Wednesday, November 27, 2013

5 Natural disasters that I'm not afraid of, and neither are you

Oy, tonight was supposed to be the night of relaxation and laundry before the big bender, but then I bought a 3 dollar bottle of wine and some 30 dollar pretentious tofu burrito and now I am not doing a fucking thing. I just took a hit of some medically legal marijuana, they might as well call that shit lethal, I can hardly pick up the remote without considerate effort. Yep I live in a country where I can watch movies that haven't come out yet on my couch while I drink red wine alone on a Tuesday. That's what I'm thankful for.

Oh, ya that. Thanksgiving, you'll get a Thanksgiving blog later, it will start out about how I'm thankful for sluts and drug dealers that deliver and shit but then I'll totally redeem the whole thing in the last 2 paragraphs by realizing some sort of deeper meaning or some shit, it's crazy, you'll never see it coming.

I also have topics on the horizon ranging from the 7 deadly sins to how to end a blowjob embargo, but today I want to talk about fucking earthquakes. Because well I think that people that die in earthquakes are pussies and you know what? I'd like to explain why. Here are the top 5 natural disasters you can survive by not being retarded.

5. Earthquakes
Do you know how many fucking dorks in Los Angeles have little "earthquake preparedness" kits. It's like a bag of flashlights, some rope and some chicken noodle soup. Is that really what you're going to fucking want if a hole opens up in the middle of the street and swallows your car, all while your shitty track style home's roof is caving in on you? What are you going to do, convert the rope into a lasso and snag your Xbox before it is crushed by an unruly brick?

Look in all actuality the walls will shake and cause some structural damage to your home, it will annoy you. The power and cable will go out, but you might get sell service. What your disaster kit should have is a fifth of whiskey and an extra battery so you can get drunk and charge your phone while you wait for Twitter to load (and instagram and tinder, best believe I would be swiping right in the wake of a natural disaster...that "the world might be ending" shit is the world's strongest aphrodisiac)

But let's say even if it's a really bad earthquake right? You are hurt, roads around you are destroyed, you're house is ruined and you're devastated about your lack of adequate insurance, it's not like the zombie apocalypse is underway. You walk down the street and grab a banana, or loot! How much fun does it look like to loot! Sure there is a luck factor on this one, even the biggest bro couldn't survive a tree branch impaling him in the middle of the night, but honestly, only idiots live in earthquake zones. The west side of LA is relatively safe. The people that need to worry are pretty much in the valley and the hills. The people in the hills and the people in the valley. The folks that live in the hills live in homes made of stilts, they understand the risk, they know that they are fucked either way, but are just too damn cocky and rich to give a fuck. The people in the valley well, have you ever heard the phrase there's no such thing as a free lunch? Did you think you could live in a shitty area, adjacent to paradise, pay a substantial discount and not have to incur a risk? Move to the beach, ain't no earthquake fucking with Venice. But what about...

Survival rating: 4 moonrocks out of 5. You would have to get some terrible Final Destination luck to dies in an earthquake.

4. A Tsunami
I saw the movie The Impossible. Based on this alone I consider myself an expert. In that movie they make a tidal wave look pretty damn frightening, and they tease the death of every character and then take a major cop out and reveal that everyone actually survived and lived happily ever after. And that's exactly what would happen if a massive storm surge hit America. Do you know why tens of thousands of people die when a tsunami hits Malaysia or some comparable third world country? Because they live in huts made of mud and leaves. Not the most resilient against several tons of water pressure from a giant wave. Also these cultures lack high def television and smart phones with weather alert systems. If a 10 foot storm surge was actually threatening Venice, I would simply walk to Mar Vista and then catch that wave to West Hollywood, where I would brag about my exploits and eventually get domed up by some Jewish UTA mailroom girl.

It's a tragedy when 3rd world countries are wiped out by mother natures tour de force, but it just wouldn't happen here. The before and after shots are compelling, but in America, we have infrastructure. The only excuse for dying in a tsunami as an American, is you were out to see trying to catch a sick wave like that of the hundred year storm, like Bodhi at the end of Point Break. But I'm pretty sure he actually survived, and the studio is just sitting on that sequel. Most Americans can swim, and if you are a moderate swimmer, a tsunami poses little threat to you. The water damage would be annoying, and all the hipstery east siders would preach about how they were right about the west side being awful. There would be one casualty. A black guy that would singlehandedly set a stereotype back 20 years and bread horrible twitter jokes.

Survival rating: 4 fireball shots out of 5.

3. A Hurricane
I am shocked, SHOCKED that there isn't more backlash over natural disasters being associated with fun. Six Flags: Hurricane Harbor, the Johnny Tsunami movie franchise. Hell a city that was nearly WIPED OUT by a hurricane a few years ago, claims that disaster as it's official drink. With all the Indians bitching about the trail of tears and the Washington Redskins, you would think there would be one bleeding heart Katrina survivor that would like the name of the drink changed to something like "The Bourbon Blast." I'm glad this hasn't happened yet, because I would hate to berate a disaster survivor by telling them that they are what's wrong with the country.

