSTANTLY lets me know about the pop-ups it’s blocked with…pop ups!!!! Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!! Fucking hell. This would be like me proudly announcing every day that I didn’t sexually harass you by writing “Hey, I didn’t sexually harass you!!” on my dick and showing you every 5 minutes. Thanks Norton!!!!!

8) Paddy Mac’s “People I Hate”List now includes 16,443 names. If you are worried you’re on this list and would like to have your name removed, please send a crisp, clean hundred-dollar bill ($100) to:

Paddy Mac Loves Me Now
100 Metropolitan Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11211

You’ll feel better, Paddy Mac won’t have to hate you, I fill my bathtub up with ice cream, everyone wins.

9)Toot toot!! Everybody allllllllllllllll aboard!!!!!

Wrestling with Paddy Mac & Chester

Hiya everybody! Paddy Mac here with my trusty sidekick - Chester, Founder of The Confederate Bears of America. Today I wanna teach you a few fundamentals of my favorite sport, Greco-Roman wrestling.


First, opening position: one person on all fours, while his opponent crouches behind him, placing one hand on the back, and with his other hand, grasping his opponent's wrist. Attaway Chester, you'll get the hang of it. Now, as we-


I'm down! I'm down! Chester, get off me!!


Well, there ya have it. Nothing like a spirited match of Greco-Roman wrestling to get the ol' heart pumping. I'm beat, I barely have the energy to piss myself right now. Stay tuned for more learning episodes with Paddy Mac & Chester!

I'm an Old Man

I’m only 33 years old. It may be hard to believe for those who know me, but at one time many, many, MANY eons ago I prided myself on being an athlete (my brother will now post a long list of how much I actually sucked at said sports – screw you, fuckface!!!!). So it’s a tad shocking to me (can you really be a “tad” shocked? Aren’t you either full-on shocked or not shocked at all? Nobody’s a “tad” dead, are they?) that at 33 I have hit the wall – my body officially feels like it’s the body of a 90 year-old man. Who’s been hit by a bus. Repeatedly.

First came the nose hairs. Over the last few years, once every coupla weeks or so I’d be looking in the mirror and I’d notice a long thin hair hanging outta the cave. I’d yank it out, think nothing of it, and move on. And yes, I know what you’re thinking and YES, that last sentence does perfectly describe my “sex life.” Anyways. This went on for a while, no big deal, and then the other day I’m sitting on my couch watching “Jakers!” and I’m like “what the hell is that fluttering near my nose?” I can actually HEAR something moving around. I go to the bathroom to check it out and fucking hell, it’s like a caterpillar was trying to climb up into my brain. I frantically get rid of these things, but to no avail – they can’t be stopped. The word is out – if you’re a long string of hair and need a place to crash, Xmastime’s nose is the hottest condo on the market. Ugh. Not good.

I also hear myself making those old man noises whenever I get up or sit down. You know those noises – old man goes to sit down and makes those “ooooohboy, eye-I-ooomph” noises. And gets up while saying “ahhhgeez”. Except now I’m that old man, and I actually hear myself doing this. Of course I can barely hear these noises escaping my mouth over the ridiculously loud popping of every bone in my legs. Unreal. You could do your taxes in the time it takes me to get up out of an easy chair, stand erect while my bones groan and snap, twist my back and say “yaaaaboy, ahhhhjeez.”

I’m also cold all the time, which is a new phenomenon. I used to be able to fall asleep in the street in a puddle of freezing water on a winter night, no problem. Wouldn’t even notice. Now I spend about 95% of my day whining “Is the heat on? Really? Are you guys cold? No? Really? And the heats on?” I used to walk around in the January wearing a t-shirt, MAYBE a thin jacket if it was a blizzard. Now I find myself doing the ol tshirt – shirt – sweater – thick heavy coat – thick knit cap routine. And I will bitch the whole time about how cold it is. I’m checking the weather, I’m looking outside, I’m sleeping under three comforters every night. What the fuck. It’s only a matter of time before I turn into everyone’s grandmother, meaning whoever comes to visit me eventually drifts off the sleep cause the thermostat is set to 190 degrees.

Old, old, old. I’m about 2 weeks away from looking up people in the obituaries every day and muttering “…went in his sleep…lucky bastard…” Of course my getting old makes me think of my impending death, and I decided to do a little casket-shopping. I was a bit startled when Google brought me this place: Caskets for Pets. Are you kidding me? I’m not dropping $200 on Floppy’s casket when I nice burlap sack and a shovel will do nicely. Also, looking at this joint leads me to believe that we really don’t understand death at all if we’re spending money on the inside of this thing. Colors, fabrics, pictures, what the fuck? Who is this for? And has anyone ever actually heard another person ever have a request for the inside of their casket? “Well, Grandpa always did say he wanted an ecru-embroidered satin inlay with lavender crepe outlines…” Hey, NOBODY has his funeral more planned out than me (Op, we start rehearsals next week), but I can’t say I give 2 shits about the inside of my casket. Hell, fill the fucker with vegetable oil and fry me up, I don’t care.

"Xmastime always did say he wanted to be served with 2 sides and a pitcher of sweet tea."

Paddy Mac's New Best Friend!!!!!

