Blog J. Blogerson

An Expert's Guide to Las Vegas

2008-08-08T09:47:00.000-07:00

When planning a trip to Las Vegas it is important to get expert advice. Going to Las Vegas for the first time presents a host of challenges to navigate and sites to behold. As a man who has seen it all, from the poker room at the Bellagio, to the parking lot at the Bellagio, to the shuttle to the Bellagio. I am here to help you. Thus here is some practical advice for your trip to Las Vegas.

1. Go to a Strip Club

There are two kinds of strip clubs in Las Vegas. One kind is ridiculously expensive, and the other has gonorrhea on the door handle. Go to the expensive one. Make sure to trade all the cash in your wallet for hilarious stripper money. Its colorful and fun, and really useful if the only thing you ever spend money on is lap dances. The strippers are all very friendly and have never met anyone as down to earth as you are. Most of the guys who come in there are creeps but you are not so you will become close friends with the all girls and start dating them immediately. Oh and make sure to help them out with their credit card debt. To not do so is considered uncouth.

2. Walk down the Strip

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to slowly bake to death surrounded by throngs of sweaty tourists while walking on thousands of discarded hooker flyers? Then take a walk down the world famous Las Vegas Strip! Oh and remember, because of the world-class street design, walking 1/8^th of a mile takes 4 hours! So don’t forget to bring water!

3. The Howard Johnson near the airport cannot support human life.

There is one cook there who makes only French Fries. That is all. Do not eat these French Fries.

4. Take a $75 dollar cab ride one mile.

Part of Vegas' charm is it's long and windy cab lines. Gamble with your friends on how long the line will last! Or if you're actually on the cab line at all! Then ask the cab driver to take you to a hotel and see what magical and fun-filled ways the driver will use to make you spend half an hour in the car. Perhaps, he's got a tale or two to tell. And listen up, because these beloved men of the road have much wisdom to impart. But don't buy the meth they offer. That's for suckers! Ask for coke.

5. Take a ride on the indoor roller coaster.

Have you ever been on a roller coaster in an amusement park? Of course you have. Well Las Vegas has one just like it but it's inside a hotel! It's just like your favorite roller coaster from Six Flags or Disney World! Except its smaller, not fun and lasts 5 seconds. But the memories of the 3 hour wait time will last a lifetime.

6.Don't get kicked out of the food court because that one guy is being a total jerk.

What's his problem anyway?

7. Visit the Poker Room.

Ah to be a professional poker player. Who hasn't thought of ditching their go nowhere job for a fast-paced lifestyle where you're your own boss? So, to see your future life, go check out the happy well-adjusted gentlemen populating the poker rooms of Las Vegas! Watch grown men cry when they miss their straight! Marvel at the man who has grown a full beard since he first sat down to play! Delight in the intoxicating aroma of stale Cheetos and pure desperation! Gasp at the man who can eat, fold, and sweat all at once! Just don't use the bathroom. Thats a hobo only zone!

8. Dress to Impress

When visiting Las Vegas it is imperative to make it clear where you are from. Either purchase a shirt with your state on it or make one. P.S. Texans must wear cowboy hats, Floridians must wear novelty t-shirts, and everyone else must dress in neon.

9. Play the slots

Do the stupefying rules to blackjack have you confused and befuddled? Can you not decide on which number in roulette is luckiest? Does the very thought of poker make your head hurt? Are you capable of pushing down on a lever? Then playing the slot machines is for you! All you need is a bucket of quarters, a stool, and a dream. The dream of winning more quarters so you don't have to get up again. Ever.

10. Do not write an expert’s guide to Las Vegas

Only I am allowed to do this.

Smooth Criminal

2008-07-08T05:39:00.000-07:00

The minute the cops approached me at the bar I knew I was toast. It was the regular Saturday night round up of underage drinkers at Stillwaters, a bar near the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Many people could get away with a quick cop interview, showing them their fake ID, and laughing in a mature fashion, but I, a 20 year old man still barely able to get into a PG-13 movie without being hassled, was not one of them. Yet I was not afraid of a night in a holding cell, for in truth I was anxious to get back to jail, where just 3 weeks beforehand I had had one of the best Sundays of my life.

I had a moped at school that was useful for driving to class on the University’s spectacularly spread out campus. It also had the added benefit of making me look completely ridiculous, as a man tooling around on his moped in 10-degree weather ought to. On the aforementioned Sunday I had offered my younger brother a ride to his dorm and he hopped on the back, giving me a look that said, “please don’t be drunk.” We took off, and as we raced down Langdon Street I heard sirens as a couple of gruff looking cops pulled us over. Apparently, it was illegal to have two people on a moped. This was not a big deal. Unfortunately a cursory check of my driver’s license revealed a slightly bigger deal. There was a warrant out for my arrest and I was placed in the squad car.