Hurricanes suck. They bring lots of rain, flooding and general shittiness. From what I have heard about New Orleans in 2005, it sounds like it was not a pleasant experience. But this is not a blog entry on the top 5 most unpleasant natural disasters. It's a list of you are a pussy if you can't survive _____. When a hurricane comes, you literally have WEEKS of warning. But people are like too fucking proud to leave. That is dumb. Some people want to "ride out the storm" and have hurricane parties. That is dumb (but also fucking awesome) I'm assuming the people that die in hurricanes are really old and poor. But even if you are old and poor I feel like you can ride a bike out of the danger zone if given enough time. Or maybe solicit a ride from a family member up to Arkansas, that state might suck but it is SAFE. That place is so fucking boring, that disasters don't even want to hang out there.

Are you in the midst of a hurricane warning? Here is an idea, road trip out of the fucking danger zone. Think of it as a free week off from work. Send your boss emails about "how you're safe" but really you're partying in Austin every night and couldn't give a shit less what's going on back home.
Sure you go back and a bunch of your shit is fucked up, but you RENT. Make your landlord fix it while you check into a hotel for a few weeks. Sounds like a lovely little vacation, why do people complain so much about having to leave town for a little while?

Survival rating: 4 cocaine lines out of 5. Mark my words the Carolina Hurricanes will change their name before the Redskins.

2. Tornado
Was anything more thrilling in high school than a tornado warning? I have to admit I was always disappointed when nothing bad really happened, just a few trees ripped out of the ground in Greenfield. I was always secretly rooting for the tornado. What if it rips through my school and I get to stay home for a month, like a perpetual snow day!

But the thing is...that shit never fucking happens. We were all spoiled by growing up with the movie Twister, I thought for sure one day I would get to experience the thrill of outrunning an F5 on a high speed chase down the highway. One day when I was 11 years old I got the chance. A mid-sized tornado crossed the street in front of my dad and me on the way home from baseball practice. I was all "ahh fuck ya dad, let's run for our lives." He was unimpressed. Apparently Iowa tornadoes > Indiana tornadoes, we drove right past it while it unimpressively ripped a few branches off a tree and piddled out in a corn field. You cannot imagine my disappointment.

The reason you always hear about MASS DEATH and DESTRUCTION due to tornadoes is because they attack middle America. Some of the deepest poverty is in middle America. You hear about a tornado slicing through a trailer park and obliterating everything. But do you know what would happen if a tornado ran right over your nice brick house? Not much. Roof damage. If you are in the basement playing video games you could potentially lose power, but no reason to stop drinking the beer, just make sure you have an extra keg, tornadoes like to "attack" in groups, you could be down there a while.

Survival rating: 5 illegal prescription pills out of 5.

Before number 1, a few that JUST missed the cut.

- Flood: This is pitiful, just don't drive into a river and if you do, tread water, you learn this when you're 4.

-Mudslide: Really only affects cardboard box villages in central America.

-Avalanche: If you die in an avalanche you're a fucking badasss, the only bigger badass is one who survives said avalanche.

-Wildfire: Again, watching your home burn down from across the street must be shitty, but it's not like if you refuse to leave the fire will let it go, the old tie yourself to a tree in front of a bulldozer approach is invalid here.

1. Blizzard
I love snow. I love snow days. I love snow skiing. I liked sledding and building forts, and having snowball fights when I was younger. It's pretty much the greatest thing in the world (in the midwest, in winter...80 degrees and sunny every day in Venice is better)

I was ALWAYS let down by snow forecasts as a child. Some dipshit weatherman would predict like 18 inches and I would get SO fired up, and then you know what? Fucking nothing. Actually worse than nothing. We would get a pesky inch and my dad would make me shovel the driveway. And then go to school. FUCK that. Then we would get to school and bitch and moan about the lack of snow day. We had so many plans, we were going to build a sick jump at the Butler hill, then go do donuts and shit and maybe get fucked up in someone's basement. RUINED!

Once I moved to Chicago the stakes were upped a bit. They get legit snow there, but also a lot of annoying shit like freezing rain and gross slushy shit that doesn't lead to work cancellation. Then snowmageddon came. We literally got like 25 inches of snow. 4000 people abandoned their cars on Lake Shore Drive, we had 2 days off of work and I got SO fucked up both days. Like with reckless abandon I stormed around Chicago in the middle of a blizzard carrying a 40 up Halsted on my way to the bar.