A heartfelt congratulations to my friends Op & Liza, who had their first kid last night - a 9lb, 10oz 22-inch long boy (name yet to be determined.) I'm looking forward to spending a lot of time watching this little guy grow up, will be be a blast! Here's the only photo they have so far, hopefully I'll have more soon:



Welcome lil buddy!!!!

I'll Call When I've Got...No Class

I spent the last 3 days in a continuing-ed class for my job. No matter how many of these things I take as an adult, I always revert back to being in school as a kid: sit down, shut up, and don’t mess around with crap. But everyone else just strolls around, brings in chips, yammers away etc. Me, I’m in the corner assuming that someone’s about to start screaming at me any second. I have begun to notice throughout the years however that in every class, there are some of the same fucking characters that keep popping up. Such as:

1) THE GUY THAT ASKS A THOUSAND QUESTIONS. We all know how these classes work – you gotta do them for your profession, to cross them off on your to-do list to keep whatever license current. So you show up, sign the attendance sheet and get the hell on with your life. Even the instructors are like “I will try to get you out of here early if we can cover the material.” Which means “I’ll stand here and talk for a few hours, and if you let me run through this garbage as quickly as possible without fucking bothering me we can leave in time for you to get home and rub one out to the Tyra Banks Show.” We all know this and respect it. But there’s always ONE jackass who wants to fucking ask question after question and so then we don’t get out early. The class is fuming at him, the instructor is staring at him and trying to shut him up using a jedi mind-trick, but the dude won’t stop asking questions. But the best part is, they're not even good questions, it’s not about concepts – it’s always him latching onto one question and then WANTING TO PAINT EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO!!!!!!! If you’re a pet groomer, for example, it would go like this

Instructor “…as so, when washing animals use soap and water…”
Guy: “what about horses? Should we use soap and water for horses?”
Instructor: “Yes, of course, soap and water for horses. So, as we-“
Guy: “I’ve got 2 dogs, what about them? Soap and water for them?”
Instructor: “Yes. Dogs too. Now, if w-“
Guy: “What about hamsters?”
Instructors: “Yes. (icy ‘please shut up stare’ now settling in). Now, -“
Guy: “What if I wanna wash dogs AND hamsters, should I use soap and water?”

You get the picture. Meanwhile every fucking inane question he asks adds onto the class time, driving you insane with rage. Your only hope here is that someone confronts him in the bathroom during a break and tosses him out the fucking window. Otherwise, a 4:45pm stop time means 4:45pm. Unreal.

A close cousin to this jackass is the middle-aged woman who wants to regale the class with anecdote after anecdote of every fucking thing her company has even done, every case that has ever come up. SHUT UP YOU OLD BAG!!!!! This person also needs to be “dealt with” during a break.

2) THE LEADER. There’s always some dude who, within the first hour of the class, steps in and says something almost intelligent. Everyone quickly assumes this guy is some sort of expert in the field, and as the day goes on they defer to him and ask him questions etc. You can see this guy come to life all of a sudden – one morning he wakes up desperate to hang himself in his room (i.e. his parents’ basement) cause he’s 42 and the last date he went on was prom with his Aunt Gussie, and now here he is in a room of people looking at him as if he’s Ron Jeremy at a dick convention. New life!! The best thing to look for here is the next day, when he shows up in some new “trendy” clothes, maybe some sunglasses et al and really tries to milk this moment for all it’s worth. Good for him, cause in a matter of hours it’s back to Bay Ridge to scrape mama’s feet. But what a run!!!

3) LATE METRO GUY. This is the douchebag that strolls in an hour late – the class is settled in, it’s quiet etc. Now this guy comes in, finds a chair and then spends half an hour unwrapping himself. First while standing in the middle of the room he’s gotta carefully take off his $800 leather jacket and fold it like he’s in the fucking color guard at Arlington so he can lay it on the next desk. Then he sits down and starts ripping through his paper bag (all, mind you, while the instructor is talking) and now we gotta watch him lay out his latte, his mango-pineapple juice, and his fucking egg-white & cream cheese bagel while he text-messages everyone he’s ever known on earth. He doesn’t think for a second “maybe I should try to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, since, after all, I did insult these people by wandering in an hour late like a fucking asshole” like a normal person might, he just snorts and huffs his way through everything, oblivious to the 100 eyes staring at him. He’s probably glad he’s getting to showcase his newest button-down shirt with a VERY high collar and unbuttoned cuffs that dangle at the end of his arms. Fuck you.

4) THE FRIEND OF THE INSTRUCTOR. As you go around the room in the beginning, you say “Hi, I’m Kieran, I work for blahblahblah” and there’s always one guy that actually works on the outside with the instructor, which he happily points out. Number one, this guy is almost always gay. I don’t know why, it just always works out that way. “Hi, I’m Tommy, and I actually WORK with Paul, hi Paul! (big wave).” Now this jackass feels special, and throughout the day he’ll jump up to assist, and make inside jokes and make knowing “oh, we know this, don’t we buddy” looks to the instructor throughout the day. Not that you really care, but it’s one more thing to aggravate you as you sit there all day locked up in class while your friends are at Happy Wong’s Ass Club getting happy endings in the back while eating themselves out of a mountain of pork fried rice. Do you need this? No. The only redemption is the next day when it’s a different instructor and the dude looks crushed a he becomes just another shithead with a desk.