It turns out that I had forgotten to pay a ticket I had received a few months earlier for “Person Making Unreasonable Noise.” The noise in question was not so much unreasonable as it was misdirected. I had thought my roommates had locked me out of my apartment and had flown into a rage. It took the cops showing up to make me realize that I was banging, kicking, and screaming in front of someone else’s apartment.

As I was driven to jail I pondered that not paying the ticket may have been a mistake. Despite a lifetime of degenerative behavior I had thus far avoided jail, and the last thing I wanted to be doing was spending the Sunday of a big Wisconsin football game stuck in a dingy cell. I called my friends and told them that I would need to be bailed out as all my money was wrapped up in an online poker account. They said they would be down right away and actually sounded worried for my safety. Perhaps they, just as my brother did, assumed I was drunk and would perhaps find a way to make this situation far worse.

Upon entering the complex I was strip-searched. This was no big deal as I had obviously hidden my drugs in my moped and luckily no remnants were found. I was then led into the main area. Astoundingly, I was startled to see that, as opposed to the rank dungeon I expected, the jail looked brand new, like a showcase on the Price is Right. There was a large open-air common space with couches and a skylight, and artwork dotted the walls. Still, I was nervous, as I had heard stories of insane drunken derelicts rounded up on the streets of Madison, continuing their misbehavior in the prisons themselves. It didn’t help that I wasn’t exactly dressed for prison. My chinos and sweater vest made me look like Little Man Tate. Thus, I timidly stepped into the cell.

I was greeted by about 7 men, not with a yell or even a stony silence, but with a series of extremely pilot questions about my well-being. They asked if the cops were too hard on me and if the handcuffs had hurt my wrists. A man who looked like a friendly old librarian asked if the cops had caused the rip on my sleeve. It was as if, by virtue of being the kind of man who makes unreasonable noise, I had been inducted into the friendliest fraternity on earth. I took a chair and noticed that there was a large T.V. in the corner. I inquired into whether we could actually watch it, and not only could we, we had the remote and access to more channels then I had in my dorm room. We all settled into watch the football game, making small bets with each other, and laughing at a man named Dingo’s hilarious Regis Philbin impression.

Some time later a cop called my name and said that I had been bailed out. I looked at my watch and I couldn’t believe that nearly five hours had passed. I said some mournful goodbyes to my new chums and we all promised to keep in touch (by this point we had exchanged email addresses). I exited the jail to find five of my friends sitting in the visitor’s area. They had pooled their money to pay my $500 dollar bail and had clearly been waiting for quite a long time. I regaled them with tales of my new friends and the exciting football game that they had somehow missed. They did not seem much interested in how much fun I had had. So I left them there, and leisurely strolled to my moped to collect my drugs.

No He Can't

2008-07-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

I was not the most natural candidate for student body president of my high school. For one thing, I had sold pot to much of the electorate, which, while not a detriment among the students, served to warn the faculty of just what an Adam Levy administration might entail. Also, I had no interest in increasing school spirit, or any kind of organizing of events. I would leave that to the toadies I was certain to gain once elected. No, I intended to win on the basis of a simple but bold message. That our school sucked, and that only someone with the courage to say that in front of all the students and faculty deserved to helm the sinking ship that was Columbia Prep.

And why did my high school suck? To me, mainly because we were situated across the street from Central Park, and were forbidden to enter it during school hours. The faculty had decided that an open park would tempt the students towards illicit activities and that it should be closed off during the day. This was idiotic for many reasons, mainly because if we wanted to smoke or whatever everyone would just walk a few blocks uptown. For us stoners though, this was a real pain in the ass.

When I announced my decision to my friends there was a general consensus that this was a terrific idea and that more importantly, it would really aggravate the teachers. I assembled a crack campaign team immediately. My best friend Mokey, mainly known for the time he accidentally scored for the opposing team in JV basketball, would join the ticket as a sort of Co-President. This would have the result of broadening our voter base and driving up turnout among people who liked Mokey but thought I was kind of a dick. My friend Brett would become our campaign manager and chief strategist. And Mokey’s ex-girlfriend Karen, who despite their break up still hung out with us for some reason, would design the posters and perform overall girl outreach.

We decided that as the insurgent campaign we would have to put together a completely new kind of strategy. One that disregarded traditional means of campaigning like being positive and talking about your ideas. Our plan was more subtle. A series of signs were created that advertised the ticket but had subtle drug references that we were certain everyone would understand. Brilliant slogans like “There are 420 reasons to elect Mokey and Adam.” We weren’t exactly sure how this would help us get votes but at least it would brand us as the pro-pot ticket and thus stigmatize our opponents as anti-fun.

And while our opponents weren’t actually anti-fun they were certainly pro-lameness. Our main adversary was pseudo-jock Robbie Crespi, a man so boring he actually advocated for more pep rallies. He was well liked though, especially among the younger girls, and he cast quite the bland yet imposing shadow on our maverick campaign.

