We're Related!

Evil



This is my nephew. He's almost 2. His parents thought it would be festive for the holidays to stick a red nose on his face. You know, like Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. Apparently, the kid wasn't amused. He looks more like a sad clown! OH NO! I guess it runs in the family...

Me. the Big Man, and more Waffle Houses than you can shake a stick at

There we were, at a Waffle House somewhere between Atlanta and Birmingham. As we gorged ourselves over All Star breakfasts, I knew I had found my role model. He had hired me but I always thought he gave me more credit than he should and maybe I gave him les sthan deserved. We sat there and the conversations turned to our fathers and their immigrant experience. The conversation got heavy and after a while he just sorta looked up and said "this is great country, ain't it" breathed for a minute and then started talking. We were kindred spirits he and I. We were guys who kept trying to piss in the tall grass till everyone got too tired of chasing us away, he and I are the type of guys that don't understand no, guys that don't so much ask for things as much as encouraging people to give it over willingly. Failing that we're the type of guys that will just fucking take it, shit all over whoever tried to fuck us and turn it into a great story, where our antagonist is left somewhere eating shit. That's him, and that me and that's what brought us to this point right here, this waffle house in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I got a little nervous, because right there, there was some concern that he might grab my hand, slice my palm, slice his, slap our hands together, and declare us true blood brothers.

He brought me along to drive the car and keep him on schedule. He brought me along to pretend to be his EA, in anticipation of the day, 3-5 years from now, where he'll call on me to do it for real, and not just a few for a few weeks. I had done a piss poor job up till this point. I had nearly gotten us run over by a speeding tractor trailor as a I cut across a 8 lane highway. I had nearly put us under another tractor trailor and of course there was that episode with the off ramp where the laptop, and the cell phone flew across the car during his conference call and he cussed a storm to everyone he could find and asked openly on the call (after recovering)

"anyone remember driving their third line manager around and not knowing where to drive and not know where he was going and actively trying to get him and yourself killed?"

A chorus of folks, all of whom actively try to curry his favor regularly, shared a hearty laugh at my expense, haha, the most favored son has some chinks in his armor after all. I hated them all, just for that one moment. When the anger passed, I took note of who the assholes were that laughed the loudest or maybe tried to be witty. I quickly added the to the mental list of "people I need to fuck over the second I get a chance".

But this guy, man, what a sight to see. The guy was a human fucking dynamo...We hit 5 clients in 3 days. Always be Closing is the motto, and he always was. Me, I was driving, I got the driving straight, I got the time straight, I did a good job making sure everyone had everything they needed. We had a system, everytime he waved his hands incessantly, I knew to stop at a waffle house. Everytime he smacked me in the back of the head, I knew I had just done something inappropriate, like use the word "brain fart" with a southern lady.

Every once in a while, I wondered if I had gotten an MBA just so I could do this, So I could watch someone else drive all the action while I drove the friggin car...maybe...then I wondered "is there anywhere else I'd rather be?"

I'm Baack!!

After QUIETLY serving my suspension from this blog, I have been reinstated and ready to do some damage. But before I do, I would like to share with you my New Year's Resolution with all five of you.

1. I promise to write blogs on current and relevant issues. Not like those(who shall remain nameless) who talk about how often they can't get laid. (What am I talking about? That's just about everyone reading this)

2. I promise to keep my quarrel with Evil to a maximum of 4 blogs per week. ( I thought maybe two, but I just don't like him.)

3. I promise not to insult people of all races, religions, and gender. ( That's hard because I'm not a fan of anyone's, including my own.)

4. I promise to objectively hear any complaints to the issues I post and to respond in a respectful and professional manner.( That's bullshit because you all suck!)

And finally to my BIG HEAD. I promise not to stick Holly on the same train back to NY with you. I know it was an unfortunate circumstance, but I hope you didn't suffer much. HA! HA!
I'm Sorry! Did that come out of me?

Well, to the handfull of you who read this crap, I wish you a Happy New Year. Drink, Be Merry, Spend a quiet time with yourself and manola, while I pop a Prozac and down a bottle of Jack Daniels. Peace!!!

Getting Less Ass Than Someone With No Arms Or Legs

Evil

Is this Normal (Part 3 of Many...The Christmas Edition)

I never believed in Santa Claus. Our family tradition, one I loved really made believing in Santa Claus, structurally impossible. Our tradition was simple. At 9pm on Christmas Eve. My mother, her 8 brothers and sisters (the ones that live in the US), all my cousins, and other assorted Ecuadorian friends and well wishers would gather together and ring in Christmas Day by eating excessive amounts of pork and then sharing gifts at around 12:05am on Christmas Day. No room for Santa Claus there. Also, I went to catholic school and the Sister Mildreds of the world would not allow us to turn the birth of our lord and savior into such a pagan and commercial holiday by encouraging us to write Santa Claus a letter.

So really, I never minded. Except for one year my godmother joined us for Christmas. I was about ten and her son, my cousin was about 8, more importantly her little daughter was 3 and very much still believed in Santa Claus. This was an easy trick for them to pull off because they always lived far away from the family and were not usually part of the Christmas festivities, or on the off chance they were, it was very easy to convince little Tina that Santa was in fact at all our respective houses leaving us our appropriate gifts. As the oldest cousin in sight and a petulant little snot, I took umbrage with having to maintain a facade for the benefits of others. Who was out there, making up elaborate stories for my benefit? Who was getting creative and making sure we always had a gift from Santa, I even rationalized it, maybe it was too late for me, I was bordering on being a Christmas cynic, but what about the Lil Bumpasaurus/Pacey Witter, he was 5.

That's right. YEAH! Who's got Pacey's back?

What? Would it kill my parents to contrive a scenario where they run back in the house on Christmas eve break out a stash of secret gifts and maybe have my dad eat some Christmas cookies we might leave out for Santa. He was eating them all anyway, would it kill him NOT to do it in our faces, joking and spilling crumbs all over his sweater?

That was it, I'd had enough. It was Christmas Eve, and I went up to my mother and pled my case. Next year, I would do my part. I would write a letter to Santa, I would also promise to not throw lil Bump in the trash for the next year. To the contrary, maybe I'd even help him compose his own letter to Santa. Then with a few knowing winks and nods my parents would step up and get us an extra gift, from Santa, and maybe we could save the pagan joy of Santa for Baby Bump. Meybe we'd save him right then and there. It was at this critical juncture that we could have set him on the path to well adjusted adulthood. Plus, I would have an extra gift. Everyone wins!

Of course, this is my mother we're dealing with so everything went wrong, horribly wrong. The next year, the day after Thanksgiving my mom takes us to Toys-R-Us and just lets us run around. We weren't so much there to buy anything (because we didn't) we were just there to give my mom an impression of what we wanted. We left empty handed, but me, ever observant, noticed how much my mom paid attention to everything we showed here, as in she paid attention at all, which is not what she typically did normally. Normally, she'd just plead with us to leave her alone and use her hands to construct a defensive posture. This time there were no hands up, the boxing clinic was closed. We got home and set to write our Santa letters which my mother gladly collected.

A few days later, I noticed she walked in with a bag from Toys-R-Us, not only that but I noticed some GI Joe stuff in the bag. The plan was coming together, maybe everything would work out! Bump was oblivious, he probably in another room, peeing himself. I dunno, he falls out of this memory pretty quick.

Under the tree on December 5th (or thereabouts) I took stock of the gifts. There were gifts for me, gifts for bump, gifts for my cousin Jay and cousin Vic and any number of gifts for other people. There were also extra gifts for me and bump and they were unsigned.

On Christmas Eve, as we packed the gifts, I asked my mother what do with the gifts we had received from someone who could not be bothered to sign their own name. She told me to leave them home. We could deal with them later.

That night I saw my cousin Jay open his gift from us, and it was item #3 on my freaking wishlist. The hell? Also, I got socks and some underwear from my parents. I had no idea what to do....But I didn't internalize it, till the next day when I saw my cousin Vic open his Christmas gift and it was item #1 on MY WISHLIST! What is this lady doing? HOLY CRAP! I was besides myself.

When we got home that Christmas night my mother turns to me and Bump and disingenuously says "Wow, Santa must have come by...look at these gifts he left you?"

The hell? Even Bump didn't buy this line. "Mommy that gift was there tomorrow, Santa didn't bring it, daddy put it here last month I saw". (Bump was still getting past and future tense confused)

I don't know what the hell point she was trying to prove, but she proved it, that might be why my favorite Christmas memory is about giving rather than receiving gifts.

Is that normal?

The Best Christmas Ever!

I remember the best Christmas ever. My first year after college was the first year I ever had a dollar to my name. The only logical response of course was to blow it all on overly elaborate, and occasionally ostentatious Christmas gifts.

The biggest winner in this march towards self-defeat was my godson, who at the time was 1. I stepped up and bought him the biggest friggin stuffed dog I could find (pictured above). The thing weighed was over 3 feet in length and a number of innocent Christmas shoppers were injured as Sparkes and I transported it from FAO Schwartz to our apt on e89th St.

I remember sparkes' girlfriend completely melting and I also recall a female friend of mine being completely unmoved by my preposterously sized gift.

I recall asking my father to come pick me up and him wondering why I just couldn't show up on NJ Transit. His face when seeing me step out of my apt with an oversized bag was a rather dramatic "oh noooo!". Thankfully his response was offset by the boy's.

When I arrived at my grandmother's house that Christmas eve, my little cousin, who was also the mother of my godson asked genuinely (and possibly hopefully)
"Is that for us?"

