This is all true. I was in the parking lot of my supermarket when I saw an Asian dude getting on a Kawasaki Ninja. I started laughing immediately at how ridiculous it was — does he not know how this looks? An Asian guy riding a motorcycle named after a horrible stereotype?
All I could do was shake my head at his stupidity. I just got into my Chevy Investment Banker and drove away.
I totally identified with that line in “Drunk in Love” where Jay Z’s bragging about how he and Beyonce got carried away having sex and she “fucked up my Warhol” because one time in college, I was making out with this girl up against a wall, and she crumpled up one of my Ansel Adams posters (the one with the tree), and I was out like 15 bucks.
I never saw her again, and I wonder if she knows she owes me fifteen dollars.
I can’t be the only person in the world who, when they put their laundry in their dryer on the Delicate cycle, immediately starts singing that Damien Rice song “Delicate” and then begins crying on their wet laundry over lost love and how sad that song is, and then puts on every bit of wet clothing and cries it out. Cries it out real good.
I was in a good mood walking to the supermarket the other day. It doesn’t usually happen that way. I think of buying groceries as a chore, instead of a fucking glorious honor I’ve been bestowed by being lucky enough to be born into this country.
Anyways, I was walking, and a 10-year-old girl in full Girl Scouts regalia walks beside me.
"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" she asked.
I don’t reply to someone I don’t know in public. I learned to block out my surroundings when I lived in New York, when even something as harmless as a 10-year-old Girl Scout trying to sell you cookies is probably a front for some 57-year-old perv who bought a uniform on eBay and is trying to scam you.
In that moment, something about her voice made me melt. I was in a good mood, like I said.
"On my way out," I replied. I was going to buy them on my way out? What? The words tumbled out of my mouth. I have no idea where they came from. I didn’t even think them.
I have never bought Girl Scout cookies before. I had no intention of buying them that night.
But it was only after she ran back to her parents, and I could hear her say from 20ft away without even having to turn around, “Mom, he said he’d buy some on the way out!”
At that point, I didn’t even care if she was a 57-year-old perv in a uniform. She had my money.
I’ve been married seven times. It was the third woman who broke me. Melba was her name. I met her at a blackjack table in Vegas. I couldn’t see her through all the smoke, and I’m pretty sure she was high on pills when she agreed to marry me.
Don’t get the wrong idea, we didn’t get married in Vegas the night we met. We had a five year relationship that ended when she decided she didn’t want to have kids, and that wasn’t going to work for me.
It’s not enough for me to emotionally ruin my woman, I need to also feel like I’ve ruined a young person’s future. That’s the legacy I want to leave the world. Far in the future, I want another damaged person to run around and fuck shit up. And if she wasn’t going to give birth to anything, what was I going to do, go to a Boys & Girls Club and ruin some poor kid there? Sounds like a lot of work.
So she left.
They all leave, but Melba left me in the worst shape.
Goddamn you, Melba. Goddamn you. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work when she told me to surrender on 16. The dealer had a 3, Melba. All you had to do was sit there and wait for the dealer to bust.
There’s no need to surrender, Melba. Let the cards be dealt, honey.
Me:Good. I'm going every other day like clockwork.
Friend:How're you gonna eat this BBQ tonight? Is it your cheat day?
Me:A cheat day? Motherfucker, I eat what I want every day.
Friend:What? Why even bother working out if you're not gonna be ripped?
Me:Because working out feels good. You think I work out to get sweet abs? You think anyone gives a shit that you had a six pack at your funeral? I'm going to eat pasta and bread until the day I die. Fuck your P90X and your Crossfit and your THX 1138.
Friend:I think that last one was a George Lucas movie.
What everyone who gives the finger to a camera is thinking when the photo is taken: "I bet I look so fucking cool, like Johnny Cash in that one photo."
What everyone who looks at a photo of someone giving the finger to the camera is thinking: "That person looks so carefree. They do not care about societal pressure to look cool. They are what I aspire to be. They are the Nelson Mandela of people in photographs, standing up for the freedom to live their lives as they alone see fit. In fact, they are better than Mandela — not only because they’re not dead yet, but also because they gave the finger to the camera. I bet Mandela wishes he had given the finger to a camera."
Me:Well, yeah. But mostly that phrase is used in situations where someone is asking you about why you wear earthtones AND accuse you of treason with a perennial plant in the same breath. It's very useful.
I’ve heard guys talk about how it’s so easy to pick up girls right at closing time at a bar, so I went to the library when it was about to close tonight, and when they made the announcement that the library was closing, and everyone was rushing to the circulation desk to check out books, I started talking to a few girls, and let me tell you, those bitches WERE DOWN TO READ ANYTHING.
Me:Baby, when we're ready to get married, do we have to do engagement photos? I don't want to put a fake smile on my face and have photos taken of us that make it look like every Sunday we take a picnic lunch to the park and kiss one another on the lips after I sabre a bottle of champagne. We should take real life engagement photos. Get a photographer to shoot us while we stare at our phones and wordlessly eat Arby's Beef 'n Cheddar sandwiches from a bag in a Hobby Lobby parking lot.
Her:Umm, your total comes to $3.84. Did you want that for here or to go?
Me:Baby, you don't have to act like this around me. Put those Beefs 'n Cheddars on a tray. I'm gonna eat 'em in that booth over there and we can talk about our future when you get off.
Her:Carl, this dude is creeping me out.
Arby's Manager:Leave her alone, sir. Here, I'm going to refund you the money. Please leave our restaurant so I don't have to call the police.