As the election approached our pro-pot message seemed to be getting through. Mainly because the teachers had caught on and started ripping down our advertisements. I guess signs like “Mokey and Adam, Save the Trees!” were less understated then we had hoped. We decided that we needed to define our opponents as more then anti-fun, with a targeted negative advertising campaign calling them dorks. These too, were ripped down soon after going up.

Then a week before the election disaster struck, Mokey was stripped from the ticket for failing math, apparently no one who failed anything could be student body president. We doubted the motives of the school, as they clearly feared the heady breeze of progressive change that was sweeping through the student body. Yet we did not quit the race. A hesitant Brett was placed on the ticket and we regrouped for the stretch run. I settled in to write what I knew would be our last chance at victory; a rousing and revolutionary speech, to be delivered to the students and faculty on voting day. A speech that would directly excoriate Columbia Prep for it’s draconian park ban. I finished it at midnight the day of voting day. I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure I had crafted the perfect speech.

Twelve hours later, the gym was packed as I strode to the podium. To say I was nervous was to put it mildly, but the gravity of my message propelled me forward. The crowd was respectfully silent as I began “This school treats you all like pre-schoolers!” I bellowed. “Here we sit, next to Central Park, one of the city’s greatest resources, and we are not allowed to set foot in it! And why? Because someone may smoke a cigarette! I have news for you Columbia Prep, you may stop that one smoker, but you also stop the Frisbee thrower, the puddle skipper, and the duck watcher! You stop us from enjoying a sunny afternoon in May or a snow filled January morning. You stop us from being New Yorkers. Well, when I am President of this student body you won’t stop me!”

And on I went. I covered the myriad of abuses perpetrated on the students by the administration and how the park was indicative of a school where the rights of the individual were trampled on. 10 minutes later I stepped back to lap up polite applause, not exactly the thunderous ovation I expected, and retreated with my staff to await the results.

Needless to say, we were crushed. When we asked our dean what the totals were he said that Robbie had received more then 3/4ths of the vote, and that a number of write in candidates had made quite a showing as well. He also reminded me that student council presidents are not able to set school policy and if I had simply asked him I probably could have avoided getting so worked up. This was a thought that probably should have occurred me to sooner in hindsight. And while I was disappointed, I was also relieved. The closer I got to the job, the more of a hassle it seemed like it was going to be. And we also realized that if we just walked down to 86^th street we could enter the park anyway. Oh well, a point had been made.

Outrage at 30,000 Feet

2008-06-24T08:26:00.000-07:00

When one begins to walk down that rocky road on which a boy becomes a man there are certain milestones one must cross. Moments that, because of there shared collective humanity, teaches us to see ourselves in each other. Whether it’s your first kiss, your first love, or, as is recounted below, the first time getting drug tested by your probation officer.

I was twenty one years old and I was nervous, not so much for the results of the test, although that was certainly an issue, as for the idea of urinating in front of this imposing and bizarre looking creature. His name was Clark Rogers and his unkempt whiskers, bulbous baldhead, and top-heavy physique made it clear that he was some kind of Walrus. He had called my cell phone requesting one of a series of “random” drug tests that was part of my probation. I had assiduously avoided all previous tests with various invented maladies ranging from “my tummy hurts” to “Not only does my tummy hurt but I’m celebrating my younger brother’s birthday at Six Flags and we have no car or discernible means of transportation back into the city.” This did not cancel the test but succeeded in postponing it so that I could flush whatever I had taken that week out of my system. Now, as Clark lumbered into my apartment, clearly exhausted from flopping around in the ocean all day, the jig, as they say, was up. There are many times in which a random drug test is merely an inconvenience and not a reason for outright panic. The Monday morning after July 4th weekend was not one of them.

But how did I find myself in such a calamitous predicament? I had clearly deserved it, hadn’t I? No. In fact, I was the victim of a conspiracy perpetrated by American Airlines in an attempt, no doubt, to sully my good name. Six months earlier I was flying back to college after winter break, eager to resume my studies at the esteemed University of Wisconsin. At the airport bar I, along with three equally eager associates, had decided to celebrate our return with a few bottles of the LaGuardia airport’s finest chardonnay. After polishing off our beloved vino we entered the plane with a gallant flourish. Clearly the other passengers were excited at the sight of us and we saluted them with a hearty cheer. As we took off I was excited for the journey and figured it would be uncouth and insulting to our fellow passengers to not keep up my delightful demeanor. Thus I decided to switch to a more gentlemanly Jack Daniels and Coke in order to assure my fellow passengers that I was not some rowdy collegiate but a mature man of manners with a fine taste in liquor.

Alas, the stewardess did not concur. She brusquely denied my courteous request and insisted that the joy I had brought to the other passengers had not been reciprocated by the flight crew. Perturbed by her lack of appreciation for our merry group I informed her that a sternly worded letter would be registered with her superiors, and that her job itself would very likely be in peril. Needless to say she felt otherwise and I was left drink-less, forlorn, and forced to make that dreary slog towards sobriety. A beaten man, sleep shortly overtook me.

