Thursday, January 28, 2010
“Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”
“Not tonight, madame; it’s nearly 3:00 pm!”
“Get some sleep or you’ll wind up fat, poor and stupid.”
“We've been over this before: fat people are bums. Now get into my bed before you catch a disease.”
“See that guy in grubby clothes with the huge lard-ass? He doesn’t know about my saying.”
“I don’t like the look of our fat new neighbor. I swear he stayed up all night, just staring out his window into our house . . . By George! He covets the bed.”
“What’s he building in there?”
“Are you guys still cool with my plan to torch the fat man’s house? I want him in Hell by sunrise.”
“Burn the beast’s body until there’s nothing left! Just do it. What? You're not having second thoughts, are you? Fine. Then, I'll just have to burn both of you. Hahaha! I am BENJAMIN!”
“No, officer, I have no idea who could have held a grudge against such a friendly, well-rested fat man. Would you care for one of my famous kites?”
"I can't believe I got away with it. As a little treat, I'm going to bed extra early tonight. We're all going to be rich and healthy!"
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Worse than Hitler?
A few years ago, the people of New York City got together and made a band called Vampire Weekend. This band has gone on to release two critically acclaimed albums and has been feted by everyone from Brooklyn hipsters to people who dream of one day visiting Brooklyn. Very well.
What concerns me is that in all the hubbub and musical excitement, we’ve forgotten a very important historical lesson: a genuine "vampire weekend"—a two-day period during which vampires run amok on our streets, bite our daughters and defecate in our malls—would be a disaster.
According to government sources, a vampire weekend would turn nine out of ten people into vampires and cause incalculably gross damage to our cities (I'm referring again to vampires shitting in malls).
Is this the future you want for your children or whatever?
Just say "no" to these diabolical music boys and their genocidal dreams.
And the next time you're at the mall, stop for a moment to admire the gloriously feces-free floors of our excellent society.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
My bully, a.k.a. "Pappa"
It brings me great pleasure to announce that today at 6:45 AM, my long-time bully, Luke, became the father of an adorable baby boy!!!
Bundle of joy
It was a beautiful occasion and even Luke's wife, Kayte, was in high spirits:
Luke has been my bully for over twenty years now, so I felt honored when he chose to force me to midwife his son against my will. I didn't know the first thing about delivering a baby, but Luke's ceaseless stream of verbal and physical threats meant that failure was not an option....
Kayte's tummy a.k.a. "The Forest of Arden"
After the hard work was finished (and I'd washed my hands) I had the opportunity to meet and share a beer with Luke's father, Steven. Coincidentally, we both love the show Prison Break.
Steven's wife, Vanna, was also in attendance. Even though she didn't speak English I got the gist of what she was trying to say. The gist of it was that she didn't like me.
The baby certainly is a chip off the old block. As I was holding it for the first time, the little fellow punched me in the eye, called me a "fag" and tricked me into revealing my PIN. Everyone wrote it down, and now I'm super worried about money.
Congratulations, Luke! Your son is lucky to have you as a father. One of these days I will fight back.
This I swear by the stars.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
When I first moved into my new apartment, I thought I'd literally died and gone to heaven. It had everything I'd ever wanted: windows, floors and a gorgeous full toilet that made all of my troubles disappear at the touch of a button. It seemed almost too good to be true.
Turns out, I have the worst neighbors in the world and they're making my life a living hell. Let me introduce you to the stupid idiots....
Jamie- apartment 14c
Jamie lives in the apartment next to mine and he's always doing anarchy. At first I thought it was endearing, but now I actually wouldn't mind a bit of law and order.
Doug- apartment 13a
Doug is always wandering the halls in his housecoat which hangs open in the penis area. Cover it up, buddy!
Jordan- apartment 11d
Jordan really gets my goat. Not a day goes by that he doesn't knock on my door to ask if he can die in my apartment. You wish, buddy!
Reuben Horowitz- apartment 12d
Reuben is always either yelling at women, lifting weights or recording spoken word albums that are neither funny nor interesting. He's the most overrated tenant in my building!
The McDonoughs- apartment 10s
These wrinkly rascals keep me up all night listening to old-school punk rock at full blast, skateboarding inside the building and having ear-splitting unprotected sex. A night in prison would straighten these two out.
Smokestack Johnson- apartment 9h
Smokestack has a knack for setting off the smoke alarms just as I'm settling down into a nice relaxing bubblebath. I hate him.
Iggy Pop- apartment 15h
Iggy is always causing blackouts in the building with his energy-sapping Bad Boy Machine. They say if he doesn't use it he'll just turn into a dessicated flap of skin, which would bring down the building's property value.
Anne Murray- apartment 9
Here's a thing Anne Murray never mentions in her song lyrics: she never holds the elevator door open for me. Try being polite for once, you huge old bag of ice.
Honestly, sometimes I wish I'd never moved into my beautiful apartment.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The dealer who sold you the painting asked you how many copies you wanted.
The painting is an elegant portrait of Billy Corgan. Noble though he may be as a subject, Picasso never painted him.
When you scratch the surface of the painting lightly with a knife, you hear it say “Ouch!” In this case, not only is your painting not a Picasso – it’s a man. If this happens, take the man off the wall and offer him a drink.
The bottom right-hand of the canvas reads “© 2005 Marvel Comics.”
You bought it at an Imaginus poster fair.
When you turn the painting upside down, the woman’s clothes disappear. (Your “painting” may in fact be a novelty pen.)
The painting looks like Guernica… but with Tupac in it.
Picasso never glued “googly eyes” or scratch-n-sniff stickers on to his works.
The painting drips blood when you pray.