PEOPLE DIED. How?!?!?! All you have to do during a blizzard is stay inside. It's not that hard! Just keep the door closed, lay around and be lazy. If you feel like going out and trying to find some equally ambitious lass to slay, that's your business, but if a little snow causes your death, you are pathetic. This is not the Donner party we're talking about, no cannibalism going through the Oregon pass, just some snow and some bad roads. Even if you are like me and have nothing but Sriracha and beer in your fridge, that shit should sustain you at least for a week. There isn't even lasting damage from a blizzard. I guess if your car slides off the road and into a tree that will hurt in the morning, but whatever. Safety first, saddle up at the nearest bar as soon as you see a flurry, that's what I say. Or find a nice warm basement somewhere and do some blow being sure to make every possible snow/cocaine joke.

Survival rating: 5 drunk texts out of 5.

The moral of the story is that if you rent an apartment somewhere you could never afford to buy and an awful tragedy befells your town, it will be someone else's problem. There are at least 3 top notch cities in this country, if the one you are in goes down, just rotate to one of the other 2. If you're butthurt about leaving all your friends and life then come back after the mess has been cleaned up. Obviously this semi-nomadic lifestyle works best if you have few tangible possessions and no significant others or children. But that's the best part, there are sluts to bang all over the world, and Venice is not the only place it's chronically sunny with a chance of rage.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Single Dude Daily

This morning in the car on the way to work I had 3 revelations.

1. Angelenos cannot drive in the rain for shit. I assure you there were 20 fatal car accidents this morning, and really we're all better for it. If some schmuck can't text his mistress whilst driving in mist and not drive his car off the freeway, ending in a fiery death; then he deserves to die.

2. Why the fuck is the sports media so overwhelmingly sympathetic to the plight of the gay athlete or the bullied athlete or the multiracial athlete. Even my favorite sports blogger, Drew Magary, spends 3000 words once a month crying about a bunch of gays that can't get jobs in the NFL. There are probably a lot of chronic masturbators that can't get jobs in the NFL either, but why is there no emphatic plea for the monkey spankers? What about the privileged white kid who can't get a job in the NBA? I want a story about the Will Sheeheys of the world and how it's all a conspiracy to oppress him because he got to drive a BMW to high school so now he has to suffer! Look, no one cares how much cock you gobble or if you're a huge pussy or whatever. It's a fucking excuse for a lack of talent.

3. I don't necessarily need to write 3000 word dissertations every time I have something to say. It's hard to build a brand or a following when you only post something once every 10 days, when I happened to drive by a Trader Joe's and think "I should get a bottle of 2 buck Chuck and spend an hour writing something horribly offensive." I should just do something short once in a while, something you can read at a traffic light. Actually don't look at your phone and drive, unless you are sealing a deal with some Tinderette who is on the fast track to riding your cock.

Today's random thought is as follows:
Is Thanksgiving to January 2nd the greatest month and a half of the year? In the stretch of about 40 days, I personally have Thanksgiving (aka a monster trip to San Francisco with the sketchiest guys I know) The Big Ten Bar Crawl, The annual secret santa fifth exchange, The Santa Crawl, 2 weeks off of work, Christmas, a possible impromptu ski trip and new Years.

Every single one of those are worthy of an epic blog post on their own. Sure, the weather isn't great, but any time I have a drink in my hand instead of a script and a handful of brads, it's a good day. I will probably be drunk for at least 3/4 of this stretch, and go on long periods of wearing an ugly Christmas sweater whilst holding a mug of egg nog, and I couldn't be happier.

Nothing brings a smile to my face like themed drinking events, and I assure you there will be plenty of slutty drunken mdma elves to go around for everyone. Every weekend has the potential for greatness, every night could be the greatest of your life. You get presents just for survivng until a certain day from friends, family and everyone above your pay grade at work.

You know what? Fuck summer, this is what life is all about.

So get ready for a Holiday season full of inappropriate blogs about my youthful exploits, and if you have some good stories of your own, send them my way, maybe I'll enshrine them in internet immortality, enjoy the games everyone.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Interactive Dude in LA

Pictured: Shoes that will make women so moist the overall humidity of your town will change.

Shit that I'm pretty certain is bullshit but I'm not positive...

Round trip flights are bullshit. I think a long time ago some powerful marketing officer convinced mainstream America that there was value in booking flights round trip. The government took this a step further by randomly checking more people with a one way ticket because, hey if you're planning on running a plane into a tower, you likely don't need a return fare!

But it's a FUCKING lie. Buying a round trip ticket is like what Cartman said last week on South Park. It's a big dick in your mouth, it's a promise to pay for something that doesn't even exist yet. Sure airlines have adjusted their algorithms to adjust for last minute purchasing, but that doesn't mean that buying your return when you purchase your initial flight out will in any way benefit you. In fact, it is much more likely to fuck you in the ass.