HAH...Great moment! A few years later I noted that the boy still slept on the dog and he kept for a quite a long time. I dunno why, but that's one of my fondest Christmas memories.

(flipside next)

How to Raise the Roof

(Editor's Note: Diagrams left out. Our graphics department (Sleeve) was not able to meet our publication deadline.)

1) Bend your elbows at 45-degree angles, and expose your palms to the heavens.
2) Extend your arms over your head while saying nothing
3) Return arms to start position
4) Repeat for desired effect
5) Look around to see if anyone is impressed enough to mimic you.
6) Upon realizing that no one is, curl up in the fetal position, gently weep and once again return to your lonely rotten life.

Touch Points

I recently found something I wrote in the spring of 2003 which i fucking loved. I don't know why I loved it, maybe it was not that great, but I really liked the frame of mind I was in.

It's called "Manolo is not one for Weddings", and Manolo will be very unhappy that I posted it prior to him posting some other nonsense, but its my story and the fact that its about him is entirely incidental.

This week - a three day travelogue as me and my VP take a 3 day trip thru the deep south, hilarity to ensue!

If we kept her and raised her as our own, would she be a good person?

Last night I met my niece. She's not actually my neice, she's my cousin's child, but I'm going to call her my niece because I'm latin, and us latins have a phrase. it's primos-hermanos, which translates into cousin-brother. Well, Claudie is my "prima-hermana", so Calley is my niece and that's that and screw you guys.

The point is, I met my niece. I was exhausted but it was the most energizing thing I've ever seen. After a week of personal embarrasment I was spent physically and emotionally. My cousin's husband, Chris had decided to throw her a proper baby shower and scheduled it for last night. Not knowing any better, an anxious Calley snuck out a month early. Taking after her uncle, she decided it best to blow off her own welcome party and chose instead to hang out at home contemplating her own hand, and possibly her navel. A fact I learned later, when around midnight, I stopped by the house to properly(if belatedly) welcome her to the world. Expecting to just measure her up and walk out silently I was surprised to see she was quite awake. O.Z. the family dog was up and bouncing off the walls, clearly once again hoping I would be a pal and take out to take a proper crap. Even his energy though could not match hers, there she was, kicking a bit, stretching her legs out as far as humanly possibly. I'm not suer she can see yet, but she was compelled by her hand, she was impressed by her foot, enchanted by her blanket and inquisitive about the ominous mass standing over her, this exhausted, mildly defeated mass who seemed to stand upright at the sight of her, suddenly re-energized by the positive energy she was emmitting.

I stood there for 10 minutes not saying anything, not thinking anything...zoned out by the miracle of life...as I walked out I thought back to that movie, Hurly Burly, and how at the sight of Chazz Palimenterie's baby, Sean Penn sobbng and coked up, wondered if he and his self loathing friends could take this baby and create something positive. I remember the first time I was saw it and how I laughed at how preposterous an idea it was. But I think I've come back around on that idea, after looking at a baby properly, for what feels like the first time, I know that it wasn't such a crazy idea, I mean how could they not?

Write Your Own Caption

Jason Kidd: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Vince Carter: "Aren't I already in position?"

"What did I do to fuck this guy up so much?"

A reasonable question for anyone who has ever had to put up with my drunken ramblings...

The answer, when the guy in question is me is clearly
"Nothing! You did nothing wrong, its not your fault. I'm fucking crazy. RUN"

Anyone remember this. For reasons that transcend logic I was able to contrive my way back into this conversation for either a second or third time depending on how you define second or third...

Rather than accept anything at face value I became convinced that the only approach worth any attention here was "go big or go home", Thanks Coah G, that advice really fucking worked out here. In this case that meant basically laying it all out there, of course I was drunk. What a hero. All I know is that I had a few drinks and the next thing I know I started throwing dangerous phrases around, not so much dangerous, as much as sort of raw...If I were forced to come up with a metaphor I would go back to an old standard. I was swinging a cat by the tail in a small closet and not giving a shit that the blood splattering might be my own...

I'm not sure what the aftermath of all this will be, but some damage has been done. Hopefully it won't be left to the police to sort out.

for nostalgia's sake, I will soon repost "Manolo is not one for weddings" somewhere. it feels very timely...

Patent Pending

You know what would be cool?

Giant scissors that could cut wood. No more sawing!

Guess What?

Evil

I think XTIAN has a new woman. Be sure to ask him about it...

Best City for Cable Porn

I was watching The Wire on HBO last night and I got kind of lonely. You see, sunday nights in Astoria for me were special. The whole gang would come in the afternoon and we would bullshit for hours...somewhere in between we would have the eventual supermarket run and Charles will cook a sumptuous italian feast for the whole gang and then we would watch The Sopranos. I then started thinking how Xtian almost burned the apartment down when he threw some garlic bread wrapped in aluminum foil into the microwave or how you knew Balls Mahoney was going to have sex any given particular night because he would take meticulous notes while watching Sex and the City and would then turn on his Christmas lights "to set the mood."

All of a sudden, life in NYC started flashing before my eyes...I went from remminiscing about Sunday nights in Astoria to happy hours gone by to college to...and then my thought process just stopped...I started thinking about adult entertainment...

You see, Rudy Guiliani may have somehow managed to turn Times Squares into the Mall of the Americas but not even Giuliani was able to mess with the Big Apple’s long-standing tradition of pro-bono porn. As any Manhattanite with Time Warner cable TV will tell you, Channel 35 was like a gift from God. The spank station features strippers, porn starts, hermaphrodites and thousands of steamy ads for 900-number sex lines and escort services.

The best part: It comes completely free of charge for all basic-cable subscribers.

The worst part: Bikini-clad hostess Robyn Byrd of The Robyn Byrd Show has more folds in her belly than an origami crane (shout out to KenTak).

Is Channel 35 still around?

Good times, good times!!!

More Animal Trivia

After receiving enormous feedback from my pseudoceros bifurcus post and as requested via thousands of fan emails, I have decided to make the mating habits of our little friends in the animal kingdom a regular event...This week's episode features the Platypus.

Platypus:
Penetration isn’t the only objective, of course, but that’s a nuance that apparently escapes our friend the platypus, whose three-inch penis (shout out to Evil and all our Asian readers) has sharp spines that point backward-a concept somewhat removed from “ribbed for her pleasure.”

Need some Assistance and Other Musings

EVIL, SLEEVE and I need some space somewhere to load additional media and possible serve as a new home for The Hose, does anyone have any suggestions about who to go with?

Ken lives! Hopefully, Evil will stop being so gay...

Having fun on a non-funny Subject

[15:31] evil: do you know what you're going to say
[15:31] evil: you know
[15:31] evil: when you deliver ken's eulogy?
[15:31] xtian: yes
[15:31] evil: very sad
[15:31] evil: dont break into tears dude
[15:31] evil: because that comes off as gayish
[15:31] xtian: if I had a brother, and he were a robot, his name would be kentak 3.
[15:32] xtian: When I first met Ken, i knew right away that he was hanging out with me only to take advantage of my female friends
[15:32] xtian: The joke was on him.
[15:32] xtian: for not only could I not get ass, i could not help him get ass
[15:32] xtian: He was a better student and I hated him for it
[15:32] xtian: he was a better golfer and i hated him for it
[15:32] evil: DUDE
[15:32] evil: post this
[15:32] xtian: he always made more money than me
[15:33] evil: it'll be funny
[15:33] xtian: and i hated him for it
[15:33] xtian: But now, I will miss him, for he was my brother. I will miss him for other, less emotional reasons as well.
[15:33] xtian: I will miss the fact that his head was actually disproportionally bigger than mine
[15:33] xtian: I will miss the fact that I am directly responsible for him having more fun his last two years in college and also for a half point drop in his GPA.
[15:33] evil: "ken had one final wish"
[15:33] evil: "his dying wish..."
[15:33] evil: "he wanted to be buried with his beloved half-dog, Bruno"
[15:34] evil: "so to respect Ken's final wish, i must now kill the dog"
[15:34] evil: "come here, bruno"
[15:34] xtian: omfg
[15:34] xtian: this is great
[15:34] evil: at the end, it would all be a ploy
[15:34] evil: on ken's part
[15:34] evil: to snuff out the dog
[15:34] xtian: RIGHT
[15:34] xtian: i am posting this exchange now
[15:34] evil: we suddenly realize that ken took a sleeping pill
[15:34] evil: a la Romeo and Juliet
[15:35] evil: but this will be like Kentaro and Bruno
[15:35] xtian: its a shakesperean tragedy
[15:35] evil: EXACTLY
[15:38] xtian: dude
[15:38] xtian: what if ken is actually dead
[15:38] xtian: one or both of us will be a-holes
[15:38] evil: that wouldnt be the first time
[15:38] evil: it wouldnt even be the 100th time
[15:39] evil: i mean, you were the asshole who was making stupid comic book wisecracks in a chatroom at 10am september 11th
[15:39] xtian: dude that was you!
[15:39] evil: this pales in comparison
[15:39] evil: oh wait
[15:39] evil: you're right
[15:39] evil: damn
[15:39] evil: regardless

Fear of Dying

I have an intense fear of dying. As a child this fear manifest itself as insomnia and I could not sleep for days on end. My parents addressed this issue with repeated therapy ginsing tea, and qualudes. My fear has recently been exacerbated by the troubling/untimely death of a b school classmate of mine, who was 30 and was in much better shape than I ever am. I wept openly for his month old son, but I did it in my room with the door closed and the shades down and told no one about it.