5) THE OLD-TIMER. This is a guy that was in the business 100 years ago, and has decided for whatever reason to “get back in the game.” His main look is utter confusion and he doesn’t believe a fucking word anybody says. “What? You think you can sell widgets for $100? No way, no way young man. When I was at the top, you were the king if they sold for $25!!!” Meanwhile of course things have happened in that interim – the Cold War, the European Economic Community, Pluto has become a planet etc. He’s incredulous and leaves every class shaking his head knowing we’re all crazy. Luckily he’s been up since 5am so by 3 o’ clock he’s totally bushed and can barely keep his eyes open, so he eventually shuts up.

6) THE HI-LITER. This is always a young girl who, upon being given a textbook or any printed pages of info immediately begins highlighting everything on the page. “oooh, yes (hi-lite)…ooooh, yes (hi-light)..” til before you know it 95% of the page is in neon yellow. I’m like hey dumbass, the purpose of a hi-liter is to make certain sentences STAND OUT; now when you look at a page it’s the un-hi-lited stuff that jumps out. Idiot. And yes, I have no idea if it’s “hi-lite” or “highlight” or “high-light” or “kiss my ass”, but there ya go.

7) THE ONE HOT GIRL. There’s always one, and only one, smoking Hot Girl in class. She sits at her desk, oblivious to all the dudes trying to catch her eye. It starts with you trying to catch her eye, stealing glances at her while the instructor blathers. Pretty soon you realize all the other dudes are trying to do the same thing, so you find yourself darting eyes at THEM to let them know “hey…dibs.” So now we got about 80 eyes spinning around in everybody’s heads. To the instructor we must look like lunatics, or like Japanese anime – I’m waiting for an instructor to all of a sudden drop to the floor with a massive seizure, like those kids in Japan. So it goes you try to eyeball hot girl/every other dude does too/dudes eyeball each other/BAM!!!! Hot chick leaves with Late Metro Dude. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This reminds me of a story, actually. My buddy Ryan and I went down for my little sister’s college graduation a few years back, and of course everybody got wasted/had a great time etc. At the end of the night Ryan and I were gonna share a bed in my sister’s room when in came this WASTED smoking-hot chick, whom we shall call, let’s say, Doris. She comes in all happy-drunk and immediately deposits herself in bed between Ryan and I and falls asleep. Now, me being a guy, I of course thing “hot girl in bed…well, I better stay awake in case she wants to, you know, do it.” Cause you know, if a girl wakes up in the middle of the night with a coupla strange dudes in bed with her, she’s prolly gonna want to have sex, and I don’t wanna miss out cause I’m sleeping. I figure a night of missed sleep is better than her saying the next morning “Gee, I woke up and wanted to have sex, but you were asleep so me & Ryan did it for 3 hours. Boy, you can sleep through ANYthing!” So I laid there all night, eyes wide open and every move/breath she took “ooooh yeah…here comes the fucking!!!” What an idiot. Of course, the next morning I find out that the whole night Ryan was on the other side of her, eyes wide open, doing the exact same thing. Hot chick sound asleep in the middle with two jackasses staring at the ceiling with hard ons. Typical.

8) THE SLEEPER. By mid-day there’s always one guy, whom you’ve seen struggling the whole time, finally hit the desk with his head and fall asleep. He will start snoring softly. We all crack up, even the instructor gets in on the act and cracks a few jokes, it’s all funny. After a few hours, the guy wakes up startled, we all have a laugh and the instructor says something “funny” like “Welcome back!” or a self-depricating remark about how boring his lecture must be. This, so far, is okay. If you’re the sleeper guy you get a pass – but if you’re the SECOND guy to fall asleep, you are not cute, you’re not funny, you’re just an asshole irritating everybody. Finally the instructor will snap at someone “hey – wake him up!” Not so cute this time around, little man.

There are, though a few people I would like to see in a classroom next time:

- The hot chick that wears a tank top/no bra and always has a nipple peeping out. That’d be cool.
- A dude that just can’t stop farting. How amazing would it be to have a dude cut one every 15 minutes. “sorry.” “sorry.” “whoops, that’s me, sorry.” I could die happily after that.
- Wheelchair guy. Dude in a wheelchair comes rolling in, knocks over desks trying to parallel park in a row, and refuses help of any kind. We’d all have to sit there and pretend we’re not staring as he knocks over everyone’s coffee and extends our day by an 2 hours. Super-bonus if he and the fart guy are the same person.
- Woman who insists on bringing in sweets for everyone every day. “I baked some cupcakes last night…” whatever happened to these women?