Want to change your flight? Every airline except one will rape you with a splintery wooden dildo for this. What if there is some girl you almost fuck the night before you have to go home, but whiskey dick prevents it? Can't stay another day and give it another try, because you bought a round trip flight. What if you like cocaine and want to stay up busting rails until 5 in the morning and then sleep until Sunday Night Football. Oops. You missed your flight and now you don't have enough money to get back.

Round trip flights are for people with families, people with responsibilities, boring people. If you are single, young and like to fucking win purchase that one way my friend. And you fly southwest, because they let you do whatever the fuck you want.

I just purchased my flights home for Christmas. I almost booked a flight from Palm Springs to Chicago for 120 dollars. That would have forced me to take a bus to palm springs, fly to Minneapolis with a 12 hour layover and then arrive in Chicago, only to take another bus to Indiana and still miss the bball game I have tickets to on 12/22 in Btown.

Once upon a time I would have done that, because that was my dedication to travel. But after one to many miserable Vegas busses home, I have decided that it's worth the 500 dollar one way ticket to land safely in Indianapolis where my mom will pick me up with 2 rockstars and STeak n Shake. My mom is the shit.

I don't have a return flight because there are so many reasons within 300 miles of the 317 that would cause me to change my travel plans. An ex-fling, an impromptu ski trip, or a last minute deal on flights to Australia. I don't think 2 steps ahead, I think 2 minutes ahead, and I suggest you guys try it once in a while. It's exhilarating.

Now, onto more important things. A few weeks ago I was at a TJ Maxx. I go once every 2 weeks to check out the men's shoe section. I do this because much of their selection looks like a mixture between something that came out of a frat guys closet or a gay thrift store. It's FUCKING great.
Pink sperry's, Tye Dye sneakers, white rainbows. Basically it is my wet dream. Most of America would get made fun of for wearing such colorful attire but when you are a tall, white alpha male with extreme arrogance, these shoes tell the world, Fuck you, I'm better than you...or at least I know I can wear these shoes and rail your girlfriend.

Today's offering is a pair of purple Chucks. I can't tell you how excited I was for these, I just wanted someone to say "your shoes" so I could say, Purple is the color of royalty bitch and then drop a metaphorical microphone. These shoes are the short cut to any pair of black stretch pants south of Sunset. They might as well have tiny Pikachus on them.


They were CLEARLY marked size 13 on the heal, but unfortunately for me, the folks that work at the Burbank town center are poor meth head valley kids. Seriously for every Beverly Hills 90210 there should be a companion series called Burbank High where a different character slits their wrists every week because Burbank sucks so much.

Regardless. What do I do with my quandary. Take the shoes back? They were like 10 bucks. Not worth my time to go to that hellish diaspora, I would rather pass the shoes onto a more suitable owner. The shoes have never been worn, I just want someone to conquer a whole lot of snatch or dick in these shoes instead of them collecting dust in my closet.


If you are a guy or girl that wear a men's 11 and will rock these shoes harder than Chris Brown hits Rihanna, leave me a note on my wall or shoot me a text/e-mail and they are yours. I am willing to even ship these within the contiguous United States, just leave your mailing address and the postage is on me.

Please, these shoes must live on. They need their own story, they need a good home. Will you please adopt my rad purple shoes?

Monday, November 18, 2013

Hindsight Bias: 5 Ways I would use Time Travel to Change the World

I can't imagine anyone looking through my phone. It's not because of all the anime porn google searches and tits that I've screenshotted off of Snap Chat but because of my last 3 texts.

They are...
1. Heil Hitler!
2. Mein Fuhrer!
3. How many times can I watch Love Actually in the months of November/December without actually becoming gay?

Now on the nose 2 long standing assumptions about me would be confirmed. I'm a raging antisemite and a total gay. But that's not quite true. I'm currently reading one of the best books ever written called The Book Thief. It takes place in Nazi Germany where all the normal German citizens were forced to salute each other on the streets by saying absurd shit like Mein Fuhrer and Heil Hitler or they would be gassed along with all the other Jews/Catholics/Gays/Blacks/Gypsies or whoever the fuck else the Nazis felt like killing that day. Myself and my twisted book club members have adopted this as a way of addressing eachother. Fucked up? Maybe, but not anti Jew. (A Jew is the hero of the book, I'm rooting for him...I give him a 50/50 shot of surviving.)

As for the Love Actually thing, well there is no excuse, except to just admit it's the greatest fucking movie ever made. So under that assumption of course I was going to see that director's recent rom com offering, About Time.

I went to a pre release screening on the Universal Lot (because I have a more interesting life than you) and while I wasn't blown away like I was at Love Actually, it was a lovely film.

The movie tracks a schlubby red head in his somewhat creepy pursuit of Rachel McAdams, the wrinkle is he can travel back in time, so any time he slightly fucks up with this chick he goes back and tries again, knowing the proper decision to make. It's kind of like an R rated British Groundhog Day.