My insomnia is also back in full force. I was up on the phone last night till about 1am and up running the chelsea streets at 5:55am.

Seriously fearing for my health I hit the vitamin shoppe this week and stocked up on over $100 in natural madness

L-Carnitine - an all natural suppliment that has been shown in some tests to alieviate and effects of Alzheimers while at the same time speeding up the metabolism and improving heart performance

Omega-3 Fatty Acids - The natural oils found in most fresh fish. I consume 3 of these a day, because 3 years ago I had some blood work done that indicated my trygliceride count was too low. This is at least part of the genetic curse of being a member of my father's family where everyone seems to be on lipitor a hardcore cholesterol drug.

Glucosamine & Chondroitin Sulfate - I have noticed that in weeks where I run more than 8 miles my leg joints start hurting and I need to take a day or two off, the glucosamine speeds up the replenishment of my joint muscles so I can run more, faster...so i can take more glucosamine.

Smart people would just go to the doctor...me, I'm self medicating...

Sometimes I Feel Like This Guy

I adopted a cute lil' emo fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!

Party, Baby

Anyone want to party with us this Friday?

=====
XTIAN: did you rsvp for that thing
XTIAN: on friday

EVIL: YES

XTIAN: did anyone get back to you asking for money?

EVIL: no
EVIL: i emailed that barnard email alias yesterday
EVIL: no one responded

XTIAN: right
XTIAN: i did so on friday
XTIAN: no response
XTIAN: lets just show up
XTIAN: its not like we're doig anything anyway
XTIAN: you need to pick me up in midtown in a cab
XTIAN: or a black lincoln
XTIAN: whatever works for you player

EVIL: plan later
EVIL: dude
EVIL: what if The Hose sponsors a columbia alum event?
EVIL: that would be SOOOO legit
EVIL: all we need to do is monetize our readership and then funnel that money into event sponsorships
EVIL: it's like a virtuous cycle

XTIAN: wow
XTIAN: that is a virtuous circle

EVIL: i am like some sort of business genious

XTIAN: no, not really

EVIL: i know
EVIL: thanks for bursting my bubble tho
EVIL: you didnt even want to let me have that little piece of joy, however fabricated
=====

Missed Opportunity

Dammit! We blew it. To be specific, I blew it. Turns out that Big Head was out of town this weekend, so it would have been the perfect time to throw a party at Big Head's swanky 3-bedroom apartment. It would have been great... guys + gals + irresponsible drinking + recreational drugs - Big Head = a damn good time. OK people, here is the plan. Please continue to check the (new) competitive blog. Next time I find out that Big Head will be out of time, I'll post a party announcement on the blog. WOOO!

Fascinated With Big Heads

Whoever is in charge of the photo galleries at MLB.com must be sleeping on the job, because ESPN just did a really good job with this Barry Bonds thing. Check out the progression of Barry's head size from 1988 to present.

In particular, check out 1998 and the very next year, 1999. A very noticable change -- the moustache is gone!

Roller Coaster

By the way, today has been the worst day in a long time. Really. If you want to cheer me up, please buy me something.

Am I Busted?

My super is a nice woman. She lives on the first floor. When people in the building gets packages, she gladly signs for them. She called me last night about a package and I went to pick it up, breath smelling of liquor and eyes not able to focus. She called me again tonight. Another package... and my breath smelled of liquor and my eyes not able to focus. Bad stuff. Have I been busted? I luckily, I haven't been doing coke.

Updated 2

I am sad. (And not drunk.)

Updated

I am drunk. (And oh, I am pretty happy.)

Is this Normal (Part 2 of Many)

When I was 11, I played little league. Except I was a little squat surly fuck. I played baseball because it beat getting chased down the street by the white kid across the street and his dog. Our team was great, The Perth Amboy Fire Dept sponsored us, so we were called the Firemen. We were like the bad news bears, scruffy, shaggey headed, diamonds in the rough...only add abject poverty and remove the uplifting victories at the end.

Anyway, I got put at shortstop for reasons that defy logic and reason. It was agreed that I was generally pretty slow, however I was squat and it was possible that many balls hit my way would find some part of my body to bounce off of and manage to stay on the infield where either I or our much more talented 2nd baseman could then make a play. The only problem with this strategy was that I was gun shy. A ball got hit my way and I was suddenly the fastest show on dirt, ducking, running and diving AWAY FROM THE BALL!

My mother completely exasperated with this scenario did not know what to do. My dad, you see, has always had a bad back, so with the exception of the times he showed me how to kick a soccer ball, we never really had much bonding around playing sports.

Seeing her options limited, my ever resourceful mother turned to her sister's husband, a good guy, and a former decathlete. Growing up in the DR, he was also a reasonably decent baseball player. We had always gotten along well enough, though he was in his mid twenties and I was barely 11. After observing my acrobatics on the ballfield, he decided that my limitations were not physical, but rather mental. It was clear to him that I had a fear of a baseball, and this was the only thing that kept me from being a diamond legend. A fear he, of course, committed himself wholeheartedly to eliminating.

His approach was interesting to say the least. One day, he arrived at my house and asked me to bring some baseballs. I brought out my glove, a few baseballs and a bat assuming he was going to hit them my way and maybe I would field them. Maybe I would field them or maybe I would execute a triple back flip and just barely avoid the spray of balls hit my way. It made no difference to me, I was good either way. Instead he just picked up a ball, and looked at it. He held it in his hand pensively, maybe he was trying to understand its weight and its hardness, maybe he was sort of checking it for scuff marks. I stood there examining him as he examined the ball. Suddenly, from a distance of about 5ft, he wound up and pelted me with it.
Then he started yelling

(translated from Spanish) "Its, just a ball, its just rubber. You can't be afraid of a ball"

And then he hit me with another one. Spit was now shooting from his mouth as he yelled.

"Does it hurt? No, it doesn't hurt. If someone wanted to hurt you they would use the bat not the ball."

The bumpasaurus, not sure what to do, broke for the house, lest someone decide to start screaming in Spanish and throwing baseballs at him. He did turn at the door and let out a fat grin, as he drifted safely into the moderately warm embrace of the Household on Alpine St.

This went on for a few hours and though painful, I recognize this as a moment where I turned a corner and where I found a new friend, a great friend, or possibly just a well intentioned but borderline abusive friend.

The next week, the shortstop experiment was over, I had been replaced by a small, fast kid freshly immigrated from DR and I was relegated to the outfield. But still something changed. I scored 8 runs and stole 12 bases in a 22-4 romp over a rival team. I was also hit by a pitch all 8 times I came up to bat. Rounding the bases at one point, I caught my mother's eye in the stands, I could tell she was confused (she never really understood biesbol). She was able to figure out I was doing things more or less right though, and for a second (just one) I saw a vague hint of pride wash across her face.

Does any of that seem normal?

Is This Normal? (Part 1, of many)

Evil

We came to this country when I was three and a half. My dad spoke a bit of English, but in the house, we just spoke Chinese. When I started kindergarten, I knew about 20 words in English. (One of them was "automatic.") I learned the words from my sister, who was older than me and had been in American school for a year and a half.

On my first day of kindergarten, I didn't know how to play with any of the toys. Things like blocks, puzzles -- and especially playing house -- were foreign concepts. So I mostly kept to myself.

There was this one day when I got sick and I puked all over some other kid and he started to cry. The teacher sent me to the office, where they would call my mom to come pick me up. I couldn't communicate with the ladies in the office, so I reached into my shirt and pulled out an index card. My mom always made sure I wore that index card when I left for school. The card had a hole punched in a corner and a loop of red yarn through the hole and I wore it around my neck. The index card had my name, address, and home phone number, written by my dad.

I sat on what seemed like a very large, very old bench in the office and waited for my mom. I sat for what seemed like a very long time and when I realized that school was over and students were starting to go home, it crossed my mind that maybe my mom wasn't coming to get me. Various old ladies who worked in the office were saying stuff to me that I didn't understand.

They close the office 30 minutes after school lets out. In fact, they close the entire school building. Someone shooed me outside to wait on the front steps of the school. I looked around for my mom, with renewed hopes that maybe she just didn't figure out how to get inside and that she was waiting for me all along. But no.

It was a rainy afternoon, so not only was I sick, I was being rained on. And oh, I can't find my mom. Some neighborhood people walked past me but no one said anything. I guess the Don't Talk To Strangers rule also applies to pukey little kids.

I'm not sure what happened first, the fact that I gave up hope that my mom would appear from down the block, or that I just got too cold and shivery. I went up to a passer-by. He looked like a friendly old man. I pulled out the index card from inside my shirt and showed it to him.

If I remember correctly, the friendly old man brought me home. But I can honestly say I don't remember any of the rest -- why my mom didn't come to pick me up, what I said to her when I finally saw her -- I've lost all of those memories.

Is this normal?

Rolling in Dough!

In just the past two days, my net worth has gone up by $45 and I owe it all to craigslist. Yesterady, I sold 3 stupid Central Park framed photos for $20. Today, I sold an Apple Mouse that I don't use anymore for $25. Wooo!

I actually have one more item posted on craigslist. It's a barter: I'm trying to trade 3 under-bed storage boxes for a 6 pack of beer. Someone emailed me for details, but that punk never followed up on my response! Do any of you guys need 3 under-bed boxes? Cuz I sure as heck need some beer.

