Since screenplays, unwritten blogs and lottery tickets have failed to give me the money I need to quit my profession and focus on the things I cherished during my sabbatical (writing, bowling and weekday binge drinking), I’ve been trying to think of great sitcom ideas lately.
Here are a few that I’ve come up with.
A judge orders a convict, who was responsible for the brutal murder of a husband and wife, be freed from jail. The catch? The convict has to raise the kids of the man and woman that he killed. It seems like a dark idea, but they’re a lot of wacky episodes. For instance, one episode a social worker (who may be a reoccurring character, depending on whether Jennifer Aniston is interested in getting back into television) has to make sure that he’s doing a good job, and it causes his life to be turned upside down!!
If it bombs in the first season, I’ll have the convict kill the kids in the series finale. That way I can say that it the show wasn’t meant to be more than one season, making me look like someone who writes for the BBC. Also, the last line of the show can be the judge saying something like, “Well, golly, that was a bad idea!”
I Have to Fort
Three hundred kids attempt to built the largest fort in the world. Each of the first 300 episodes explores the background of just one of the kids. I figure that way I would be guaranteed to sign on for 300 episodes, giving me a writing gig for at least 15 years. Actually, due to artistic integrity, I would leave before season 12… and by artistic integrity I mean I wouldn’t be invited to the set anymore because my sketchy motorcycle entourage keeps freaking out the kids.
The last episode will finally show the kids trying to build the fort. Three minutes into the episode they will get bored of it and decide to play Xbox instead, and the remaining 19 the audience gets to watch kids play whatever the coolest game out at the time is.
A super conservative husband has to hide from his equally liberal wife the fact that he fathered the housekeeper’s teenage son.
Over two years after Canada hosted it’s 3rd Olympic games, the host countries most celebrated rapper is still salty over what he describes as the greatest injustice since Section 13(1) of the Canadian Human Rights Act (it states that it is discriminatory to communicate by phone or Internet any material “that is likely to expose a person or persons to hatred or contempt” (Canadian problems are adorable)).
“I should have been asked to take part in the opening ceremonies in Vancouver. They invited Wayne Gretzky, Steve Nash, and K.D. Lang, but no Snow? It’s whack! I’m still depressed about it. I’ve been a-licky-boom-boom down for the past two years.”
Snow sprung to stardom in 1993 with his hit single Informer, a song that made Caucasian-Canadian-Jamaican (was that Jamaican?) rap the newest craze. Informer not only taught privileged white kids in the early 90s to act like characters from Cool Runnings, but the song also helped an entire generation of Americans recognize that Canada is a real country. For those reasons, Snow felt that an Olympic Ceremony invite was guaranteed. He was sadly mistaken.
“They didn’t even have the decency to informer me that I wasn’t going to be a part of the festivities. How can they play Snow like that, mon? You know what I’m sayin, eh?”
Gregor Robinson, the mayor of the city of Vancouver, was unaware that the artist felt so slighted.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
On Valentines Day, I got a text at 7:54 pm from an unknown number that read as follows:
‘Uhm do u mind going to the lab with me tomorrow?’
It’s the most romantic Valentine’s Day text I’ve ever gotten. Unfortunately I knew the truth. Some lucky person was sent an invitation to have a good time in in either a chemistry, film, or meth lab, and this lucky person wasn’t me. Whoever sent this text had the wrong number. Being a mature adult, I decided to ignore it, figuring that the sender would soon realize the error.
The next night, around the same time, I got another text from the same number. This time, the text had a riveting question:
‘You know what?’
I was curious. I replied:
Two minutes later, I got my answer.
‘You’re a little hoe bag.’
It seemed so odd. This person, whom I’d never met, seemed to know everything about me. I am a little hoe bag. I replied.
‘Oh, I know, right!?!’
Five minutes later she wrote back.
‘Lol jk you little SPUD (;’
And there it started. My first friendship entirely communicated through text message. I had a textmate. And I was her little spud (I was now figuring, after referring to me as a hoe bag and a SPUD, that my textmate was female).
I wasn’t sure when I would hear from my textmate again. It didn’t take long.
‘Tmdrtmdrtmdr! I have a lot of venting to do!‘ – 2/16/12, 6:49 am.