Several hours later I was rudely shaken back into consciousness by the burly arm of some miscreant with a badge. It seems that we had landed and I was being escorted off the plane by the authorities involved in the situation. Clearly someone had been informed of the stewardess’s insolence and I was certain that some sort of financial reward awaited me. Appallingly, this was not the case. In fact, I was being charged with disturbing a flight crew and no heed was paid to my cries of injustice. I will spare you the grisly legal debacle that followed but the end result was the aforementioned sweaty mass Clark Rogers urging me to urinate into a receptacle. The end for yours truly was clearly nigh.

Yet fate smiled upon your put-upon protagonist on that Monday morn. Owing to the sub-par quality of the good times I had ingested over the weekend my test was clear. I danced a happy dance and proudly asked the be-tusked behemoth to leave my abode. He scowled at me and somehow smushed his physique through my front door. While he would surely look to trap me again, today he had been bested. I had faced the rotund rapscallion head on and my innocence had been declared. And I had also learned a lesson that every young gentleman must understand. Never answer a phone call from your PO excuse-less.

Sir Boots of Bleecker St.

2007-07-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

It was a gorgeous summer night in the West Village. The air was filled with the girlish giggles of black transsexuals and what appeared to be the muffled grunting of a young rent boy and his first john. As I skipped over overflowing garbage cans and used condoms I thought merrily how happy I was to live in this glorious city. It was then that I encountered a shining star of a man that I would come to know as Boots. Boots was a hearty hobo with a grin as wide as the Nile and a smell that could kill a kitten. He knew me from the time I fell down a sewer pipe near the local bodega, Boots’ personal Xanadu. I was glad to see him, as he had come to be my personal Jeeves, always ready to give directions or medical advice. I hailed him

“Boots! My good man! How goes it sir? It’s a lovely night for a stroll is it not?”

He responded in the affirmative and gave me a handshake that was as crusty as an old prospector. He asked to walk with me and I obliged, happy to share a few tales with this crab apple cheeked miscreant. We walked by all the uniquely village landmarks; the Tasti D-Light, the Barnes and Noble, and the local fetish emporium. It was then that we encountered trouble. A local group of trangendered rapscallions accosted Boots and I, demanding I account for the sartorial mishap that was my footwear.

“Look at this bitch ass breeder, this nigga buys his shoes at the Home Depot!” The newly minted male quipped.

I was appalled, not at the comment itself, because I had actually stolen these shoes from a Polish immigrant, but because he seemed to think I was ripe for parody. Boots himself was taken aback, less so at the egregious effrontery that was taking place and more because he was suffering from the DTs and was stumbling back and forth like a crippled Irishman. I addressed my sex switched interloper with candor.

“Stay back” I demanded. “Or I shall blow my rape whistle without discretion”

This seemed to startle the mob, and sensing victory I began to make my way through this impromptu imbroglio. It was then that I was struck in the back of the head with what appeared to be a spray painted Manolo Blahnik. I cried out in pain as my rape whistle was torn from my neck and my hair was tussled with vigor. I knew that I merely had seconds to live. And yet, my life was not to end on this excrement smeared side street, as at this very moment Boots barreled through the crowd of cross dressers and snapped the leaders pink umbrella into 2 pieces. The leaders perfectly put together ensemble was decimated by this impulsive act of impudence. He stared at Boots for a second, and saw in his eyes the same thing I saw. The dull incomprehension of a man who could not be reasoned with, who stood for his street, when he wasn’t sleeping in its gutter. The leader harrumphed, but led his group back down towards the pier where they would no doubt dream of bygone days and do crystal meth until their brains leaked out of their ears.

I turned to Boots and showered him with praise. He was a true patriot, a statesman, and a hero to the helpless. He looked at me with a gleam in his eye, and a blush on his cheek, and asked if he could borrow 5 dollars. I told him I would give him something better. I took out a piece of paper. “Boots” I said, “what I’m gonna write on this paper is worth a whole lot more than 5 measly dollars.” I shook his hand and skipped down the streets towards my abode as I heard Boots yell out as he read my note. “You are special??!!!!” he bellowed.

Indeed he be.

Merry Misanthropy

2007-02-12T13:23:00.000-08:00

People always ask me, Blog, your writing is all sunshine and butterflies. Why not take at least one post to talk about things that you dislike, as your jolly demeanor is really getting on my nerves. Well, here is a list of things that piss me off:

People who hate Paris Hilton – Oh do you hate her as well? Wow, you certainly have taken a bold position. Do you also hate famine and poverty? People who talk about how much they hate Paris Hilton are really just saying I take the time to think about her life and actions. In other words you are an empty headed yenta with a penchant for US Magazine. If people stopped thinking about her she would disappear, like the bogeyman or “God.” You know who you should spend your time hating? Yourself

People who do Borat impressions – "Yeshemesh!" Hahahahah. Oh my! That was the height of witticism! How about trotting out “Don’t have a cow man!” or “I’m Rick James Bitch.” Instead of doing Borat, why not try being yourself and saying “Have you seen the most recent popular movie? Because I have memorized an oft repeated line from said movie and here it is.” It’s not funny but at least you will be accurate. And the worst is when people are just talking about Borat, like “hey that part in the R.V. was pretty clever” and some lummox for no reason will simply pop out with “niiiice.” I mean when someone is talking about math do you just start yelling out numbers? God I hate you.