I left the movie wondering what I would do with the power of time travel. I assume that I would probably use it to acquire a modest fortune and then track down the girl of my dreams (after obviously using the power for a 2 year fuck fest with every hot girl I ever wanted to bang) but I also think I could change the world in 5 quick trips through time. Make the world a better place for everyone, because with great power comes great responsibility. And it would be a shame to use time travel exclusively for the benefit of MY wallet and penis.

5. Where: Silicon Valley, CA Time: Circa 2011

Sometime around the advent of the iPhone 4 a new app allowed for emotes to be sent from phone to phone through iMessage. These emotes would grow to be compatible with twitter, instagram and ALL CHICKS. Literally, if you are a guy...the quickest way to get your dick in a chick's mouth is to blow her shit up with emotes. You don't even have to type words, enough winky faces, it's a done deal.

However, there are some VERY OBVIOUS omissions on the current iteration of iPhone's Emoji app, and in a society of painful tinder conversations is there any awkward silence that wouldn't be completely saved by a winking Pikachu? Girls love the wink, and everyone fucking loves Pikachu, he is adorable. Make that motherfucker wink??? Panties = soaked.

I would merely suggest this to the programmers and those Japanese-culture obsessed nerds would put that in there right away and probably give me 10% of the company. Big win for everyone involved.

The Impact: Nerds everywhere are getting laid, there is a national reduction in sexual frustration. National tragedies are avoided because instead of plotting mass murders, people that were previously in their basement playing World of Warcraft are riding Pikachu's winking coattails to Grand Central Station of the Pussytown express.

4. Where:  Standford University Time: Fall of 2009

A week ago I had this idea to write an entire thesis about how the reason Jonathan Martin quit the NFL was the exact same thing as a pledge quitting a frat during pledgeship. But since John Martin was like a triple legacy (NFL player) nationals was going to get involved (the commissioner) and fire some people in the Miami Dolphins organization (brotherhood review)

You like that fucking metaphor? Mic drop.

Anyway, I decided against it because I'm not a sports blogger and I'm already too fratty. I needn't focus the attention on my prior awesomeness, you were all Drake would say "if you ain't been a part of it at least you got to witness" God my arrogance is almost too much for me to even handle...

So I wasn't going to write the blog. Flash forward to Saturday. I get all fucked up at the USC/Standford tailgate, then high tail it to an IU party in Brentwood. As soon as I get there I am immediately sequestered in a bedroom.

"Are you drunk?"


"Ok, I'm going to tell you something and I really need you not to be an asshole about this. You can blog all about it Monday but don't make this weird."


"You know that guy that quit the Dolphins because he was being bullied or whatever?"


"He's here."

What do you mean he's here...

"He knows my new roommate, he is here, at this party drinking."

Isn't he on suicide watch in a mental institution or something?

"No his buddy brought that Fireball."

So ya, I was at a party with Jonathan Martin Saturday night. Hitting on white women. I pondered all sorts of fucked up schemes. Ordering a bunch of coke and somehow implicating him, convincing one of my female friends to bang him, or just get him extraordinarily drunk and see what happened."

As it would go, I did none of the following. I said what up to him, cheers'd a beer maybe and watched him get on his hands and knees when he spilled a whiskey coke. I can't confirm that he was drunk but there was a drink in his hand, clearly not the look of a guy going through deep emotional distress. Moreso the look of a guy that quit the frat because he didn't like getting yelled at and was now happy to be at a house party with gdi's off campus.

See because that's what happened. This Martin guy grew up wealthy, was always bigger and better than everyone else and probably never got picked on until he was 22. When he did join the Miami Dolphins and a bunch of Seniors told his faggot ass to get on his fucking face and do push ups until he puked, he didn't know how to react.

Now more than ever "hazing" is in the national spot light. Sure once in a while a frat kills a pledge, or a black school band beats a Freshman trumpeter into a coma, but no one really cares...because the departed are nobodies. This is a NFL STAR, BULLYING IS A BIG DEAL. Richie Incognito is just a guy that was following a culture of hazing the pledges, and this one couldn't handle it. And now because we live in a reactionary society, Greek life as we know it will probably end in the next 20 years. No more hazing in the military, no more hazing in secret societies or any organization and the PUSSIFICATION of AMERICA is COMPLETE!


I travel back in time and convince Freshman John Martin to join a fraternity. Yes, it will suck John, but think about the white girls you get to fuck by being an athlete. If you join a frat you can quadruple that, and it will be all sorority girls, you can run nightly trains! Then when you show up to training camp and old Richie gives you some lip, you tell him to "eat a gaggle of dicks you fucking hick" and this whole devolution of our society is avoided.

Impact: Greek Systems thrive for another 1000 years, churning out the leaders of the world, despite some push ups and a little light water boarding. Leaders that otherwise would have grown up to be huge wimps and lead us into silly wars, leading to the destruction of life as we know it.