6:49….. A.M. And since this was from an 847 area code I assumed that this person was texting from a suburb of Chicago, meaning that she sent this at 5:49 A.M. Who the hell has the energy to vent at 5:49 A.M.? I was way too tired to gain the strength to text from my 1974 Motorola Razor Phone, so I ignored it and went back to sleep, thinking that I should probably end this relationship as I dozed off.
‘So you know how I told you about Jill’s little crush Jon who messaged me?’ – 2/16/12 6:36 pm.
I got this about a half-hour after getting home from work, nearly 12 hours after she woke me up looking to do some pre-dawn venting. I told the gf what she texted me, and she said, ‘ok, I think it’s time to tell her she has the wrong number.’ She was right. This was enough. So I texted her back.
‘What about it?’
I’m sorry, but before I ended this relationship, I really wanted to know what happened with Jill’s crush Jon. It sounded like it was going to be juicy!
‘She messaged him trying to have a convo and he asked why she messaged him. lol.’
SCANDALOUS! Gossip to the max!
But seriously, that was the most disappointing response ever. I was hoping for, ‘he brought a gun to school,’ ‘he cut off his weenie in shop class,’ or ‘he got Mrs. Levins pregnant!’ Instead, I got word that Jon doesn’t know who Jill is. This gossip sucked, and I let her know it.
‘No way!! Really? ROTFLMAO!!’ (In teen talk, that translates to, ‘No way! Really? That is so funny that I am literally rolling on the floor, laughing my ass off!’)
I couldn’t stop. I’m not sure why. I don’t have unlimited texting, and at the rate that this teenage girl (I was now assuming that this girl was a teenager) was sending me messages, I would soon need to get a second job to cover my phone bill. She immediately got back to me.
‘Silly bo billy.’
Yeah, definitely a teenage girl.
The next day was Friday, and I was in great spirits because we were heading into a three day weekend, meaning an extra night of my weekend where I could drink heavily and regret that the fact that I didn’t go outside the entire day. While still at work, about 15 minutes before leaving for the weekend, I got a frantic message from my textmate.
‘Oh dear god help me, I might of left your note in Bridget Maloney’s locker!’
Previous texts were casual, but now she was having a crisis. It was time to be an adult and help her through this.
‘Baloney Maloney??? It guess it’s ok.’
I was a little nervous about this one. Not because I was now officially being creepy, but because whomever I was pretending to be had now officially referred to Bridget Maloney as Baloney Maloney. I might have just unintentionally gotten a middle school girls’ ass kicked, especially if Bridget Maloney was large and in deserving of the nickname Baloney. While thinking this, I got a response.
‘It’s not okay!’
It was time for this to end…
… after I figured out why it wasn’t okay.
‘Oh idk, mentioned jspat, jimmy, johnny, phil, cole, nbd.’ (In teen talk, I think that means ‘Oh I don’t know, I only mentioned J-Spat, Jimmy and Johnny, Phil, Cole! Everyone! No big deal’ (I’m not sure if that no big deal was sarcasm or not. Unfortunately it’s tough to portray sarcasm in text)).
At this point I was done entertaining this girl. If I was getting some juicy gossip I’d be willing to go on, but she had nothing. Her teenage life was more depressing than my adult life. I needed to get out of this. But how? I didn’t want to let her know that she had been texting a 30-year-old man for the last few days. It might embarass her, and also might lead to my arrest. After giving it some thought I texted her back.
‘I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number. I thought I’ve been texting my niece this whole time.’
Believable? I don’t know, I don’t have a niece. But if I did, I would refer to all of her friends with the last name of Maloney as Baloney Maloney, so maybe it wasn’t bad. She got back to me about an hour later.
‘Oh, haha! It’s ok, sorry about the mix up!’
And that’s how the greatest friendship I ever had ended.
On my way home the other day, with about 10 minutes to go before I reached my destination, I saw a man out of the corner of my eye taping up a sheet of paper on the subway. He taped the flier right as he was exiting the train, and the quickness in which he did it made him appear nervous. This made me extremely curious about what he had put up, and as I walked over to see what his sign said, I was not disappointed.