A final note on these classes: Breaks. These are for the people that literally have no fucking life to go home to. The instructor will always say “Ahhhmm, do you wanna take a break, or should we go straight through?” meaning “we can be out by 2:00 if you stay put.” But no, the class ALWAYS chooses for fucking breaks (AND an hour lunch!!!!). So the guy will reluctantly say “…okay. Let’s be back in 10 minutes.” Me, I don’t leave, I sit in my chair and try esp to force my will on people “sit down!! Let’s finish!!” Plus, I’m always terrified that if I get up and leave, go get some water from the water fountain, when I come back I will be greeted by a locked door with my stuff thrown in the hallway outside “you’re late, fuckface – blackballed!!!!” and I’ll hafta spend the rest of my life cleaning up 3-grade puke on school buses. BUT, OF COURSE, every fucking break is extended cause people without fail stroooooolllllll back into class a few minutes late, knuckles deep in another bag of Doritos without a care in the world. These people complain about being there, but then use every opportunity at their disposal to drag it out. Unbelievable. It’s the same thing if you go Greyhound – whenever I ride from NYC to DC, as we get near the Baltimore Travel Plaza the driver will ask if we wanna push through, or take a break. You can guess what the vote is. So he’ll say “okay, be back on the bus in 30 minutes.” I’m fuming cause we’re only an hour away, but these jackasses wanna stop for half a fucking hour. And then you know me – I think I have to be an Olympic sprinter, or I’ll be watching the bus pulling away. But I’m maybe starving, so I get off the bus, and it goes like this: SPRINT to Sbarro oh god, 3 people in line will take forever no time SPRINT to KFC fucking hell no time no time SPRINT to the vending machine and in a total panic buy purchase some Combos, of which I’m better off chewing on the back of the bus seat in front of me, SPRINT back to the bus and quickly find my seat, throw myself down in drenched in sweat and check the time and we only have…28 minutes left. Jesus Christ. But of course 30 minutes isn’t enough for these people, and it’s apparently against the laws of mechanical engineering for this bus to start moving again unless we’ve spent an extra 15 minutes waiting for people to wander back onto the bus, in absolutely no hurry at all. I’m clutching my fucking bag of Combos, keeping them in my jacket pocket so it doesn’t take up any space on the bus, and these people come back on the bus with three course meals fucking spread out. Buckets of greasy chicken, baked ziti in tin pans, unbelievable. NO hurry to get where we’re going. Same thing with class, these people are in NO hurry to get the fuck home.

So that was my weekend, people. Be glad it wasn’t this coming weekend, where I’d miss the first round of the tournament. Then I might have gotten a little pissed.

I'm Back!!

Many thanks to Rrthur for filling in while I was out - he was great, I'm sure we have'nt heard the last from him. But the party's over people!!!! I'm here to stay!!!

Bon voyage mes ami!!!

It's been a pleasure doing bizness wit you. Xmastime will be back on Monday. Happy birthday to RRTHUR's dad!

[the post was posted by RRTHUR]

What the critics are saying about RRTHUR!!!

"he's brought a whole new positive energy to the blog. I don't want to
slit my wrists after reading it. I feel inspired, happy to be alive, not
all bummed out."

-BayonneMike

"who knew women were our friends?"

-Op

"i've been cracking up all day."

-Watty

[this post was posted by Rrthur]

Oh Gwyneth, Where Art Thou?

of course I got more!

at Coyote Ugly. think it was the '99 MLB playoffs. Op's birthday if memory serves me. we're all there watchin the Mets. Xmastime's in rare form, but its Coyote Ugly, EVERYTHING goes!!!. there's somebody with their head on the bar having shots poured into their mouth. SASSY BARTENDERS! "this is what rome was like!!!" blah blah blah ...

but wait. there's a blond at the table behind us. HOLYSHIT!!! it's Gwyneth Paltrow. we're all abuzz, "is it??? no it's not! YES IT IS!!!", but everyone's too chicken shit to go up to her, ... everyone that is except ... Xmastime.

Next thing we know, he's planted in that booth chatting it up with Ms. Thang. we all have to hang back & kick ourselves

now this is a bit of a non-sequitur, but of all the sudden I look up and realize Xmastime is no longer at GP's table. GP and her friend are alone & talking.

I look to find him. We've previously established the disappearance factor. Finally, in the back corner of the bar, through clouds of smoke I see Xmastime. He's removing the last piece of clothing wrapped around his foot. Buck naked. Alone. Just standing there. For no apparent reason other than taking some time off from the clothes. Then, out of nowhere, he poses for a split second like some '40s b-movie actress. Hands behind his head, hip stuck out. It lasts all of 3 seconds tops.

All of the sudden, one of the SASSY BARTENDERS shows up pleading with me to make him put his clothes back on. I'm thinking, "i'm with you SASSY BARTENDER, but this is Rome!!!" The fear in her eye was troubling and suddenly her slutty bustiere looked helpless and tragic. "XMASTIME, put yer friggin clothes on!" I shouted, "fear not SASSY BARTENDER! you can go back to work!" he was dressed in moments.

As is always the case, a price had to be paid. One cannot enjoy the decadence of life without a blood offering. And this was no different. As ms. rrthur approached the bar, she was informed she had been cut off, due to her friends disrobing. xmastime, however, was welcome to indulge.

[this post was posted by Rrthur]

10 Completely Superficial Reasons to Get Out of Bed Tomorrow

1 The new Eagles of Death Metal. Album of the year so far. Hits me like great T-Rex.

2. To live long enough to see Steve Jobs obit. IPOD #4 just died—2 months post-warranty. I’ve had all 4 in a 1.5 year span.

3. Sopranos Sunday. I don’t care if they wait another decade before airing again. Hands down the best show ever.

4. Lost. Buddy of mine turned me on to this. I should have him shot. My life does NOT revolve around TV. DAMMIT SAWYER!!!!!!!