3. Place: Miami, FL Time: November 27, 2007.
Obviously one would want to use the power to save so many single people, but remember there are drastic consequences every time you go back, it affects the future that you presently live in. Remember the Butterfly Effect? Anyway, this was a tough one. Part of me wants to get back to Vegas and tell 2pac that maybe he should skip the fight, or invest in a bulletrproof car. But honestly, he would have probably just gotten hit a week later, it wasn't like that was the first time he had been shot at multiple times.

No, if I'm going to limit the celebrity saving to one, it goes to Sean Taylor, the greatest that never was. This guy would have probably gone on to be the greatest NFL safety of all time, but some cunt shot him in the leg whilst trying to rob him. Shot him in the leg because he specifically wanted to NOT kill him, but start the large man with a machete from slicing him in half. YES, in lieu of a gun in the bedroom, Sean Taylor kept a 28 inch SWORD under his bed to stave off intruders. But unfortunately for Sean, the thigh contains some pretty heavy duty arteries.

Sean was however not one to shy away from the party though. In his brief career, he managed to get a dui and an aggrevated assault charge. I'm thinking on the night of the 27th I convince him to get a table at the Fontainebleau and we party together until 7 in the morning.

Impact: Sean Taylor goes on to have the best defensive career of all time. The Redskins are so good that Native Americans stop bitching about the racist connotation and embrace the nick name. The alternative to this dream scenario was that I secretly wrap Sean's thighs in kevlar and he weathers the bullet and then slices the assailant in half with the machete. He would then surpass Ray Lewis as best NFL player to ever murder someone with a knife.

2. Place: Washington DC Time: September 1, 2011
After the wedding last Saturday (which I did not get laid at by the way almost everyone had a date, and I kept forgetting the names of the girls I didn't already know. The quickest way to shoot yourself in the foot is to forget a girls name. Whatever, when the fireballs in the system, ain't no tellin. I did get Steak n Shake at 4 in the morning, and that's all that really matters) I spent 8 hours at a b dubbs next door to the Bloomington, IL airport. I got really drunk and then watched the Colts get ass raped by the Rams.

In my drunken stupor I bought a thing of beef jerky and a Rockstar which I intended to smash right before I got on the plane so I could sober up enough to read some more of The Book Thief. Then I got to security and I was taken to some terrorist room for additional screening. They tested me for bomb residue, gunpowder, all the usual terrorist shit. I'm thinking, what the fuck, am I really that drunk that they thought this all necessary. Then my immediate thought goes to drugs. Fuck, this is the bag I took to Vegas, what could possibly be in there.

But you know what prompted all this shit? It wasn't even the Ambian I had in my bag, it was that fucking Rockstar because REMEMBER? No liquids.

Which is fucking retarded anyway, does the FAA think I am going to smuggle on a vat of acid and poor it on the flight attendant's face in order to highjack the plane? They probably just used national tragedy as an excuse to make people buy the plane's 7 dollar beers. (This can be avoided by filling your bag with the little shot bottles fyi)

But I digress. They threw out my Rockstar and out of principal I refused to buy another, so I got shit faced at the airport bar and slept all the way back to LA...which was fine I guess.

But America should be the land of the free. I should be able to take a pregnant ferret on my shitty Spirit Airlines flights and no one should be able to say a god damn thing.

Actually scratch that last thought from the record, anyone that isn't skinny and silent on aircrafts I want to fucking murder. Babies, I will shake you. Fat people? Get off my plane and into the gym. Strangers that talk? I'M WATCHING PITCH PERFECT ON MY iPAD, PLEASE FUCK OFF.

But I should be able to quietly drink my Rockstar.

And I would have been able to until a couple jack asses crashed some planes into the World Trade Center and took several thousand people out with them.


And if you watch documentaries about the events leading up to it, it sounds like it was maybe kinda sorta preventable, but a few things slipped through the cracks because people aren't perfect.

I fuck up at work all the time, but if I screw up, an actor doesn't get the newest copy of the script. If those people in Washington screw up? Terrorism.

So what could I do to prevent 9/11? Run into the Pentagon screaming? Nein. Wouldn't work, I'd be thrown in the pre 9/11 version of Guantanomo and never be heard from again. (Y'all watch that 60 minutes? Fucked up shit)

So I have to prevent the attack without telling anyone there would be an attack. Basically I have to ensure that everyone does their job perfectly, with no potential for fuck up.

You know who NEVER fucks up? People on Adderall.

In the early ages of these amphetamine salts that have become so famous and seemingly readily available, they were only intended for children with severe hyperactivity problems. But eventually they became to take over the mainstream. College kids adopted it, ibankers subbed prescription drugs for cocaine, and now I'm sure almost anyone in a high stress, high importance job gets through the day with the help of amphetamines.

