Break In! : The Story of a 98' Plymouth Breeze

I can't believe he left a soda cup in here again. I know he remembers what happened last time; paper cups leak after 3 days...they get sticky and uncleanable immediately after that. I'm sure he will remember some paper towels tomorrow morning. This is embarrasing, I have enough self-image issues being a 98 plymouth breeze...now I have to park in a visitor's space? Might as well get vehicle acne and fashion myself some coke bottle glasses. Wait... ... is he giving me eyes? I think he is coming over. I wish I wasn't parked under this f-ing bird poop factory. He is probably looking at another car behind me anyway. Nope! He is definitely into me. I can see it in his eyes...he definitely wants to be in me.

Whoa, settle down guy...keep your hands off. Save it for the second date. At least be gentle! NO! you broke my lock, you're not into me at all are you! I feel like maybe you are just using me for my things!

Popping my trunk? I don't swing that way sir.

Did you really think that metal case had something good in it? gold bars perhaps?...we wouldn't be parked here if we had gold bars. Also, could you at least watch where that's going...you are getting poker chips all over me.

What are you looking for? Are you going to take anything? Am I not even good enough to steal from?

Come back you coward!

:: cries::

i miss you.

night.

Surprise!

a puppy!

that would be a good surprise. Unless you're allergic than it would be an adorably annoying surprise.

If I could give everybody who reads this blog a brand new puppy I would become the Oprah of the internet. Just look under your seat...its there, a puppy...remove the duct tape gingerly. Actually I would not be very much like Oprah, because I think giving a puppy to all my readers might just be the same as giving a puppy to my mom. (I was fat and got skinny though...probably will get fat again).

How long does it take a 22 year old man with arthritis to get tired of sleeping on the floor and buy a bed? a one, a two, a three...chomp, the world may never know. Im sleeping on the floor, and may just upgrade to a futon one day.

A man can dream.

.goodnight.

Titles Don't Mean Anything

Now I am free to write whatever my heart desires. I am always constricted by my title. But not today, the highway of creativity is wide open and I'm in the passing lane.

... ...

Okay, so maybe I need a title. I can't just write for ten minutes about having nothing to write about can I? I could, but I think I've done it before...and its a little cliche. One time I tweeted the deepest thing I have ever thought of while sober:

Never mind, I couldn't find it...and well, I tend to not remember things that have nothing to do with food or money.

I have a feeling I am one of few who has actually turned down 3 job offers during this adorable little recession of ours. Its not that I don't want a job...Its just that I don't want miserable and/or selling spa trips to retail workers. <-- "for only 49.99 you can have a 30 minute massage, pedi/medi, haircut, and waxing." Oh what's that, you only make $6.50 an hour?...you would have to work an 8 hour day to pay for it? That's ok, I didn't want the $8 commission anyway.

What's worse: the actual job of selling discount spa offerings to retail workers? or the fact that I actually did it for an entire work day for no money...because it was my 2nd interview or "day of observation." It sounds less like a job related function..and more of a cult function.

Today on our day of observance, we will sacrifice a calico cat.

Night folks...G'night

My Day as a Homeless Man

Once in awhile, a man awakes to find his world has changed drastically. Through those changes, he learns. He empathizes. He...

Baths in the Chesapeake Bay

Saturday morning I woke up homeless. No place to stay, no change of clothes, and a stench that would make a unicorn cry...if the Nazis hadn't killed them all in '37. The media gives homelessness a bad name. My experience was completely different than all these Hollywood Hobos who are down on their luck and never have any fun. I for one had nothing but fun. I went to the beach to skip stones. I played drums for a school of fish in a wetland. <-- that sounds like a lie, but i did it. Fish, me, drum sticks, rocking out. I took a nap on a bench, and then again on an unmade bed in an abandoned room. I even got somebody to pay for a movie ticket, and drank alcohol for seven hours. Its hard to feel sad about not having a home with beer in your system.

The best part about being homeless for the day was going home and sleeping in my warm bed. Traveling on foot and drinking beer really takes it out of you. Come to think of it, maybe I wasn't homeless...I was just on vacation. The lines between the two are a little blurry.

In both cases you pee in the water

Goodnight.

The Bromance, One Fatal Flaw

I love a good bromance film. Nothing better than to sit down after a long broad trip with a ham and brovolone cheese sandwich with Bill BrO' Reilly to watch two funny dudes be pals for 1.5 hours.
I love to laugh, and the bromance comedy delivers as much.

But there is one problem with every bromance movie since the Judd Apatow revolution of 2003. <--don't quote that year, its accuracy is irrelevant...its just meant to show that something is wrong in the comedy world of movies lately. (and God love him, it might be Apatow's fault).

In recent comedies, the crisis hits and things turn sad for the lead characters...
AND THEY DONT MAKE IT A FUNNY SAD

"I thought we were friends!"
"We aren't friends, f*$# this, I'm out of here" (Pineapple Express, Superbad, I love you Man...)

Its ok to go sad, it makes for a bigger happier moment. But go sad...with an awkward laugh or five...make it fake sad. Harry and Lloyd got upset with each other, Lloyd got stabbed in the back and the two hated each other. But in the mix of hatred was diarrhea, and a frank discussion on who should take the first bullet.

Boo hoo hoo guy from superbad who i dont remember you name, Michael Cera didnt tell you he was living with Fogel...dont cry about it, pull down his pants in the middle of the street, do something comical.

I think what I am tying to say is if I wanted to cry at a movie, I would go see Click <<--seriously, i will cry every time...wait that was a comedy too...

I can't handle this, where is Leslie Nielson when you need him

goodnight