5. Knowing that the NBA season is one day closer to being over. Who knew the Knick's awesome patented uglyball of the 90s would lead us into this purgatory. I still can’t decide which day was grayer in NYC. The day Joey Ramone died, or the day Jeff Van Gundy left.

6. Is this where I’m supposed to mention my dog? oh yeah, superficial.

7. Cuz I promised Xmastime I'd turn the lights on again ...

while we're on the subject of Xmastime-- and cuz he keeps mentioning "the incident" from my 5th grade past, I would now like to divulge my favorite Xmastime moment.

It was a cold December night in Asbury Park, NJ. A bunch of us were down to see a Steve Earle show at the Stone Pony. Opening for SE was a scrappy bunch of upstarts known as Marah. Xmastime and a few others had gotten to the show early to catch their set. As it turns out, the rest of us arrived just as they were about to go on. I walk in to see Xmastime holding 8 beers in his "enormous mitts."* The place is sold out and packed to the gills. He says he's going up front. I sit back and watch the bull in china shop. Beers held high, ladeez be damned! As I recall, another such purchase was made during the set.

So the set ends, and those of us who've seen SE realize, it's time to settle in. I'm a huge SE fan, but the 3 plus hour concerts are a real drag. I'd get tired of the friggin Beatles after 3 hours (and Bruce, if you're listenin, you owe me an hour from Giants Stadium a few summers back-- I ain't gotta hear 96 Tears in a friggin concrete swamp bunker). back to the story ...

So Xmastime has pretty much peaked at this point, and it's say 9:45. There's the usual lag between acts and Xmastime's gettin a little antsy.Unbeknownst to anyone, he decides to leave the club and get a little air. He's not taken into consideration the no readmittance policy, and since it's sold out, he can't even buy his way back in.

After a few minutes, everyone in our crew realizes what has happened and is trying to talk to the bouncers, etc to get him back in. It's to no avail. There's no way they're letting him in. The fact that he's a little blotto at this point probably has nothing to do with it. He then proceeds to try and sneak in through various doors.What's great, is that from our vantage point, we can see all the doors as he tries it. It's like a big dopy video game. After a while it comes down to one bouncer who keeps catching him. A member of our party even offers him $$$ to let him in. The bouncer responds, "there is NO WAY that guy's coming in".

We appear to be at an impasse. None of us can leave or we'd suffer the same fate, so we hope that he'll just park himself at the bar next door and wait for us.

Suddenly the lights go down, and the side door to the club opens. In walk Steve Earle and the Dukes. People start applauding. Place is gettin busy. But wait, there have always been 4 members of the band, tonight there are five. Walking directly behind the band in step is Xmastime. He's in sight of the stage. I have no idea what he's going to do when he gets there, but I can't wait. Just as he skirts past the last person, the bouncer catches sight and tosses him out. Unbelievable.

-three hours later

we bolt from club in search of him. hit the bar next store. "the big guy? yeah he was here. asleep on stool for a couple of hours". a dude outside. "yeah, he was sitting on the curb for a while".

ms. rrthur and ML go to the police station where we find out what happened. The Asbury Park police had picked him up curbside. The jail was a bit crowded, so they asked him where he was from. They threw him on an Amtrak train bound for the big city.

-next morning

I call Xmastime, you know, see how he's doing. All of us are at a diner in Asbury having breakfast.

R: How you feeling?
X: Alright, what a show huh?
R: Yeah
X: I don't even remember getting home. Don't remember ML even driving me home.
R: Really. You don't remember anything?
X: Nope

dude was clueless post 9:45. you can't teach that.

*c 1998 Xmastime

[this post was posted by Rrthur]

The Substitute

Yo! respek

I’m substituting for xmastime today. I come w/ credentials. I was a substitute once at my former high school. I had just moved home post-college. Miserable. No money. No job. No prospects. And worst of all, I had stupidly broken up with my girlfriend --who I now got to practically stalk—well, it wasn’t that bad, it’s hard to stalk a woman an hour away when you don’t have any money. Anyway, she could have come in handy—I’m not saying we should have remained together because we were destined to be (oh we broke up for ALL the right reasons – I sick of you, you sick of me), but it was pretty depressing not having anyone around to do anything with.

Try and keep up. There’s no test at the end. I’m a friggin substitute.

Heard there were openings at my old school, so I signed up and started raking in the 40 some bucks they paid per day. I had no desire to be there, no educational training, all I thought about was my band and how depressing it was to be living at home Miserable. No money. No job. No prospects (there’s a jim frey reference for you fuckers—STAY AWAKE!!!).

So I show up the first day. There’s a certain look your former teachers get in their eye when they first see you in your shitty tie and dockers. That “HAHAHA!!!! You simple MF. I know I only make $25K a year but it’s worth it to see this. Welcome to the real world fuckface”. Then they just throw you out there. No guidebook … no set of rules … you’re alone. Miserable. No (alright, not funny).

... so I get my first class.

This still kills me to this day. I don’t know whether it’s an indictment on the sad state of education or just how damn gullible high school students are. I walk in, say hi and proceed to the board to write my name. As I’m walking there, I figure I’ll do something to break the ice, so I write “Mr.” and then 8 consonants in a row. I turn around, they look puzzled. I say, “it’s pronounced SMITH”. No one batted a friggin eye. I was Mr. Smith for the rest of the day.