If I could have flooded capital hill with 2 million miligrams of orange goodness, 9/11 would never have happened and you would have to pick your girlfriend up at her gate instead of waiting in the car outside the airport. (I stole that joke from Daniel Tosh)

Impact: The Hurt Locker never gets made, Avatar wins Best Picture spawning a new Fern Gully environmentally conscious sub genre of film and John Kerry probably would've become president with no war on terror for Bush to run. (This is a negative fringe effect, I fucking love W)

1. Place: Los Angeles, CA Time: Pilot Season 2007
My college career was pretty great but after Sophomore year I was kind of in a rut. People were doing cool shit and I was stuck in Indianapolis interning at an insurance company, using my shitty fake ID to go to the Broad Ripple Tavern every night. I filled that summer by driving down to Bloomington every weekend and getting drunk with the Tri Delts at Frat West (The White House) It was a marvelous summer. We became great friends, got boats all the time, and logged several thousand hours at Kilroy's.

In fact I probably thought I was as happy as I could possibly be doing this. However, 2000 miles away, TBS had given a series order to the most obscure guy from the Blue Collar Comedy Tour...well maybe 2nd most. There was Larry the Cable Guy, Foxworthy and then the other 2.

Being 19, I could have spent the summer in LA and maybe through some miracle I could have landed a job as a PA on this pilot. (It's very fucking hard to get a job on a tv show without a connection, but remember I have the ability to travel through time, I can just show up and try every day until it works)

Working in the production office I would have eventually met one of the actors, Jen, she would introduce herself as. She being 17 and by no means being a star, wouldn't have any trouble hanging out with a PA. She would also be new to town and we would kind of spend the summer exploring Los Angeles together. Time would come to go back to school but I would decide to stick around because I had recently been promoted to staff writer. (Remember I could travel to like 2010 and just steal the Modern Family pilot and turn it into this showrunner and he would think it was the greatest writing sample ever, I might be selling myself short at JUST staff writer) So I work on this show for like 3 years and start dating this no name actress and become a somewhat well known writer myself.

I would never know have the memories of Shingles or Europe or being the most socially relevant person in a city of 80,000 people...but I would have my girlfriend Jen and we would go on Saturday hikes through Runyan canyon and buy a boat in Marina Del Rey.

Impact: After the cancellation of the Bill Engvall Show she would get cast in an obscure Indie which would lead to an Oscar nomination. Afterward she would land the role of Katniss Everdeen. So yes, I would use my time travel ability to marry Jennifer Lawrence. We would be the craziest Hollywood power couple since whoever the last guy to dump Taylor Swift was.

But wait...
So If I could travel through time we would live in a pre 9-11 utopia where Jonathan Martin wasn't a pussy, nerds got laid, Sean Taylor was still wrecking fools and I was banging J Law? That sounds pretty great, but honestly...I wouldn't trade any of it for what actually happened. I think that was supposed to be the takeaway of the movie. All of us have made mistakes, or perhaps have regrets about decisions we did or did not make. But this is the life we've got, and typically it's pretty amazing. (Well my life is slightly more amazing because I get to go to screenings on studio lots) And I've been dumped too, I've done awful things that I wish I could take back, but I can't. Life is about moving forward, and yes it's funny to pontificate about the shit that I would do if I had superpowers, but at the end of the day, would I want to miss out on one unique memory? One joke, one laugh, one day spent with a good friend. The answer has to be know, you move forward and try to improve upon your current situation while cherishing old memories. Shitty things will always happen in the world, but it's our job to find a way to make sure they don't happen again. And let's be honest...certain things are still in play for me!

I'm still young enough where I can find a certain amount of success in this town, I already run in circles with a few quasi famous folk. Hey, fucking Jessica Alba married an assistant, who says Jennifer Lawrence is above giving her number to a random guy she meets at a party. And when she does, best believe she will be getting blown the FUCK up with winking pikachus...if I have to program that adorable little thunder rodent myself.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Red Wedding

The next several paragraphs I write at very great personal risk. It has nothing to do with the fact that I JUST started a new job with nobody I know, but because I am going to outline my weekend plans for you, and I must confess, my intentions are cruel.

So I have this wedding on Saturday, in Illinois. Not only is it a wedding but it's a frat wedding. A guy from my frat is hanging out with a girl from a sorority we used to hang out with. I have MASSIVE expectations, in fact to set the stage, let me briefly incapsulate the last time something like this happened.