The growing disillusionment with George W. Bush – Well I’m glad he’s finally become unpopular. All it took was the greatest intelligence blunder in the history of America, the greatest terrorist attack on American soil ever, and 2 incredibly fucked up wars. And now people are starting to be like “hmmm, maybe voting for him twice was not the best decision.” Oh do you think so doctor? Although I must say I’m finally glad you guys are on board. It’s like you idiots kept getting in the car with the same drunken driver, because he’s a good guy who makes you giggle. Well I hope the next time he makes you giggle your car skids into a ditch.

Dane Cook – “Hi, my name is Dane Cook and I overcompensate for my awful jokes and lame impressions by doing an atrocious radio guy voice that Ryan Secreast would find hacky. Have you seen my loose limbed physical shenanigans?! Boy oh boy I really am quite the character!” If you would like to meet a fan of Dane Cook simply walk down the street with an exaggerated walk and your hair gelled up. The first 13 year old boy to think that’s hysterical is a Dane Cook fan.

Deal or No Deal – Just when I think the American public can’t possibly become any stupider along comes this bloody fart of a game show. I mean they’ve actually managed to make Wheel of Fortune seem like a Mensa examination. And yet people still manage to fuck it up! The show will literally be like “LaSheneequa, you can either have $120,000 dollars for being a lucky worthless porpoise or you can take a 6-1 shot at a suitcase with a higher number. And every fucking time they take the chance and lose. Everyone who has ever wanted to be on a game show should get ass cancer. Oh and Howie Mandel looks like a mutant who escaped from the sewer.

Mind of Mencia – If you have seen a white guy do an impression of a Mexican gang member by using the word “Esse” you have seen something funnier than Mind of Mencia. Carlos Mencia makes Tommy Chong look like Martin Luther Mexican. Are you interested in tired stereotypes, “white people be walking down the street like THIS” humor and poop jokes? Well, so is Carlos Mencia. His show manages to somehow be too sophisticated for 3^rd graders while at the same time too dumb for a goat.

Blogerson Forecast: Next Summer's Films

2006-07-31T16:54:00.000-07:00

Recently I have discovered next summers lineup for all the major studios. Thus for my grateful readers I have decided to give you a taste of the glorious pablum that will be forcefed down your gizzards next summer. Enjoy.

"Woof Woof Nigga!" - In this latest Wayan's brothers comedy Marlon Wayans stars as a street smart janitor who becomes half poodle after making an unintended wish to a passing gypsy. While at first Marlon is horrified he soon decides to make the best of it by "getting all up in dat ass scent." Also starring Sean Wayans as the evil dog pound owner, Kim Wayans as a sassy sewer rat, and Keenan Ivory Wayans as an old piece of dog shit.

"The Devil Wears Old Navy" - In this sequel to the suprise summer sensation we learn that shockingly the Devil prefers Old Navy to Prada. Because of this faux pas Anne Hathaway decides to teach her boss a lesson. This leads right into 120 minutes of Anne Hathaway tearing Meryl Streep limb from limb with her teeth. But there's a charming scene in a Chinese Bordello in which Anne teaches Meryl how to kiss.

"James and the Giant Testicle" - In this sequel to the beloved children's film we learn that James has contracted testicular cancer and must have his legs amputated. A charming adventure story follows in which James and his oversized testicle must travel the globe solving crimes and impregnating women with his gigantic sperm sack. Thats pretty much it. Oh and its rated NC 17 for the scene where James is refused peaches by an old woman and he proceeds to bludgeon her to death.

"Superman Returns Again to Gay It Up a Bit" - The studios have decided to rush out this sequel because they decided that even though Superman Returns was super duper gay it just wasn't enough. Thus, in this film Superman decides he doesn't want Lois and would rather fly around in assless chaps and molest Jimmy Olson. That's pretty much the whole film. Directed by Carson Kressley.

"Hobos" - In the tradition of their smash hit "Cars" Pixar returns to the drawing board for their latest computer animated adventure. In "Hobos" we follow Rufus McGillicuty, a crack smoking transient whose life of debauchery and theivery is disrupted when he discovers a lamp that grants him three wishes. After wishing for three Hobo Bitches to accompany him he embarks on a quest to discover why he can't shit in the McDonalds on 34th St.

Well, there you have it. Clearly the studios have not run out of ideas. The real question is now, can they top the summer of 2006? And I think we all know the answer is no.