Then there’s the time that a student came on to me in the supply closet. Yeah, yeah, you’ve heard the scenario before in a thousand p’house forums. I wouldn’t lie. I did nothing. I will say that it would have been worth any stretch in the state pen. I heard she later became a stripper. That’s pretty sad. Well, sad because the dude who told me didn’t know the name of the club.

Other than that, i got no pics of theodore ... if you're quiet ... maybe you'll get recess

[this post was posted by Rrthur]

Guest Host: RRTHUR!!!!

I will be away until Monday -I know, little ones dry those tears...easy...well, I really think some of you aren't even crying...maybe you're not even trying...it’s as if you wont even miss me…wtf - ANYways, we have a guest host for the next three days...RRTHUR!!!

Rrthur is an old friend of Xmastime’s –let’s reminisce!!

1) Almost kissed at a Steve Wynn concert

2) Spent $21 at a Wendy’s in Queens

3) Stole 2 diet Cokes at Staples – zing! Fuck you, corporate America!!!

4) One time I was over at his house and he was defrosting the freezer. I’m watching the game, not paying attention, whatever. Then he says hey, come here for a second and I walk in and he’s pointing to the sink. I look, and there was some soft, melting chocolate ice cream sitting in the sink. As I’m looking at it, the waft of noxious Rrthur-gas hits my nostrils and all at once, two of my senses are taken over as my brain registers a fart smell with the sight of a pile of soft brown glop in the sink. I can still picture what he was wearing, as well as I can still fell the blood-curlding retching/dry-heaving my body went through. I find it hard to believe he will ever top this moment, and were it up to me this paragraph would go on his tombstone.

5) In case you missed the post a while back, he shit his pants in the 5th grade. I wasn’t there, but I love telling that story. Hell, I don’t even care if it’s true WHICH IT MOST DEFINITLY IS!!!!!!!!!!!!

6) rrthur's old band once played my fraternity in college. They played it super-cool and waited til 11:30 to start playing. Of course 5 minutes before midnite the place emptied so that people could go get more beer before the midnite cutoff, never to return. Divas. Then he stayed over in my girlfriend’s room, and in the morning used a complete stranger’s razor to shave his face and ended up getting some weird rash. I hate shaving anyways, I certainly don’t understand why he felt such an urgency to shave that appropriating a stranger’s razor was necessary. Maybe on a Sunday morning, after driving 400 miles and playing a rock show and staying up all night drinking he had a job interview? Hmm.

7) The first time I visited Rrthur after he moved to NYC, I get here as a freshly-scrubbed farmboy, never been in a city before, and as I’m walking in he says “Well, I’m gone for the weekend. Have fun! Oh, and the toilet’s broken.” Thanks asshole. I got back at him by not having sex with the over-the-top hot girl that I brought with me. Fuck you, corporate America!!!!!!!!!

8) Rrthur is the cousin of my first girlfriend in high school. I can’t say he had anything to do with our breaking up and my heart getting crushed to bits, but I also don’t think that summer when he decided to teach her how to French-kiss really helped me out either.

So enjoy our guest host, Rrthur! And in the meantime, I leave you with this:

PADDY MAC!! Looking terrified in the hands of Chester, Theodore's great-great grandpa who of course founded The American Bears of the Confederacy.

My Bologna Has a first name, and It's YOU

If so many Americans are complaining about Hollywood being so “out of touch”, then why are the top 12 all-time grossing flicks as follows:

1. Titanic
2. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
3. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
4. Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace
5. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
6. Jurassic Park
7. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
8. Shrek 2
9. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
10. Finding Nemo
11. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
12. Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith

Hollywood is “out of touch”, but it look like we’re popping our hamstrings sprinting from our couches to the theaters to spend billions of dollars on movies about sorcery, witchcraft, hobbits, dinosaurs, space fighting, jedi religions etc etc. Surely all these Jesus-loving red staters would not pay money on a movie wherein a strange, freaky non-white character is proclaimed as the “Lord”, would they? And don’t tell me all these people went to see a movie about dinosaurs - how can there be dinosaurs when God was busy creating man in his own image. There’s no dinosaurs in the bible!!!!

Knock it off with this “Hollywood is out of touch” nonsense. Of course they are. It’s their job to come up with outer-limits, non-real, fantasy crap. You wanna pay to see a “real” movie instead? One which showcases your “values”, which I suppose are things like being nice to old people, going to church, and helping the poor etc. Hmm. I’m sure you’d run to the theater to see that. Or maybe we’ll just shoot a movie of you picking your ass for 2 hours. It’s never the smart, quiet thoughtful movies that you fuckers run to, it’s always some version of bombastic shoot-em up/cartoon/witchcraft with sluts crap that you run to dump your paycheck on. So quit being fucking hypocrites and acting like Hollywood is stopping you from leading your “wholesome, family-rich” lives; Hollywood is not turning your daughter into a New York walking poodle slut, but maybe your sitting in the basement jerking off to "Catwoman" 24 hours a day is. If you want Hollywood to change, then quit fucking paying to see these wastes of fucking celluloid and make Hollywood do what it dreads most: make a movie that doesn’t suck.