In August 2009, my first pledge brother got married. I kicked the day off by smashing a case of beer at my pool with a couple of buddies and then threw on a seersucker suit and a fresh pair of Air Force Ones. I then forced my mother at Jaegerpoint (where you threaten to drink a bottle of Jaeger and drive somewhere if the accosted doesn't do your bidding) to drive my drunk ass from Geist to Carmel so I could go to this wedding. At said wedding I proceeded to drink triple whiskey cokes and aggressively grind with every girl from that sorority I had ever hooked up with until the bar ran out of booze. Then we cabbed it to broad ripple, drank until the bars stopped serving me and then recruited my mother to drive me, 3 buddies and a very lucky girl back to the Indianapolis Yacht Club where we proceeded to drink for 4 more hours and then pass out on a boat. In fact my last memory was finishing a bottle of blue Boone's Farm and watching the sun rise while two of my pals took turns getting to 2nd base with the aforementioned girl. It was magnificent.

When I woke up it felt like we had just been to a really awesome frat party with a wedding theme, but when the dust cleared one of my friends was married. And so began the slow desolation of my single buddies that eventually began to drop like flies.

So sure that was 4 years ago...mere days after graduation, who could fault us for acting like we were still in college?

Flash forward to this past Saturday, I am in a field of 60,000 people wearing my 5th Halloween costume of the season with my took firmly down the throat of a Junior at Chico State.

Her: "Do you want more?"

Me: "Uh, I probably shouldn't"

Her: "You want to be peaking during Skrillex."

Me: "Ok, fuck it..."

Reach into her bag and throw down one more "moon rock."

See while most people that will be attending this wedding were probably planning out their outfit or spending some quality time with their plus one, I was rolling my balls off and trying to find a secluded place at this rave to go fuck this 21 year old corpse bride before "Bangarang" came on.

So ya...not much has changed.

But it leads me to question how this weekend will play out.

The Hollywood version obviously has the bad boy from the west coast showing up without a date looking for a one night stand until he connects with some girl from his past with whom he always shared a romantic tension but the timing was never right. (Depending on how big this wedding is, there are probably at least 3 candidates for this) They spend all night talking about the past and future and what a shame it was that they never got together. They share a passionate slow dance and right before they kiss...HER douchebag boyfriend shows up. It's time to head back to the hotel babe.

Our protagonist is heart broken but then when he is at the airport the next day HE SITS DOWN NEXT TO HER ON HIS PLANE BACK TO LA.


Her: I don't know.

Him: What happened to (thinks of douchey name) Ted?

Her: Ya it wasn't gonna work out

He doesn't say anything, but grabs her hand and smiles as they both travel off into the great unknown. The credits roll and a Shins song plays.

But that won't happen because...

A. Respectable young women don't like to associate with guys that lost their wallet whilst skinny dipping at 4am last Thursday.

B. I am not Dermot Mulroney (or Dylan McDermott?)

In fact, a far more likely scenario is that I show up and every girl there has a date and I feel like a massive tool that is until I find the younger sister of the bride's long lost cousin bored at the bar.  Game on.

See at first glimpse I am extremely interesting and appear to have my shit together. I write. I work on a television show, I live near the beach in Los Angeles, I'm 6 foot 3 and I haven't gotten fat yet. I'm basically god to all bored distant cousin's younger sisters out there. The key to my success is to keep it extremely vague. We don't have to bring up the fact that I'm 26, I write on a blog that averages a couple hundred viewers, I'm still an assistant or that I chose to not fix my air conditioning all summer in order to have more money for drugs.


But then again, is that fulfilling? Is that how I want people to view me? Weddings are also a sort of check-in game. See how everyone is doing. If you're a girl it's about how much weight you've gained, if you've stopped working yet and how big your ring is. If you're a guy it's about what your job is, how hot is your date and if you still go out on Thursdays.

So clearly it's a much more stressful event for a girl. I'm certain a fair share of people will shit talk me for the way I continue to live my life and my questionable morals, but at the same time, most people respect that I sacked up and moved 2000 miles from home to attempt to do something I love. The girl that slept with her married coworker and now everyone knows about it??? Oh she's much more fucked than me.

Ok, enough pontificating...what's the play? Black out and act a fool, try to bed a stranger? Try to rekindle and old fling? Clearly the right move is to just go and have fun. The night is not about me. Sure I'm on vacation, and I will certainly go to Pretty Lights at the Aragon Ballroom Friday night in Chicago and then close down Butch McGuires...but Saturday, go spend some time with old friends. Tell stories of abroad of college, make fun of the groom, marvel at the bride who will be the most beautiful woman in the room and genuinely enjoy the moment. It's not my job to paint Springfield, IL red and party it into oblivion. I'll still host a pre game in my hotel room for those that want to come, that's fine...respectable even. But when you leave, you never want to be a story, at least a bad one...because that story will never die. It will be repeated at every wedding to come, the rest of your life (that's if you are even invited)

But let's say I'm casually sipping a vodka tonic and a girl I used to know sits down to me and asks, "Why didn't you ever ask me out?"

Or maybe a cute girl taking fireball shots by herself offers me one...

"Bride or Groom?"


"Where you from dude? Chicago like everyone else here?"

"Venice beach, I'm a writer."

2 more fireballs.