Me:Goddamnit, Carl! Me and my fiance were having a conversation! Baby, do you know this song playing on the speakers right now? This could be our wedding jam! [song playing is Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball"] Hold up, lemme Shazzam that shit real quick.
As I reach into my pocket to take out my 2004 Motorola RAZR, the Arby's Manager punches me on the side of the head. I bleed out on the freshly waxed floor of the Arby's as my brain slowly loses oxygen. I contemplate the afterlife. Do they have Beef 'n Cheddar sandwiches in heaven, I wonder? Are my grandparents there? What if my grandparents are there, but no Beef 'n Cheddar sandwiches? And then what if an angel comes to me and is like, "Bro, you gotta choose between hanging out with your grandparents for eternity or eating a shitload of Arby's Beef 'n Cheddar sandwiches. Choose wisely." And I'm like, "Arby's Beef 'n Cheddar sandwiches, OF COURSE!" and then the angel's like, "That was a test, son!" and then he sends me to hell. But you know what? I was true to myself. I kept it real all the way until the end, and even a little bit into the afterlife.
Ken Jeong reads the script for his Miller Lite commercial
Miller Lite VP of Marketing:Ken, we think you'll love the script.
Ken Jeong:Umm, I'm pretty annoying in this. I don't mind playing characters that are abrasive, but this is out of control. And you say this is going to air during every football game for the next 4 months? I don't think I can...
Miller Lite VP of Marketing writes him a check for half a million dollars.
Ken Jeong:...wait to do this commercial. Can we start shooting right now? I'll clear my schedule.
Went to this fucked up haunted house last night!! You walk into this brightly lit room, and a guy in a doctor’s gown goes, “The bird flu is now transmittable from person-to-person. It’s highly contagious.” Then they escort you out of the room. IT FREAKED MY SHIT OUT!!!!
Her:Because I don't have any photos of us kissing.
Him:Why would we want or need photos of us kissing? We can kiss whenever we want. I'd kiss you right now, but we're too busy having this conversation about taking a photo with us kissing.
Her:Because I want a new profile photo on Facebook. Happy? Just kiss me, it'll take five seconds.
Him:My heart won't be in it. My lips won't be in it. I like kissing you for no reason, it's when I'm forced to do it so your friends will like your photo that I object. This is fake.
Her:I'm going to fake you in the throat if you don't kiss me.
He runs to his car. He goes home and gets his passport. He drives to the airport. He books a one-way ticket on Japan Air Lines to Tokyo. He never comes back. He never sees her again. He never even gives her a kiss goodbye.
I sat on the plane next to a mom in her 30s with two babies and no dad to help out. And they were babies: one was probably a month old, and the other looked to be about a year.
The inevitable happened about halfway through the flight, when she got up to take one of them to the bathroom. The other baby just stayed in its baby carriage in the window seat. I sat in the aisle seat.
I wondered what would happen if the baby decided to go apeshit while she was in the bathroom. The entire plane would turn towards me, the only person in the aisle. I look to be a man who is old enough to have a child. They would certainly look to me to do something about the crying baby.
And I thought, how would I react to such a situation?
Well, I figured it out. I’d simply ask the baby to be quiet.
I’d say, “Hey baby, any chance you could keep it down? Us adults on the plane are tired and cranky too, but you don’t see us screaming like a crazy person. And we don’t even have a cool pacifier like you. We just have bloody marys and 24 channels of DirecTV. We’re all in this together, baby. So let’s keep it down. Let’s keep it down and let’s keep it together until your mom gets back.”
If you missed my last social media post, don’t worry, my tumblr feeds into my Facebook, my Instagram feeds into my tumblr, my Twitter feeds into my Facebook, my tumblr feeds into my Twitter, and all of it feeds into my growing insecurity that no one cares about me or the things that I do.
OMG, U GUISE I JUST SAW PHOTOS FROM A HARRY POTTER THEMED WEDDING, which was sooooo CUUUUUUUUUTEEEEEEE, but that’s nothing compared to my upcoming nuptials — it’s a Beowulf-themed wedding, where almost everyone at the reception is slaughtered by a monster named Grendel, and there’s blood everywhere all over the beautiful white linens, but then I kill Grendel, and Grendel’s all dead, and then Grendel’s mom comes in, and after I kill the monstrous bitch, my bride’s all, “You saved us!” but then we look down at her wedding dress, and no one realized that Grendel’s mom had shredded her too, and her guts are spilling out, and it’s pretty gross and sad, and then I go and live the rest of my life as the king of the Geats, but I’m a widow, so it’s not all that great.
Today I sat on a flight next to the sweetest old lady. She was telling me about her grandkids, and she offhandedly mentioned that she was a code breaker during World War 2. It was incredible. Then I looked down, and I saw she had cankles, and I was like, “How does this bitch even leave the house? Gross, lady!”
Gotta get in shape. Thinkin bout going to BOOT CAMP WIT MUH GURLS. Heard that those classes help turn THUNDER THIGHS into IS THERE A STORM OUTSIDE? NAH, IT’S SUNNY AS HELL, GUESS THERE’S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT TO GET OUTSIDE AND GO SHOPPING, I HEARD SEPHORA’S HAVING A SALE, BETTER GO PICK UP SOME FOUNDATION, IS IT TIME FOR NEW JEGGINGS? PROBABLY, SINCE IT’S ALWAYS TIME FOR NEW JEGGINGS IF YOU ASK ME! THIGHS.