To finish, my pals over at Football Fans for Truth had a money quote:

“If George Clooney wins, there's no hope for Hollywood!"--Mort Kondracke
Yeah, that's right. What Hollywood needs more of is Harrison Ford, a tremendous talent who doesn't give a damn what movie he shows up in, so long as he's paid $20 million and a piece of the take. But a spectacularly successful movie star who rejects these easy choices, takes risks, creates passionate films about subjects that interest him without thought to popularity or money can only destroy the industry.”

So quit fucking being hypocrites before I really get pissed off and write something about how your precious Bible doesn’t have a lot of stories about “democracy” in it, yet “President Bush” is using it as a faux playbook for sending Americans overseas to get blown to bits. Get your head out of your ass.

Things Are Good, Part XI

1) Was treated to the newest installment of “The Real World” this weekend, this time MTV is really sticking it to them and making the kids rough it out in…Key West. Hey, is “The Real World” the most ironically named show of all time? A few things that bother me about “The Real World”:

a. Unless you grew up under a rock in Siberia or, worse, Kansas, you’ve seen the fucking show. Every year they get some humungous, tricked-out fantasy house that’s amazing – has a pool, big aquarium, John Candy stuffed and mounted on the mantle, whatever. But EVERY FUCKING YEAR we gotta spend half the first episode watching these idiots sprinting from room to room shrieking “OHMYGODLOOKITTHISHOUSEITSAMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!” no shit, dumbass. So were the first 16 houses. Knock it off and hurry up to the obligatory first-episode hot tub scene so we can find out which chick is the one with the “serious boyfriend” who of course ends up fucking everybody in sight for 5 months – all part, of course, of her “learning to grow and like myself as a person, and learning to live all by myself.” Hahahaha!! I love how there’s always that one chick who decides she’s gonna “take time off” from her bf so that she can prove to herself and everybody else that dammit, she can be independent!! Ahhhmmm, sweetheart…you’re being propped up by MTV for 22 weeks- sleeping til 4pm every day, drinking a ton of free booze and fucking everything in sight while wearing a band aid over your titties in the hot tub. I’m not sure that’s considered “making it on your own” as much as “being a complete, filthy slut.” But hey, what do I know.

b. I also love these “jobs” they give these assholes. My two favorites were the cast of Las Vegas - “hosting” parties, wherein the girls would dress like sluts and get drunk and the boys would grind on said “employees”, and last season in Austin where they have to…fuck, did anyone ever catch what they were supposed to do? Something like photograph a band from SXSW. Hmm. Tough one. Other classics of course include San Diego (“Your job is to learn to ride around in a big boat”) and Paris, where they acted as “travel writers” meaning they went to bars thoughout the city and “wrote reviews” about them. Hmm. Has anybody seen this collection of works published? Yes? No? Does it really matter anyways, when Adam’s dad knows Lionel Richie? Just once I’d like to see where all the kids are sitting together all fired up about finding out what there job is gonna be, and then it’s revealed…ta-da! Slaughterhouse! For the next 4 months you’ll be pulling out pig rectums!! Welcome to the real world, fuckheads!!!! Ironically, of course, there’s always at least one douchebag that has to get fired from these “jobs” because he just cant get his ass out of bed after a night of pounding vodka and crying into his roommates shoulder how much he has grown to love/respect him over the last 4 weeks. Between that and puking, who the fuck’s got time for work? Hall of Fame Award here goes to Montana, who got fired for actually giving wine to children. God bless you, Montana. You’re ugly, you’re stupid, you’re worthless but you have managed to find yourself in the RW HOF for both “Best Reason for Getting Fired” and “Best Phone Conversation”, ie of course the one where she goes out on a date on Valentine’s Day and then pretends to be shocked/chagrined when her boyfriend Vaj screams at her on the phone for 15 minutes merely repeating the word “whore!!!” over and over while she tries to butt in with “but…but I…but…”

c. Enough with the token gay dude. We get it. Yes, you can start out a season of “The Real World” as a homophobe and after 141 nights out at the local bar pounding blue drinks you can be the big man and announce that you’ve decided to respect his gay lifestyle. Great! Shouldn’t we be past this now – wasn’t Pedro, the Babe Ruth of gay Real Worlders, all the way back in 1993 or some such? 13 years later and all I’ll learned from these idiots they send up every year is that gay dudes are incredibly boring, they smile a lot, and they all seem to know tons about girls eating disorders. Great.

2) Is Tom Cruise’s father alive? If he is, don’t you think even he’s tired by now with all the movies TopCat’s done with the ol’ “trying to follow up in his more successful dead dad’s footsteps” routine? Be great to see him in a press conference “No, I’m not dead, and yes, I DO believe he can be an even better gay Scientologist dwarf than his old man ever was – if he’d only stop driving so close to the edge!” It has been a while since he’s done one of those flicks, maybe pops finally wrote him a letter “Knock if off, freak.”