Buy an xTian, He goes from Zero to Jerk in 30 Seconds

The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were challenging enough. My mother has 3 sisters who live in the area and my father has 2. I love them all equally, an easy task since they tolerate my surlyfuckery more or less equally. Upon hearing that I was not going to the Sunshine State, each called me out of pity and invited me to their respective homes for Thanksgiving, a welcome, warm gesture. One that the socially underdeveloped fuck that is me cannot handle. Instead I treated this showering of familial love as a monumental burden, which I shared with anyone who would listen. I explained the situation to a coworker of mine, and though she didn’t judge me verbally, her eyes met mine with a mix of pity and disgust. My mother, long since retired from the responsibility of having to deal with my fuckwadery on a regular basis, called me a few times to laugh and point at the sad corner I had painted myself into. “What are you going to do?” She would ask, half mocking, half testing, her voice challenging me to a complicated game of “who do you love more?” Rather than play her game, I reacted with my typical scorched earth approach:

“Fuck it! I’m going to sit at home and sulk. How does that sound?”

I was proud of my emotional victory and felt compelled to share. Reactions were of course mixed. When relaying this story later to my sales operations manager (who I now claim as a mother figure…because I’m sad…and gay) she arched an eye brow and said “I need to get back to work”. See, just like my mom! Little did I know that my true mother, queen of constant undermining, would have the last laugh but we’ll get back to that in a minute.

My Thanksgiving weekend started ominously enough. After running out early on Tuesday to catch the motorcycle diaries I actually found myself balancing a number of different things that I needed to have teed up for Monday. Regardless, I managed to have all my ducks in a row by 3pm and broke for the door, so I could get up to the Vinegar Factory and pick up some pecan pies to barter as peace offerings for a number of family members that I have alienated in recent days.

I got a call from cousin, who rocks, by the way. She’s all like “I’m in town. I’m returning your call. What’s up” sort of vibe. In mid conversation I recalled that I failed to return any of her brother’s 4 calls in the last month. The correct approach is to stick thru the phone call and call her brother, my cousin back. My reaction is to contrive a reason to get off the phone and act very busy so as to not call anyone back. Ever non-committal, I agreed to make it to Perth Amboy later in the day, knowing full well I had no intention of ever showing up.

On Thursday, I rolled over to Ridgefield Park and hung out with my aunt and her family. All good people, with good hearts, even Monkey Boy 1 is good for a laugh. My aunt was treating me with kid gloves. Something she does not normally do. By 6pm, my youngest aunt called me just to say hi, see how I was feeling and later admitted to “wondering if you was depressed”. Ever since I was 5, there’s been a depression watch for xTian amongst the Velez Family. I can’t just be introspective and occasionally quiet, I have to be depressed and it freaking pisses me off. My mom of course, in reaction to my wise cracks, decides to bust out the “xTian is depressed” saw just to f with me. Luckily I was able to reassure her that I was not at all terribly depressed and doing just fine. My hostess aunt, also found a way to mellow out and lobbed a few fat jokes my way…family is great! By 8pm I was properly drunk and stuffed with pork (turkey is for white people…that’s what I always say). By 10pm I was passed out on the couch, by 2am I was being asked why I don’t like Latina women and being tested on the degree of my self loathing by my aunt’s husband, a man I have genuine affection for. Of course, the defining moment of our relationship includes him pelting me with baseballs for an entire afternoon. That’s a story that probably demands its own post.

On Friday, I arrived in Perth Amboy finally to call on my other aunts and wish them a good holiday. My cousin Maria, pointed out that my father had called on Thanksgiving and implied that I would be arriving late to Thanksgiving dinner, but that my arrival was imminent.

“what did he say to give you that idea?”

“He said, ‘xTian is on his way. He’ll be there shortly.’”

Thanks dad, that’s great! My response to Maria was pretty simple.

“Well, great. I guess I’m a jerk. Let’s go shopping”

Scumbag Move Of The Week

Congratulations, Dan Marino! You made a total ass of yourself on the CBS Pre-Game Show today and anytime anyone comes off looking like a bigger ass than me, it's worthy of celebration. What were you thinking, trying to chop block your interview "guest" Peyton Manning, at every opportunity? Yes, everyone knows he's going to break your single-season touchdown record, but DUDE, show some class.

For those who missed it, here's a recap of Dan Marino's interview with Peyton Manning:

-- Marino starts off by thanking Manning for all the re-newed attention he's been getting lately. Scumbag move!

-- Cuts to a clip of Marino's record 48th TD pass in 1973 or whatnot. Isn't this supposed to be a Manning interview? Scumbag move!

-- Marino pontificates that throwing TDs are easier in today's game because DB's aren't allowed to bump receivers like in the old days. Scumbag move!

-- Is Manning going to get a word in edgewise? Or sock Marino in the teeth? Cmon! Do something!

-- Marino closes by implying that offenses are built differently these days, specifically, that offenses now throw the ball when inside the 5, whereas they almost never did in his day. Then Marino whips out a stat! He turns to Manning and goes, "I had 2 TDs from inside the 5 that entire years, and this year, you ALREADY have 4!!!" Scumbag move!

Thanks and Anti-Thanks

Last word from me regarding Thanks...

Thanks to some chick named Iris, who according to this site's access logs, visits us every day! WOW! (On a side note: why does she come here? Why do *I* come here?)

Anti-Thanks to Jon-El. You suck! The fact that you took down the Anti-Life blog sucks! All you care about is yourself.

Ok, now I'm off to work on my 2004 Year In Review. It's going to be an epic.

A little less information, please

I moved apartments not too long ago, so now I have some random stuff that I don't need anymore. I went and posted in the "for sale" section on craigslist. There's this woman who wants to buy 3 framed Central Park pics from me. Great! Now all we need to do is figure out the logistics. I am home today, but today is not good for her. But ah, she can pick them up from my office building tomorrow because she'll be in the area. Specifically, she said:

"I've got a gynecologist appointment right near your office."

Eww. I didn't need to know that much detail. But anyway, we need to work out a time to meet. So then she says:

"My appointment is at 3:45pm, but it's going to take a looooong time, so we better meet beforehand."

YIPES! What the heck is going on down there?!? I'm going to ask the building doorman to conduct this transaction for me.

Giving Thanks

Evil

The calendar says it's winter, but it's 40's and 50's outside so you can still walk down the street and hold somebody's hand without bulky gloves getting in the way. The calendar says tomorrow is Thanksgiving and for the first time in years, I think I'm looking forward to seeing my family for the holidays. I used to fret about the holidays for some reason... maybe because social situations make me nervous or maybe because I come from a family of misfits and freaks. One year, I blew off the family dinner and convinced my friend Judy to take me in -- she made roast goose, glazed root vegetables, corn bread, herb rice, and what seemed like a dozen other dishes. There were eight people at Judy's dinner and at the end of the night, I counted more empty wine bottles than guests. That was a good Thanksgiving.

But this year, things somehow feel different. But I guess, in reality, much will be the same.

When I see my grandmother, she'll take my hand, feel my forearm and say that I'm either too fat or too skinny. Her assessment is utterly random I'm sure. Either that, or the woman is nearly legally blind. Probably both.

When I see my grandfather, he'll act very startled to see me. I think it's because he's lost all peripheral vision so he doesn't see anything not directly in front of him. I'll say hi to grandpa and he'll ask me if I'm working on my PhD and I'll shake my head and he'll mumble, "Oh." It's weird... the word for "Oh" in Vietnamese is actually "Oh." Go figure.

My aunts and uncles will all ask me if I'm married and I'll say no. Then they'll ask me if I have a girlfriend and I'll also say no, at which point they'll say various things to imply that I'm a loser. Sometimes, they actually call me a loser outright because in Asian families, it's OK to do that sort of thing (apparently). My third uncle will insert himself and point out that his son, who's a year younger than me, is already married. In my mind, I am always like, "FUCK THAT! Your kid might be married, but he's been working on his undergrad degree for ongoing 9 years now and he's still living in your basement, wife and all. F-ing loser."

My second uncle will be overly happy to see me. He is always overly happy to see anyone at all. We, the younger generation, suspect it had something to do with his long service during the Vietnam war. Something must have snapped because my second uncle acts pretty insane sometimes, but the older generation doesn't tell us anything about what's really going on.

Even with all the insanity though, I know there will be good food. My grandfather was a chef in his younger days, so his entire side of the family cooks up a storm for the holiday dinner.

Anyway, I just wanted to wish all 8 of you (the loyal Hose readers) a Happy Thanksgiving.

The Hosers wish you the Happy Gobble Gobble

In case you did not notice, we went on hiatus for a while and will be thru the end of the month. Figured I'd drop in a wish you and yours a happy turkey day.

We'll be back in early December, with a new look (designed by that poofter Sleeve) and a new feature. "Countdown to Personal Happiness", where Evil and I will put together a plan to actually approximate happy in 2005.

PEACE Y'ALL

xTian

Evil's Next LA Trip

Look at Evil, flaunting his wealth. Apparently, he won the eBay bid on this. When are you heading out to LA to claim your prize/drunk ho?

Something is off with Kentaro

I think Kentaro blew a fuse this weekend or something, he's talking like a 15 year old high on MDMA lately...

Here's a conversation we had recently:
xTian: hey
xTian: so someone goes
xTian: "arigato" to you
Kentaro: hey
xTian: what do you say back?
Kentaro: 'domo'
xTian: what's that mean
Kentaro: it means 'screw you'
xTian: serious?
xTian: that doesnt seem like what i want to say
xTian: who is this person, is this bruno? where's ken
xTian: i want to speak to ken
Kentaro: actually, 'domo' might not be it. let me get back to you on that
xTian: the f*ck?
Kentaro: hey
xTian: ?
Kentaro: 'domo' is 'thanks'
xTian: whats arigato mean?
Kentaro: "doitashimashite" = "you're welcome"
Kentaro: arigato also means thanks
xTian: awesome
Kentaro: i think arigato is more formal
xTian: you are japanese right?
Kentaro: i think so

Evil thinks he's caught up in in the undertow of our downward spiral...any thoughts?