Things that I love (or if you prefer - Angry at 2am)

2006-06-23T23:45:00.000-07:00

So everyone always tells me, Blog, you are a negative nancy, a nihlistic Ned, a noodleheaded ne'er do well (swish!). But I'm here to tell you I am none of these things. There are many things in the world that give me great joy. Here are a few things that I love:

Bouncers: Is there anything better than a complete nothing with attitude? I mean I could never be a bouncer myself, for one I can read and two I'm not an awful guido. I always love the idea that somehow they're a part of the scene at the nice bar they OPEN THE DOOR AT. I mean just cuz you wipe up the spit at Marquee doesn't make you Noah Tepperberg. And now they're shooting us! Here's some advice, next time you see a bouncer whos chatting amiably to one of his horrendous pretend door friends say hey here's a tip for you: I'll give you four American dollars if you shave off your barbed wire tattoo with a Mach 3. Then when he attempts to shoot you simply stab him in the throat with a screwdriver. Then say by the way I'm starting the no holes in their neck club and believe it or not you're not allowed in.

People chock full of stories or anecdotes about their day: Ok lets lay down some ground rules. People are not interested in your job, your boss, or the funny thing your girlfriend/boyfriend said. I know you spend all day thinking about what happened at work but nobody else fucking wants to. Also unless your name is Blog and you're half Australian your story is not funny.

People who have seen an Inconveniant Truth or have read an article about global warming recently: Wow what an interesting, thoughful person you are! You want to help save the planet? Then get your parents to sell one of your 3 SUVs and buy a bicycle you know nothing twit. Also, WE GET IT.

People who used to party in college and became old men when they graduated: If you were faking it in college admit it. Because the immediate switch to boring "adulthood" within 1 month of your 38th consecutive beer pong match is just bullshit. I can't wait for the stories about what a wildman you were in college until a month after when u got a job at Xerox and now all you do is watch American Idol with your stupid girlfriend who teaches kindergarten. Going out once a week when you're 24 is not acceptable. You have the rest of your life to compare golf scores and bank accounts. I can't wait until you look back on your early 20s and think wow, I came, I saw, I went to bed at 7.

People in their mid 20s who "love their job!": Heres the thing, if you love your job as an entry level employee, and don't take this the wrong way, but I hope somebody runs over your cat/dog/grandmother. Cuz you don't. There's a reason they pay you a salary and thats because it sucks. Stop trying to convince everyone with how happy you are working hard for long hours for minimal pay. I hope a goat kicks you in the ovarys and if you're a guy I hope you start an idiotic salad business.

Now some might say Blog, these aren't things you love, these are just the bitter ramblings of an insane lunatic. And to those peopleI say how dare you! These are meticulous and thought provoking observations about modern life. Also, fuck off.

The Power of Negative Thinking

2006-05-23T09:20:00.000-07:00

People often ask me "Blog, how is it that you've managed to maintain such a pleasant outlook on the world? How do you find that ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.?" And the answer is that I don't. On a cloudy day, I presume there will be lightning, and during a lightning storm I presume there will be an earthquake. This way unless the world blows up I am always pleasantly surprsied. Here are some more examples of the power of negative thinking:

At a baby shower - Say that you know a hilarious bit. Pretend you are a fortune teller and can see the future. Then say that the baby's future is in this bag that you brought with you. Then open the bag and pull out a baby with a nazi armband and a tattoo of Hitler. As long as the baby doesn't grow up to be a skinhead the mother will be happy. Plus you won't be invited to any more baby showers.

At a wedding - Volunteer to give the toast. Then segue into a rambling anecdote about the time you and the groom gave gonorhea to a bunch of Mexican children you met at a children's brothel. Posit that all those children are probably dead now. Then say on the bright side at least we're still alive. This doesn't really help the bride and groom feel better, but whoevers giving the next toast can only come off well by comparison.

On Christmas morning - When giving out presents to whatever children are there, say that you have a big surprise for them. Say that the big surprise is that you didn't get them anything because you hate them. Then after they cry, say that you are kidding and give them each a used heroin needle. Why a heroin needle? Because then next year when you give them nothing at all they'll say well at least it wasn't a drug ridden needle.

On your anniversary - Tell your girlfriend that you want to tell her how much she means to you but that first she needs to know something. Tell her you have been fucking her sister. When she starts to cry say that you were just joking. Then tell her you actually only beat the crap out of her sister but that you fucked her cousin. She will be quite relieved.

When on trial for manslaughter - Tell the judge that you would like to represent yourself. Say you are not guilty as you could never kill another human being. Then beat the judge within an inch of his life. Then say "see?"

So as you see, it is moments like these that has led me to be such a optimistic and content human being. If you all follow suit maybe one day you can have your own blog, although you probably never will as they are not easy to get. Also, none of you are interesting. See? Now maybe one of you will become interesting. I doubt it though.

The Sweet Stank of Success

2006-03-29T17:38:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing, I am overflowing with brilliance. As follows are my ideas for t.v. shows that are all will be seen soon on your local PBS affiliate:

"Who Wants to Marry an Iraqi Nationalist" - This reality show would invite 10 lucky ladies to sunny Baghdad for a chance at wooing Hamach Hullafeen, an Iraqi burqua manufacturer and all around loveable lunatic. The catch is that the rejected contestants are sold into slavery.