3) I’m starting to notice a lot of game shows are played by people that already have money. It’s always “Hi I’m Roy, I own a string of hardware stores back east…” etc. It’s never “Hi I’m Eddie, they told me there were some cold cuts in the back…” Wouldn’t it be more exciting if only poor people were allowed on these shows? People whose lives could REALLY be changed by small amounts of cash – not these guys who keep going for the million bucks cause fuck it, what do they care if they lose, they already own Tulsa. But saying to a poor person hey, you can go for the million bucks, or walk out right now with $7,000 – well to me that’s drama. And you KNOW if this poor guy goes back home having blown a chance to get some money, any money at all, his family will pound on him till kingdom come. We could even have follow-up visits to the guy’s house a year later, where his family tries to be nice but the resentment drips like it’s from a faucet. “Here, have some rice n beans…oh no, it’s not Rice a Roni…you know, some people just can’t afford the name brands…isn’t that right, Captain Asshole?” (icey glare at our hero, who gulps while pretending not to notice)

4) You ever see a pizza box laying on the ground and think hey…I wonder if there’s a slice in there. Hell, for all you know there’s a whole pie in there. Maybe people leave full pies on the sidewalk and observe to see who looks in – if you’re the one that looks, free pizza! Of course I never do, as I know that the second I decide to start opening up trash in the middle of the street looking for food every girl I’ve ever had a crush on will turn the corner and be staring at me, but it’s really starting to gnaw away at me that I’m walking past all these empty pizza boxes that could be filled with pizzas all this time.

5) One thing I do in restaurants that I really need to stop doing is physically pointing out what I’ve ordered from the menu to the waitress. And of course I always get a cheeseburger anyway, but when the waitress looks at me I always hold up the menu and point to it “yeah, I’ll have the cheeseburger deluxe…with fries…” as if I’m the first person ordering a cheeseburger. And I hear myself reminding the poor woman that “deluxe” means “with fries”, since I’m sure she’s spent most of the day serving people sliced-almond framboise with snow peas and cranberry moo goo gai pan and my order of a cheeseburger with fries is gonna throw the kitchen for a curve. I’m waiting for a waitress to grab the menu and look perplexed “The wha? What the…well. I’ll see if Tony can make this.” I’m such an idiot.

6) Anyone been watching this “I Love Toys” thing on VH1? Apparently the 7 fuckwads they talk to about these things (which also drives me crazy – we gotta listen to the same 7 dipshits over and over about everything –I love the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s, whatever. Jesus Christ. How did this small group become the experts on every item of pop culture of the last 35 years, and are these the only people VH1 knows? VH1 is so lame no one else will answer their calls?) had every single toy that was released in the last 40 years. “Oh yeah, spirograph…oh wow etch-a-sketch…blah blah blah…” Am I the only kid on the planet whose toy budget every year wasn’t six figures? My brother and I never really had toys, all we really cared about was having a football, basketball and baseball. A day after we got our football I immediately left it next to a heater, so we spent the next ten years playing with a ball that had a huge goiter sticking out of it. And for some reason we built our basketball goal so that instead of ten feet it was eleven feet high. Tis prolly why it was so easy for me to play above the rim on other courts. As for baseball, this lead to our highest levels of creativity. We’d be all excited cause we’d get a new ball ($1.49 from White’s Auto), but inevitably it would end up in the cornfield behind our house never to be seen again. And so we would either wait another week or two before our dad would buy us a ball, or we would raise the money ourselves – sometimes we’d return bottles to the country store down the road for a nickel, or I’d go in the back and shit into a black dude’s mouth for a dollar. Either way. But in those long stretches between real baseballs we found ourselves inventing games, and there is one in particular that I do remember. We had an old shed in the backyard, where the batter would stand about 20 feet away while the other one of us pitched. If he hit one over the shed, home run. Hit the top of the shed, triple, then double/single etc. What did we use for a “ball” you ask? Well, a crushed up Coca Cola can of course. Which became a real treat for the person pitching, of course. As the game would go on the can would get more bashed up and by the end your hands are pretty much shredded to bits, blood everywhere. Looking back that seems weird, but at the time I reckon we thought it was normal. I guess when you grow up miles from anyone else your age and there’s no cable television yet you come up with weird stuff to keep yourselves entertained. But enough about shitting into a black guy’s mouth in the back of the store.

7) "Hey, Bobby come on...it happens to every bear from time to time...hey, you've been stressed out lately, it happens...."

Just When You’d Forgotten How to Hate the Russians…

…THIS pops up. First we beat their asses at Lake Placid, then they turn around and try to kill the Pope? Commie bastards! I am officially announcing a boycott of scoring with any Ruskie ladies for the next 180 days. Helga, Inga, Heather, sorry but no Xmastime banging for 6 months. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t even use the plaster caster you made of my oversized, bordering on the absurdly large Irish-eyes-are-smiling cock. Sorry gals - maybe if you bastards had taken your beating at the hands of Team USA like men, we wouldn’t have this problem.

Of course, luckily for you broads I have no idea which countries are still Russian these days, so…chances are if you show up at my boudoir with a bucket of chicken, I’ll still do you. But my Catholic heart will not be into it. Course, I don’t fuck with my heart, so it will still be amazing/life-changing for you…I’m digressing here. What the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah, fried chicken. I'm seriously thinking about using a combination of Stove-Top stuffing and taco seasoning on my next batch. I was thinking of incorporating tater tots, but I would like to live through this season of "The Real World: Key West", so I can't be irresponsible at this point in my life.