Famous and Important People Read the Hose!!

Check out this dialogue from last week's episode of The O.C. (2x02- The Way We Were)

SETH : One of an outcast maybe, but at one point I was a vital part of the Harbour Club Scene...

RYAN: There's a Harbour Club scene?

SETH: Yeah...yeah...sailing club...golf club and uh...wait for it...wait for it comic book club. Check this out.
(Seth hands Ryan a flyer for the Comic Book Club, with a drawing of Seth on the front)

RYAN:who's this guy?

SETH:thats me with powers...the power to be handsome.

RYAN: I think this might explain the whole outcast thing...

SETH: No ryan it doesn't! Do you have any idea how much SpiderMan 2 made at the box office man? We're not outcasts anymore! OK! We're edgy...we're like trailblazers!

RYAN: "we"?

SETH yeah dude...why don't you get this involved, you me and possibly others...

Does this dialogue remind you of anything?

While we're on the subject, the writers of The O.C. (I mean you, Josh Schwartz!) are clearly comic book freaks, check out this character's later attempt to marginalize Superman...


SETH: Who's your favorite super hero?

ZACH: Depends who's writing him but I have to say Superman

SETH: (PHEW) (shaking his head turning to Ryan) this guy...(to Zack) He's too perfect, guy!

ZACH: No, he seems perfect but he's not...In fact, if you think about it, he's kind of messed up. I mean he's lost his parents, he's lost his whole planet...and this is a guy who could take over the world if he wanted but he doesn't. He just keeps helping people. Why would he do that, you know? Unless...he's just trying to make a connection...

SETH: Who's your favorite writer?

ZACH: Bendis

SETH: Well, hot damn! Welcome to the club!


Anyone got access to old postings from The Anti-Life. I'm pretty sure, Jon-El tried to build a similar case for himself...

Vote or Die!

My mental state has devolved to such a point that I can't even make the most mundane decisions. So I turn to you, reader(s) of The Hose. Please weigh in:

Should I purchase a Roomba?

Meeting Me Online

Evil

I wish there were some kind of online dating website where, for $24.95 a month, I can go on there and meet myself. I would hop on there, log in (username = "massivecock1976"), and read a deep and insightful profile -- of me. The profile would tell me things that I've always wanted to know about myself. For example: What kind of person am I? What kind of person am I to be around? What do I like to do in my spare time? In lieu of knowing any of this, I've spent the last 28 years making crap up.

On multiple occassions, I've had (female) friends say to me, "It's unfair that I am honest with you about what goes on in my life, but it doesn't work the other way around."

To this, I am always tempted to say, "Listen, wench, I'll be honest with you right after I learn to be honest with myself."

But instead, what I usually do is awkwardly and ungracefully change the subject. Something like this: "Huh? What? Please understand that there's a giant hole in my heart, the place where most people store their love. (*Nervous laughter*)"

This is usually followed by the rolling of eyes, but nevertheless, the subject has been changed.

It would be great if this online dating website had an email feature, so I can email myself with pointed questions. Stuff like: "Tell me about your parents and your family in general" and "Why would you be a good person to date, other than being a good lay?"

Anyone who know more about this "Internet" thing... please let me know if such a website exists.

Happy Birthday, GWOAMTSOHC!

Dear Girl Who Once Asked Me To Sit On Her Coat,

Happy Birthday! I'm sorry I didn't make it to your party last night, but then again, you probably wouldn't have remembered me. You asked me to sit on your coat about two years ago. I refused. You insisted. It was awkward. In lieu of having actual friends, I am now mentally pretending that people with whom I've had even the most insignificant conversation are now friends of some sort. Woooo!

Anyway, I hope you ended your birthday in your birthday suit.

Bye,
Evil

Evil

I am feeling like a champ! WOOOOO!

Intervention Needed

I am sort of worried about my erstwhile chum Evil, and clearly I should do something about it. But this inclination is countermanded by my own laziness. Yes, in this case my better angels are beaten by my favorite mortal sin, sloth. That sloth guy is always mucking up all my plans. Here's the situation as I described it...

I had decided earlier today that this evening would be dedicated to finishing the book I'm reading A Gentleman of Leisure by the comedic writer, PG Wodehouse. Within two minutes I was so bored I ran out in the rain to fetch a burrito.

On the way back from Taco Bandito I decided to ring up Evil, again bored by the mundaneness of walking 1.2 blocks. When he answered, I note that Evil was somewhere between stage 1 and 2 sleep. I implored him to do better, mentioning that it was not even yet 8pm. I challenged him on this

"bro, what are you up to?"

(curtly)"nothin'"

"are you alright"

"yeah"

"were you sleeping?"

"yeah"

"why?"

"i dunno"

"are you depressed?"

"yes"

After that the conversation tailed off, I chose not to press him any further. The odd part is, that if the shoe were on the other foot and he had called earlier in the day, he would have found me in a similar similar emotional state.

Evil

TAUNTING VICTIM

I just called the Chinese restaurant and ordered a General Tso's Chicken. Yes, that was very generic of me, but that's not the point of this post. The girl on the phone asked for my address and I gave it to her. You see, my address is the same as the Chinese restaurant's address. They are immediately downstairs from me. The girl on the phone was like, "Oh, same building" but the tone of her voice made it clear she really meant to say, "Oh, you lazy f-ck".

Fear and Self Loathing

You ever debate being honest with someone? I do. It's a decision I have to make every 45 seconds or so (or at least lately). It's funny because people always imagine me being brutally honest. Really what I'm doing though, is speaking in overly long winded sentences and then hiding my lies behind a wall of curt and assertive statements which thanks to to the juxtaposition come off as very "honest sounding". But I digress...the point is after all, the internal debate.

The debate is pretty simple. What's the reaction going to be to this genuine moment of honesty, this one time you decide to stand up and wave your hands in the air and are like "Here I am! This is who I am! Please care!" Romantics (and suckers) like to call it "bearing your soul". But really its just about revealing what's actually going on up there in the back corner of your head, the part with all the landmines, that place that dashboard confessional came to fear the most, in that one song, that one time. The truth of the matter is that the first time you reveal some genuine truth about yourself...that first reaction - its the first real acceptance/rejection of you as a person. Everything outside of that is false and can't be counted.

What if she giggles at you? In a cute way, because you're being cute? Is that the greatest day ever? Could be...who's to say? Never really happened to me....

What if she laughs out loud at you, revealing her molars and maybe finish off with a coughing fit? That would not feel good at all. It would feel down right shitty in fact. Not only are you being rejected, you're being rejected as completley ridiculous. Sad Clown Time...Sad Clown Time indeed

What if she starts crying? Granted its not probable, I've never made someone cry with honesty, but have with out in out lies. It's not probable but its also in the realm of the possible...

Who knows why I'm even thinking about this....

Evil

DO I EVEN EXIST?

Part 1. We're having a training event in the office this week, which means that various other people fly in from other offices for the training. Whenever we have these trainings, there is always an impromptu dinner-and-drinks thing that happens afterwards. Yesterday was no exception. By 4pm, people were buzzing around telling other people where and when to meet. Everyone was like, "Alright!" because dinner-and-drinks on the company tab is always a great thing. I guess it's great for everyone except me because no one invited me, so I just went home.

Part 2. I understand that XTIAN had lunch with Kentaro a couple of days ago. Was it a romantic lunch? If not, why wasn't I invited?

Part 3. I understand that XTIAN had dinner with Sleeve last night. Was it a romantic dinner? If not, why wasn't I invited?

Conclusion. Nobody likes me.

Evil

SCENE FROM THE SUBWAY
(this morning, R train, heading downtown)

The guy sitting across from me is reading the morning paper. He has one brown eye and one glass eye. The glass eye is horrendous and pale and bulging too much out of his head. The poor guy, he didn't get properly fitted for his glass eye.

His one good eye moves a lot when he reads the paper. It zigs and zags, back and forth. Real fast. I guess your good eye has to work harder when you only have one. Maybe it's sort of like losing a kidney... your other one grows by up to 40% to handle the extra load.

He spots me staring at him, so now he's trying to keep one eye on his paper and one eye on... Oh wait. He only has one eye total so he is visibly troubled at this point. His eye jumps betweent he paper and me and for the love of God I just can't stop myself from staring. Now he is practically staring at me and I am practically staring at him, but my eyes are fixed on his glass one, not his good one. We are both visibly uncomfortable. Now he slumps down in his subway seat. He lowers his eyelids, almost closing them. He puts the newspaper over his face and just sits there, slumped and motionless.

Evil

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ME

Apparently, I've been walking around all day with a sizeable, noticable coffee stain on the front of my shirt. Noticable, that is, to everyone but me. :-(

Evil

Props to this blog for being funny and making fun of those asswipes on the NYT wedding announcements pages.

Don’t touch him there!!!

Australia’s flatworm pseudoceros bifurcus is a hermaphrodite. In order to copulate, they stab each other with their penises- a practice dubbed “penis fencing” by very bored scientists. These are the critters that porn was made for! But “stabbing” does not mean “fencing”. Besides, only one out of every six of their strikes leads to successful insemination, and when it’s over, they’re both left on the bathhouse floor, severely wounded. Emotionally as well as physically. I only bring it up because the symptoms sounds awfully familiar? At least to me...