"Jew or no Jew" In this takeoff on the popular gameshow a lucky Jew must decide whether or not the prices of area bagels are too high. Little does he know that the audience is voting on whether or not he is too Jewish to realize that they are all the correct price.

"Mormonia" - This drama will follow the adventures of a Mormon man named Lucas Feezil, and his quest to find the magic underwear that will keep the world safe from dragon attacks.

"Whose Cock is Michael Rapaport Sucking" - The idea for this investigative game show is to figure out how Michael Rapaport has remained on television. When said cock is discovered Michael Rapaport is immediately banished from television and his lover castrated. Guest starring Rupert Murdoch's wrinkly balls.

"Nick Lachey: A-OK" - This reality show will attempt to teach Nick Lachey how to read and write as well as help him learn basic arithmetic.

"Ray Pruit Video Jukebox": This music video show, hosted, produced, and directed by 90210 sensation Ray Pruit, will showcase Ray’s greatest hits. From “How Do You Talk to an Angel” to “Illiterate Hick Cowboy Jamboree” to “I am Awful” (the remix.) The show will also feature special guest Brian Austin Green and his smash hit “Suck my Dreadlocks.”

Oh no he didn't!

2006-02-16T21:30:00.000-08:00

Well its been a while my loyal subjects. I have returned to bless you with picks for every heterosexual mans favorite event - The Oscars. As usual though the Academy completely fucked up its nominations and I have to show you who actually deserve these awards so here we go

Best Actor: Martin Lawrence - Big Mommas House 2. My stars! Hilarity, thy name is a fat black tranvestite. There was no greater cinematic event this year then the return of everyone's favorite crack smoking felon. And it wasn't just the laughs, Big Mommas House 2 asked deep thought provoking questions such as: What does it mean to be a woman in a mans world? and how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could fart out anal gold like this film?

Best Actress: Reese Witherspoon's chin - Walk the Line. I mean really you could open a beer with that thing

Best Supporting Actor: Penguin - March of the Penguins. Oh Penguins! How you embody the human condition! You glorious waterfowl, protecting your hideous children from frostbite, nestling them in your cozy buttocks! Some might argue that the movie spent 2 hours showing you that penguins are fucking retarded but those people are fools. And only aetheists and pedophiles are tired of Morgan Freeman narrating films.

Best Supporting Actress: Dakota Fanning - War of the Worlds. The only problem with Dakota Fanning is that shes a total cock tease.

Best Picture: The Man. What would happen if you put a nebbishy jew and a street smart black cop together and asked them to solve a mystery? Only the greatest work of art in the history of civilization It is not at all hyperbole to say that this movie is literally a 2 hour orgasm. Like not a metaphorical orgasm, but seriously bring some tissues. Samuel L. Jackson plays against type by playing an angry black guy who don't take crap from nobody. He doesn't so much shout his lines as ejaculate them. And what can u say about Eugene Levy except he lives up to and even surpasses his previous work with the Olsen twins. I think this movie will do more to benefit race relations than the emancipation proclamation.

Well there it is, after a 5 month hiatus your savior has returned. Smell the glove my friends.

Hebrew Hullabaloo

2005-04-14T15:16:00.000-07:00

Since the very begining of this humble blog I have presumed one thing about my readership: that they are all wasps. Most of you have probably never even seen a Jewish person. I mean how many times have you said to yourself "If I was a Jewish kid from Long Island, what would I say, how would I talk, what would I wear?" A thousand? Once? Either way I know these things because I often go undercover as a Jew myself. I can tell how shocked you all are but its true. Here is the story of my night in Murrayhill.

Adventures in Judaica
The purpose of this mission was simply to see if I had what it took to blend in. I wanted to learn everything about the Jewish life because I knew I had a service to my blog readers. Since I had decided to head out alone I knew that my outfit was of the utmost importance. I had made sure my shirt had stripes and my jeans were Diesal but I felt I was missing something. I would never fit in at a MurrayHill bar unless everything was perfect. Then I realized what had happened. My hair was dry. I immediatly dumped half a can of gel onto my head and was ready for business
I decided to head over to second ave in the hopes of picking out an establishment in which I would not be discovered. I knew exactly what I was looking for: A minimum of 20 televisions all showing Sportscenter. Then I saw it, a glorious eyesore called Wet Bar, I held my breath and ventured in. In the corner were a group of twenty-something recent graduates and I figured they were my best chance at full immersion so I walked over. I introduced myself as Joshua Manishevitz of 34 Long Island Street. They were confused by the length of my name because it is customary to be called by your last name. This is important because everyone is named Josh. After that initial stumble I regained my status by mentioning that I enjoyed making and spending large sums of money. Quickly they were placated and I joined their table.
The ensuing conversation was facsinating. It traveled from sports to money to sports like I had never seen. They all had recently graduated from a certain midwestern school. I wondered why they would leave Long Island for the middle of nowhere and they were stunned. It had simply never occured to them and I realized my error. They quickly became suspicious and started quizzing me on my life. I the heat of the moment I spitted out all my most ingratiating lines at once. I told them that I enjoyed wearing form fitting fake vintage t shirts that cost 50 dollars each but looked like they bought them from a homeless person. I mentioned my disdain for books and the newspaper. Unfortunately I then made my fatal mistake. When they asked me if my favorite type of girl was 4 foot 11 and completly worthless I said no. They pounced upon me immediately. I was beaten within an inch of my life and thrown out into the gutter like a common matzo ball. Although I was in intense physical pain, I felt a great emotional high. For 15 minutes I had entered the Jewish sanctuary and sat as one of the chosen people. It was an evening that I would never forget.