Evil

TOUGHENING UP, FOR ONCE

I spent this past Sunday lounging on my couch, I like do on most Sundays. I lounge in such a way as to suggest that there's no muscle mass in my body whatsoever. When I lounge, I am shapeless. I am structureless. There is nothing to sustain the weight of my head. Such is the state of my physical being.

On this particular Sunday, I watched the NYC Marathon on TV. Some British chick with a crazy bobbing head won on the women's side. On the men's side, some American dude was in contention and I was rooting for him not because he was American per se, but because he had these cool ass knee-high socks. I gotta get me some of those!

Watching the marathon got me thinking... it's time to toughen up! Yes, my friends. You are indeed thinking what I'm thinking:

XTIAN and Jon-El, you two are signing up for the 2005 NYC Marathon. You have exactly 1 year (umm, minus a couple of days). Start training. Just to set the example of toughness for you two, I will do it too. In fact, I started training as of Sunday night! Ran 0.25 miles on the treadmill and lemme tell you, I WAS SPENT! But last night, I did a full 1.0 mile. That's a 4x improvement!!! Let me take a moment to flex. WOOO!

Evil

MY BLOG IS IN THERAPY

Do you ever read other people's blog posts and make very personal judgements about them? Even if you don't know (or hardly know) that person in real life? I do that ALL THE TIME!

For example, everyone should check out this ass-funny post by the aforementioned Jon-El (see Dork Wannabe, below). On the surface, that post is 100% humor, but my friends, there is a much deeper meaning!

You see, Jon-El is what you'd call an Academia Lifer. You know, the kind of person who rummages around the university, "researching" one thing or another, all in pursuit of weird-ass letters to attach at the end of one's name. But Jon-El recently left the warm embrace of academia to make the big bucks in industry. But man, after I read that post, after doubling over in laughter, I thought some more and it really made me sad. It's like a guy who's thrown in jail for murder and he serves his time for several decades and then one day, his time is up -- he's paid his debt to society to so let him out. But the only life he really knew was the one behind bars. So what does he do? He commits a crime, just to be thrown back in jail.

Poor Jon-El.

Evil

Speaking of weddings, I need some advice. This is serious...

Two days ago (Nov 5th), I get a wedding invitation in the mail. It's from a High School friend of mine. We still see each other, on average once a year. Usually at someone's wedding or New Year's Eve party. He's getting married and it's taking place on Nov 20th.

Are you asking the same question that I asked myself? "So was I a third-tier invite, or a fourth-tier invite?"

There's one caveat though: The invitation was send to my old-old address, so it actually had to get re-routed by the post office twice. There wasn't a date stamp on the envelope, but still... how long can two re-routings actually take.

So here is my question: WHAT SHOULD I DO?

Ever write a wedding card for anyone?

In the past, when I have stuck to "on registry". It's pretty easy. Most of these stupid websites, only let you put in a message worth about 250 characters or something stupid. Who can communicate any real emotion in 250 characters? Certainly not I, I'm a fucking windbag. I need at least 10x that to say hello (or explain photosythisis)

For Balls and Sandy's wedding, I went "off registry" for a couple of reasons, most of which are not worth sharing with the 8 of you. So, because I went off registry, I could not pull my pattened, "order-something-20-minutes-before-I-go-to-the-wedding-and-blame-Willaims-Sonoma-dot-com" move. So I let the thing sit for 6 friggin weeks, at least part of it was their fault of course, I mean who goes on a honeymoon and doesn't pick up their cell phone? Who drinks for two weeks straight while the Red Sox were making their improbable run. However, about 3 weeks ago, I ran out of fucking excuses so now the blame is firmly mine...WAH!

Anyway, writing the card is hard, I mean dude, the 250 character limit is such a life saver, sure you can't communicate any real emotion, but you also spare yourself the internal debate of how/where to place a penis joke or whether or not to mock Manolo's faca-bruta! 250 characters
"all the best...Please still like me" is about the start/end of it.

Now I got all these decision points. It's crazy. I'm a witty guy, its expected of me. In public, I can communicate elocution and love for expletives in a single sentence. Intonation is also key. I rely on intonation heavily, does intonation come across in writing? Of course, not! I'm walking around writing and reading out loud. Now I'm calling people and subjecting them to whatever the fuck is going on in my head

"would that offend you?...Now pretend you're Balls or Sandy...Would it offend you now? Strike it? Are you off your fucking rocker...I have to be funny its expected of me. I can't let these people down...What the fuck do you know about it? That's why no one likes you anyway!"

It's just not fair to anyone, most of all me! It's really too fucking stressful, Maybe Jon-El was right all along. I started this at 4:30 its now 6:45. SOMEBODY HELP!

I won't even get into the fact that I'm too hung over to hold a pen steady...

Attack of the Dork-wannabes

Any one give this a read? I did and I have some thoughts.

First, some level setting:
I'm a big time, dork. A well cultured, well spoken and occasionally charming dork, but a dork nonetheless. I was fucking with computers when I was four, I have been reading comic books since I was 6 and I can almost word for word repeat dialogue from Star Trek the Next Generation. I was/am a mess. END OF LEVEL SETTING

Why is there such a thing as a dork-wannabe. Well, that's easy. Remember 1999? Prince thought it was going to be a party and to a degree it was, but the not kind he imagined. Instead of crushed purple velvet and hedonistic behavior we had square rimmed glasses, ironic comments and technophilia. That's right dork wannabes is what sprung up in the wake of the dot.com society.

Suddenly geek culture overran everything, to the point that when the party ended its influence remained eternally etched of the zeitgeist of modern society. Star Wars (Eps IV and V at least) were cool. The X-Men and Spider-Man were cool. Seth Cohen,the second lead on The OC, is the epitome of this phenomenon. When we meet him he is the extreme dork with no friends, spending all his time reading comics and playing 25 year old records in his house. By the end of the first season, he's dumping the hottest chick in school?? Weird. Here's a more personal example: When I got to Berkeley, everyone was given a tee-shirt to represent our membership in the class of '04. Each cluster/cohort was given a different color, but they all had some variation of this logo:



Was I the only one to notice, that I and my fellow blue cohortians, look like we fell out of a Fantastic Four Fan Club meeting? I think not...

The point is, why wouldn't someone want to be a dork? We're the coolest shit out! WOOOOO! I'm not attacking Jon-El's cred (Jon-El HEH!...go read your Superman comics to make sense of that reference). I'm just trying to make him earn it a little bit. Why does Jon only get to be a dork when its cool? Shouldn't he have to put up with the indignity of being a dork in the late 80s in order to claim some of the reward? I'm just saying you have to put in the time, to get the cred. Not that I wish such extreme marginalization on anyone, I mean look at what it did to poor Evil. The poor guy is so scarred he lashes out at everything in site.

So I'm sorry Jon-El. I'm sorry that I can't accept you into my little club with open arms. Its just not going to happen, like a short person suddenly blessed with a huge cock or the ugly girl in middle school that is the first to sprout huge mammories, I'm going to make you work for my acceptance as long as humanly possible, or at least till the "dorks are cool movement" is over. In which, case I'll let the whole thing go and/or possibly apologize.

Evil

It has been brought to me attention that some of our readers do not like me. All I have to say is, SCREW YOU!!!

Evil

Graduate schooling notwithstanding, I watched as XTIAN self-defeated and self-destructed. Although I didn't stick around for the final result. So if you wanna know, you have to ask him.

Evil

SCENE FROM A STARBUCKS
(92nd & 3rd)

Three girls at the table next to me, all mid-to-late 20's and decently normal looking. The blonde scratches the surface of "attractive" on a good day. She does most of the talking. She talks fast. Hardlyanyspacesinbetweenherwords,sortoflikethis. The two brunettes talk fast too. The sounds they make are reminiscent of clucking hens. I expect them to peck at thier lemon poppyseed muffin in between sentences. I expect the pecking to be quick and ferocious, if only to keep pace with the whole scene.

The blonde is talking about work, still talking fast. The brunettes listen intently and here and there they scatter an "Oh my God!" and sometimes a "Wow! THAT is aMAZing!" Once, they chimed "Oh my God!" in almost perfect unison.

I sort of lose track of the conversation for a bit, perhaps out of boredom or perhaps I was distracted by thoughts of putting a bullet in my head so as to not have to listen the sounds of three girls clucking. The blonde is now talking about trying to get in to grad school:

"Imean,Ijustdontknowwhathappened. Imean,me? Gettingbelowthemeanonverbal? Imean,me?"

One of the brunettes is like, "Oh my God!"

"Imean,Ijustdontknowwhathappened!" repeats the blonde.

It's weird how some people don't realize how stupid they really are. She doesn't know what happened? This girl clearly has the intellect of toothpaste. At that moment, I found myself wondering why I wasn't born as good looking as I am smart. (I would be ruling the world by now!) And then I wondered what would happen if the blonde girl suddenly became as smart as me, if only for one day. I think her had would explode. Probably by noon. Being me is not as easy and carefree as it seems, but I guess I manage...

Evil

TEAM RACHEL TAKES LONDON

Finally, I got a chance to witness Mr. Shoulders operating in his own element. Man, first of all, let me just say that I've noticed some pretty fine looking Indian coochie floating around this city. Mr. Shoulders, with his big shoulders (is that redundant?), big money, and prestigious "VP" title must be pretty busy with all that ass he's getting.

So anyway, on Wednesday night it was Mr. Shoulders, The International Man of Mystery (TIMOM), Kentaro, and me at dinner. We went for Indian food, or was that Bangladeshi, or was it Indian but owned by Bangladeshi? They are all brown people to me, but TIMOM was having none of it. He subtly exerted moral superiority by pointing out that essentially all Indian restaurants are owned by Bangladeshi, because it's the Bangladeshi who are the entrepreneurs. I thought fists were about to fly right there, but luckily, I was amply distracted by the beer in my hand and a hot piece of English ass sitting at the table next to me. (BTW- That girl nearly got bowled over my an Indian waiter, and as he shoved her, he grumbled, "Get out of my way!")

I learned a few things about Mr. Shoulders that night:

1. His rent is GBP1100/month, which in USD is something obscene, like $1.34 million, or perhaps something like $2000/month or whatnot. But still. Mr. Shoulders is rolling in money.

2. Mr. Shoulders would never (or in his own words, "NEVER!!!!!!") buy a used car. Likewise, Mr. Shoulders would "NEVER!!!!!!" have a used woman. Damn, that guy set the bar high.

3. Mr. Shoulders is returning to the States in March 2005. Get ready people. There is going to be a Welcome Back / Birthday Party in the works. This time, I'll take care of ordering the stripper, so we can actually have one that shows up on time and doesn't mention the 2 kids that she has so as to make everyone in the audience feel guilty.

I also learned one very important thing about Kentaro aka The Enigma. That guy just managed to engineer the ousting of his direct manager. As such, there's now a huge power vacuum within Ken's group and there Ken is... ready to fill the void. That guy is a genius.

OC Recap

The OC was back last night, with billboards and ads that stated "The first ten minutes will change everything!"

Well, not quite. Actually all the first ten minutes did was recap the season 1 finale and give us a chance to check out Rachel Bilson, greased up and in a bikini. Mischa Barton was also in a bikini, but her character is really annoying and as someone pointed out to me yesterday she has "cankles". Cankles can be tolerated in certain instances but on such a skinny girl, its down right freakish. There were also a bunch of greased up half naked guys fixing up Sandy and Kiki's house but who can notice that when you got Peter Galagher's eye brows stealing the show!

In other news, Seth spent all summer hanging out with Luke and his gay dad in Portland. He hates his parents for making Ryan go away but misses Summer because he loves her. A sentiment he communicated really well at the end of last season by "sailing away". Ryan embraces his inner chino-ness. Right down to a silly camera shot of him giving pounds to a bunch of junior vatos riding by on a bicycles. In the end, Ryan steps up and brings Seth back to the Cohens. And since Teresa lied to Ryan about a miscarriage he decides its more than alright to leave his wifey- miscarried (not), alone, and scared-and return to his home - which shall heretofore be referred to as The PoolHouse of Solitude.

Also, (a drunk) Marissa has the most annoying hissyfit ever (MAHE) and Josh Schwartz subjects us to more characterization by prop when Summer finally dumps Seth by returning a 12in London Calling and assorted issues of JSA.

Even a guest appearance by Mr. Oats could not restore any of this angst-ridden show's season 1 sunniness.

Gayness for the Day
About a year ago, I downloaded the Postal Service Album - Get Up. I never listened to it, but kept hearing the atari like sounds from their hit - Such Great Heights in movies and commercials. The other day while running I noticed I had put the album on my iPod and listened as I ran. One song stuck out - Brand New Colony - wherein a guy meets a girl and tries to get her to go away with him and build...you know...a brand new colony...which i suppose is a metaphor for the sappy sentiment of building a life together...

What a great song, so great a song I had to sing it on the subway this morning..I was caught singing the following verses

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth.
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony.

Damn my iPod!

Evil

I am hurting. I mean physically, not emotionally (for once).

Evil

WILLIAM REHNQUIST DEATH POOL

Readers of The Hose: The game is on!!! Here's how it works:

1. You predict the date and time at which William Rehnquist (Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court) will kick the bucket.

2. Email your official entry to thehose@gmail.com.

3. Closest prediction WITHOUT GOING OVER wins all.

Entry fee: $20 USD per entry. Multiple entries per person welcome. (Sleeve knows about multiple entries per person!)

Evil



"My name is Hillary Clinton and I'm... REPORTING FOR DUTY!"

Bizarre stuff going On

This whole presidential thing hit me harder than I anticipated. There were actually two separate times this morning when i almost cried. I need to toughen up. How can my manishness hold up if I cry everytime a decomposing presidential candidate looses.

I'd like to think that democrats could compete if they ran someone from the North East. I'd like to just blame John Kerry for being a crappy campaigner, having the charisma of a newt, and for being someone who just can't seem to make up his mind about anything.

I'd like to do this because it would be very easy. But I think its a gross over simplification. I think the end result is that I, as a north eastern elitist liberal hippie have nothing in common with a disproportionate part of this country. Too bad.

For whatever reason, the only thing that made me feel better this morning was buy a pair of pink monkey cuff links. What does that say about me?

I am going to step off towards century 21. There might be a pair of Bruno Magli's there that can keep me from crying the rest of the night.

OH,btw Watch LOST tonight and The O.C. returns tomorrow!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Hose & the NY Times

I have gotten a lot of positive feedback regarding my post via emails and phone calls. Of course, I am way beyond that...I don't do it for the adulation of my fans. I don't let it feed my ego and take to stratospheric levels. I don't go on and say how I am probably solely responsible for taking the number of readers past the "never thought possible" number of 10.

That's just not me...At the same time, I feel a little bit let down by the Hose management. It seems that our PR department its not doing enough to get the Hose on more mainstream media. All I know its I go online to the NY Times and there are bunch of inferior blogs in their Op-Ed Page.

We need a new publicist...that's all I am saying!

Evil

Hey, Happy Election, people! Play fair. Outwit, outsmart, outlast. Oh wait, that's Survivor. The patriot that I am, I'm off to England! Gonna maybe smoke a couple of fatties on Oxford campus while you crazy Yanks sort out your election mess.

Evil

HALLOWEEN COSTUMES THAT MIGHT GET YOU AN ASS KICKING

One.I missed the company Halloween festivities this year because I was in-flight from California back to New York. But when I got in to work today, I did see the pics that people were emailing around. My favorite Halloween costume this year? Three people from the office dressed up as iPod ads, you know, like this ad:



Think about this for a sec. Their costume went like this:

1. Wear all-black clothing
2. Wear an iPod on your belt and white earbuds in ear
3. Wear blackface

DUDE! They were in blackface. Was that OK? On Halloween or otherwise? Somehow, I think if I did that, my would have been swallowing my own teeth before the day was thru. DOUBLE STANDARD!!!

Two. Had I not had to miss Halloween, I think I would have gone as a Krumper. You know, a break dancing clown. In preparation, I asked XTIAN:

"Hey, should I apply clown paint directly to my face, or should I paint my face black first and THEN apply the clown paint."

I was told -- not in a subtle way -- that I was looking for an ass kicking.

DAMN. Why me?

Evil

ELECTION PLANS

Yo people, impromptu State Recount Debacle Party, sponsored by The Hose. Party at XTIAN's pad. Bring beer and 3 gallons of water per person, in case riots break out.

We are also in the early stages of planning the followup party, tentatively named Sandra Day O'Connor Picks The President Party. Bring a likeness of Clarence Thomas to hang in effigy. Also bring pot.

[Please insert your 527 ad here]

Rewind 4 years to the year 2000. I am in NYC flipping between CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News as they called the election for Gore and then Bush and then they all took it back. I remember watching and reading about the recount fiasco…I remember the hanging chads, the pregnant chads, the swollen chads. I remember the political operatives storming the offices where the counting was being done...I remember people shouting obscenities at each other…I remember the signs…I remember the emotions…I remember wanting to be part of the chaos…

Fast forward to the year 2004…My dream has become reality…I am not in a BLUE or RED state where the election is already decided. I am not in the bleacher seats with the common folk...Oh yes, its true…I am in a swing state baby!!!

I got to tell you it feels great to be wooed…You actually feel like somebody when every one is trying to register you outside of a supermarket. I don’t think I was prouder of general Voter Registration efforts than when the strippers at Club Madonna (shout to Xtian, little big head, and ScottyPark) asked me if I had registered to vote…I like taking people down a peg or two by giving them thumbs down or the finger whenever I pass a corner with people trying to rally their base...

I have been involved in non-partisan registration drives…I tried really hard to score tickets for the first presidential debate… I have seen signs being taken down, ripped to pieces…I have seen all sorts of graffiti and obscenities on posters, banners, cars and home-made signs… I have seen all sorts of metaphors and imagery involving wolves, eagles and ostriches…I have been seen every single 527 ad out there whether it’s Swift Vets for truth, Moveon.org, the Media fund, or Porn stars for Kerry.

On Friday, I was stuck in traffic as Bette Midler, Bruce Springsteen and Kerry led a rally as I made my way in downtown Miami with a date (story to come later). Today I had George drive right in front of my house with his 50 motorcycles, 25 black and white SUVs with 2 story high antennas, and silent black helicopters flying overhead…Laura waved to me from the Presidential limo and I promptly return the gesture…I don’t know if the secret service will be paying me a visit because my gesture involved the use of the middle finger….we will see.

Anyways, Florida has had early voting going on for the past week or two but I am waiting until Election day to vote…I want to be at my polling station come Tuesday and see what sort of chaos develop. I want to stand in line for two-three hours with a copy of Maxim (if this month’s issue has been read by the time election time rolls around, Maxim will be substituted with Hustler) under the sweltering sun and yell obscenities and go on long winded tirades to any international observers or party lawyers or press that may be at my polling station and tell them that one of the primary reasons I left my third-world country was to escape communism or imperialism or terrorism or any other isms I could throw out so I could vote and have my ballot counted.