Da April Fools

2005-04-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

Ah April 1st, a day of mirth and merriment like no other. Well in the spirit of such merriment I have decided to present the Blog J Blogerson guide to April Fools. It is oftentimes hard to come up with the perfect April Fools gag and I believe any of these may come in handy:

For Mom: Tell your mother that you want to throw her a huge party for being a great mom. Tell you are going to do all the cooking and invite all her friends. Then when everyone gets there say you have a big annoncement to make. Announce that you have a crippling cocaine addiction and need help. April Fools!

For Grandma: Tell Granny that the short film that you have been working on is finally screening in New York and you want her to be the first guest. Then take her to a harcore gay porno film. Then leave her there. April Fools!

For Dad: Tell Dad that you got in a lot of trouble with a bookie and that you really need a huge loan so you don't get hurt. When he gives you all the money spend it all on crack and get high. April Fools!

For a Murray Hill resident: Go over to his house. Enter his closet. Burn all his striped shirts. April Fools!

Now while these may be a little tame for some of you, Its just a start. Clearly the best april fools "gags" cause deep emotional pain so be sure to keep that in mind.

The return of the mack

2005-03-31T10:36:00.000-08:00

The New York Press continued this week what has become my favorite annual newspaper ritual, The 50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers Issue. For those of you living in a cardboard box for the past 8 years or certain parts of Long Island the New York Press is known by most as the esteemed P Paper, available for free on most NYC street corners. Anyway, in the noble traditions of this blog established yesterday I have decided to present to my loyal readers the First Annual Blog J. Blogerson Top 4 People Who Piss Me Off (um) List. Away we go.

4. Terri Schaivo - Is it just me or is this gluttonous camera hogs 15 minutes up already? I mean I can't turn on the T.V for one second without seeing Terri's pleading eyes practically screaming FILM ME. Well Terri your prayers have been answered, your a superstar and an icon to millions. Now please leave T.V. to the real stars like Justin Guarini.

3. Tsunami Victims - Wah wah wah I lost my house, wah wah wah - my boat was capsized, wah wah wah - I have no legs. Listen people, we all have problems, you don't see me complaining about the dwindling job market or 6 weeks of Lost repeats. It is clear to any rational minded person that God created the Tsunami as punishment for Gay Marriage so I think we all have to live with it and get on with our lives.

2. Curt Schilling - Listen up God boy I don't care how much Final Fantasy you play online your a douchbag hired gun with a bloody sock, no more. Nothing pisses me off more than stupid ass multi millionaire baseball players giving thanks to Allah for helping him pitch into the seventh. Ugh.

1. Laura Bush - Is there anything more hysterical in recent politics then George W. tapping Laura Bush to head an anti- Gang initiative? What the fuck is she going to do? Redecorate their living rooms? I guess she learned a lot of Scared Straight techniques when she was a librarian in Crawford, Texas. I have a feeling Laura might have watched the Green Mile one too many times and decided that most gang members are just big black medicine men with hearts of gold.

And there you have it the most schizophrenic Top 4 list ever. Be sure to check back next week for more time wasting nonsense.

Honorable Mention: Midhat "pocket 10s" Serbagi - You were 43% to win the hand you stupid bastard!

First Post

2005-03-30T14:16:00.000-08:00

Well here we be. I have decided to start this blog because I have absolutely nothing better to do. And I don't mean that in the way that everyone else does when they say that. Because in reality I have something better to do and that is anything. Anyway a few ground rules for the two of you reading this. This blog is not a diary, anyone who calls this a diary will be banished. Furthermore, the only scorn that will be tolerated on this website will be directed towards either nice people or sweet people. For example an adorable lotus flower like George W. Bush is fair game. While a mindless troll hussy like Mother Teresa is off limits. Confused? So am I, but then again I'm doing this from rehab, by which I mean Murray Hill. God, I am so awesome. This blog will be ostensibly about pop culture but secretely more about funny shit that happens to me. Well thats the plan anyway. In reality I doubt I have the stamina to post as much as I would like. Actually forget it, this is the last post ever. Good Night