I am going to finally make it inside and then I am going to stand in front of one of those new shiny electronic voting machines. I will take as long as possible until a poll worker offers to help me. I will refuse any help he/she decides to offer saying that “no, no I got this..its just like my ATM machine” or “I don’t know who to vote for” or “sorry but I haven’t made my mind on Proposition 7”…

I am then going to stand a little bit longer with a puzzled look in my face…I will smack the machines a bit, lift them up, look on the sides, look in the back…I will then ask an inexperienced poll worker that my voting machine its not printing out a receipt for me. They will tell me that there are no receipts printed. I will ask them how are they going to do a recount if there is no record. I will tell them how my local ATM prints out a receipt and that I am not leaving until I get a receipt for my vote.

I will eventually get hungry and go home and eat some cheese. I will then relieve the year 2000 by flipping between CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News until a clear winner is firmly declared the next day around 1:00 PM or so…I think that’s the way it will turn out.

Of course, I am ardently hoping that no one obtains an absolute majority of electoral votes for president. I am crossing my fingers, salivating at the lips at the slim chance that electoral college ends up tied 269 to 269 and that our glorious House of Representatives gets to pick the next leader of the free world…

What a glorious fucking civics lesson that would be!!

Evil

Getting fired because of your blog sucks. That's why everyone should have nicknames.

Evil

WILD ON... LONDON



Impromptu Team Rachel gathering in London this week. Except that the role of Big Head will be played by Raihan (who shall henceforth by known as The International Man of Mystery -- or TIMOM). Why isn't XTIAN going to be there you ask? Well, we are all asking the same question. First of all, this guy has like 6 weeks of use-it-or-lose-it vacation to take before Dec 31. You do the math. Secondly, this guy has been employed for 6+ months now and hasn't been asked to do a lick of work. I am not sure what's keeping him away from London, but my guess is that there's some kind of tension between XTIAN and Mr. Shoulders.

This London trip is already looking dubious for me. First of all, I can't seem to find any hotel for under $400/night USD. If that's how much hotels are going for, I don't even want to think about how much hookers-with-decent-teeth are going to cost. Secondly, I have no idea where I'm supposed to be in London. It turns out that Yahoo Maps and Mapquest don't work for London. Now what? I found this other maps of London but the streets are CRAZY LOOKING, sort of like Boston, except on crack. I give myself a 25% chance of actually getting to this meeting I need to be at.

Anyway, assuming I actually get there, I might take some pics and post them for you -- my loyal readers -- next week. Laterz, suckas.

Evil

Everywhere I go, people ask me, What is The Hose? What IS The Hose? Well, it's time to set the record straight.

The Hose is low in carbs. The Hose is an American Revolution. From the creators of Shrek... The Hose. The Hose is not yet rated. The Hose starts December 1st, in theaters everywhere. Sign up now, and get a free month of The Hose. The Hose is everything you want, you got it. Prepare for the season premier... television's biggest hour... The Hose. If you're counting calories, drink The Hose. Be sure to tell The Hose what medicines you are taking. If you are taking an MAOI or pimozide, you should not take The Hose. Side effects may include upset stomach, trouble sleeping, dry mouth, and massive hard-ons. Experience the power within. The Hose. No luxury brand holds its value better than The Hose. The perfect marriage of beauty and brains. As easy as rinsing, as effective as flossing. The Hose is part of a healthy lifestyle. We want your children to live long and healthy lives. The clean crisp taste of brewery-fresh. Choosy moms -- and dads -- chose The Hose. Experience the power within.

From the NY Times, an article about Ralph Nader:

'So he spoke for nearly 90 minutes at a news conference, thrashing the "two-party electoral dictatorship of this country" and calling President Bush "a chicken hawk, draft-dodging, messianic militarist presiding over a no-fault government."'

Because I live in Chelsea, I know that a chicken hawk, in addition to being the petulant little fellow that followed around Foghorn Leghorn on the Looney Tunes cartoons is also a term in gay culture.

chicken-hawk - an older gay man who prefers the company of much younger gay men.

(all manner of bad photoshopping to follow)

Please move Boston over there, next to the Yankees...In that column there...Yes...PERFECT!

Over the past couple of year, instead of rooting for porous defense and sub-par pitching of my team, I have come to support baseball's GOOD STORIES. And nothing was a better story than the Red Sox! Here were a bunch of maniacs who seemed to revel in misery and only found peace when shooting themselves in the foot (hey! That sounds familiar...). They were a bunch of babied millionaires sure, but they did not seem to own a set of hair clippers between them. The Yankees of course, had the history and the twenty six titles and Derek Jeter is the consummate professional and blah blah! The Red Sox had Manny, who sauntered, Manny who could throw a guy out from deep left field with the same frequency he let a grounder get by him out there. Not only that but they lost, and not only did they loose, the lost SPECTACULARLY. They lost and you felt for them (assuming you were like me and you hated the Yankees). I couldn't give a crap about these guys unless they're playing the Yankees. Because when they lost it was dramatic and you felt it. Aaron Boone felt like a punch in the stomach. This is a metaphoric punch to the stomach, the punch to the stomach that Darren, Jeff and I saw a drug dealer lay on his girlfriend at the bar we in Oakland we watched the game at.

Yesterday was it for me because then they won! The hell!? I did not watch more than three pitches of the World Series (Pedro's pitches, of course) Who needs that, what about the curse? What about the Yankees? I don't show up trying to root for winners, I show up rooting for self defeat and scruffy batting helmets and crazy hair.

The worst part is, The Red Sox won, because unlike in previous years where they got out maneuvered by the Yanks. This year they beat the yanks at their own game. Getting the big name pitcher (Schilling) in the winter and picking up a bunch of guys for the stretch run ( Mankeiskzizkkqiwitz and Cabrera). So what does that make them?

The New Yankees! F*CK THAT! Stop this train I'm getting off.

I hate their f*cking fans anyway!

Evil

Dear God,

Whatup yo? How's the weather up in heaven? You think the winter will be mild this year? We've had two mild winters in a row in New York. Is it the Ozone layer, or were you just giving us a break? Anyway, dude... God, I was just watching the World Series. I take it you weren't watching. Were you distracted by something? The Red Sox won! Holy crap. Was it Mrs. God? Did she pull you away for the last 10 days? Perhaps you can undo this whole thing. A Mulligan. God gets Mulligans, no?

Be square with me, God. Who do you like better... me or Kentaro? Kentaro. Right. I figured as much. I don't get it though. Why Kentaro? Why Wilmer Valerrama? Why Michael Douglas? Why Mark Cuban? Why not me? Is it because my name is Evil? DUDE! That's just a nickname! Don't take it literally, yo.

So here's the deal... I was hoping you could help me out with a couple of things. Please. It would make a big difference. If you don't help me out, I might have to write a sad ass letter to Oprah. So anyway, here's what I'd like:

1. For my scrotum to sit nicely when I sit.

2. For this wacky open sore on my lip to go away.

3. For my mom to love me.

4. For anyone to love me, actually. (Not counting Manolo. That dude is a big fag.)

5. An all-access trip to the set of Sesame Street.

6. The phone number of a reliable drug dealer.

7. The respect, fear, and awe of young children.

8. Five golden rings.

9. The ability to fly.

10. Peace... or Reeses Pieces. Either one. I loooove Reeses Pieces.

Thanks God. You're the best!

Did the Red Sox actually Win the World Series???

Well, it finally happened...being a Yankee fan I was shocked when they beat NY in the ALCS but the fact that they just swept the Cards is an indication that the inevitable is happening.

Hell is freezing over...the world is going to end...

As a result, after some consultation via IM with a lawyer, I have taken the liberty of drafting an online last will and testament for members and readers of the Hose..

To Charles - A hug and a kiss (perhaps he will stop hating himself and white people and muslims and jews and hispanics and asians and everybody else so much. You have to start by loving yourself...I mean emotionally and not the physical way you do 4-5 times a day)

To Jweb - I leave him my 40 GB porno collection. (That man has his priorities straight...)

To Rina - Front seat at my funeral (Pretend we did it and it was good)

To Balls - To my freaking bastard irish white boy from boston I leave him a big FUCK U!

To RadicalVirgoChick - An invitation to spend our last days on Earth doing it...with me of course.

To Sleeve, Cheo, and other assorted readers - I am not giving you anything since I ran out of stuff BUT I will leave you with the admiration and respect that you already have for me...

To Xtian - I give him ALL my voting / non-voting shares of the Hose Inc. giving him majority control of the stock and full management control...

To the future Mrs. Evil - My approval and blessing in their holy union. Also, some cream to take care of that rash of his...

To Evil - I leave him Xtian (Editor's Note: Evil doesn't want him and gave him back. If no one claims him soon, he will have to be put down)

Where is everyone?


What's going on? Where's Evil at? Crumping somewhere? Sleeve is covering the beisbol for mlb.com so he's excused. But what's the story here? Can Pacey step up and write something funny. The schmoe gets on the phone and does a 5 minute bit on Real World/Road Rules-Battle of the Sexes, but can't be bothered to get off his bum and write it down?

Clownery...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Xtian executes a PERFECT Cut and Run!

The single greatest picture from Balls' wedding, taken seconds after Xtian rips his blazer off the back of a very cold Wendy (asian girl center)..makes a number of excuses, issues a solid thumbs up and hauls ass uptown...

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The full story is here