I was baffled by what I saw. I contemplated ripping it down and taking it home with me, but because it took time and bravery for this man to put himself out there the way he did, I decided instead to awkardly take pictures of it with my phone in front of disappointed strangers. Then I got home and recreated this sign to the best of my ability, using the exact verbage and use of upper and lower case letters that this man did. The only thing I altered was the phone numbers that he provided, because I didn’t want any readers to call this man and insult him. I refuse to have this website be involved in cyber-bullying.
Here is a picture of the creative and perplexing sign that this man put up.
When I saw it from afar, I thought that it was an advertisement for a dating service. Turns out I was right… it’s just that this service is only for one man, and this man refuses to fuck around. Lets start from the top.
There is no better way to begin a personal ad better than a misspelled oxymoron. Dating: one nite stands only. The only thing that dating and one night stands have in common is that they both lead to faithful housewives getting herpes. This man wants a serious date, and on this serious date he seriously wants to get busy and never talk to his date ever again. It’s as clear as a David Lynch film (FILM SCHOOL JOKE!!!!)
What is great is that this man provides two numbers to be contacted at. One of them is most likely his personal line, and the other is either the number to his work phone, his probation officer, or his annoyed niece’s cellphone, who continues to regret saying that she owed her uncle a favor after that time he got wine coolers for her and her 18-year-old friends.
As if this Cassonova even needed it, the rest of the flier provides a glimpse into what a one night stand with him would be like. There’s only one rule:
Men need not apply. This flier is for the ladies, and while grabbing a buddy and going out to get some cake and ice cream may sound like the perfect dudes day, this man has made it clear that he is looking for love with the opposite sex.
A first date, especially one that is absolutely required to end in sex, can be awkward in a variety of ways. While keeping up a conversation with a complete stranger and avoiding long pauses can be uncomfortable, it is figuring out activities to do in the hours before forced intercourse that can make a date seem more like a job interview. This man has taken care of it by listing an assortment of activities and places that, while at times extremely vague, and at other times appearing to be a possible spelling exercise, are fantastic date ideas.
“The fucking zoo’s closed” – Jerry Maguire.
Well, not in this man’s heart. The zoo is alive and kicking, and a great place to get to know your one night stand. It’s a common fact that smelling like elephant dung and monkey urine is the perfect aphrodisiac, especially in New York City, where the only thing that smells worse than the garbage ridden streets is the zoo.
Believe it ladies, your one night stand wants to crash the middle of a child’s birthday party with you. Before you get it on at his sick grandmother’s place, he wants you both to get a sugar high that will keep you up all night long. But don’t worry, this classy gentlemen will make sure you both leave before everyone realizes you didn’t bring a present. Also, I’m sure he misspoke when he referred to that 6-year-old girl as ‘the hot chick in the purple sweater.’
What the hell is a Dutch date??? I didn’t want to look it up on my computer in fear that illegal Dutch porn pop-ups would invade my hard drive, overriding the illegal Yugoslavian pop ups that I’ve grown to love.
I was also afraid that if I looked up Dutch Date online, I might be put on the F.B.I.’s sexual predator list, right next to the name of the gentlemen who posted this sign. But girls, don’t let this deter you. It could be adventurous, and who doesn’t like a little adventure? (answer: the Dutch)
Three times in his personal(ly depressing) ad, Don Juan puts the word ‘meaning’ before describing the perfect date. I’m not sure how to take this phrasing. Is he saying, ‘if you agree to a one night stand, that will mean you can go on a soda date with me?’ Or is he saying, ‘I will take you on a meaningful soda date.’ Regardless, I love how naughty and innocent this man seems at the same time. As filthy as I imagine a Dutch date is, a soda date sounds like the apitamy of innocence. That is until you realize that the soda is going to be followed by required love-making that you unknowingly agreed to the moment you dialed his number.
He put coffee date below soda date and right before cake and ice cream date. Call me crazy, but I think he slipped that one in to appear like an adult. I don’t know why. I personally don’t think this guy has anything to prove in regards to his maturity. He has two phone numbers. And he knows what a Dutch date is.
MID-BLOG UPDATE: I just looked up what a Dutch Date is. I couldn’t resist. This is the definition I found:
‘Dutch Date’ is a term that indicates that each person participating in a group activity pays for himself, rather than any one person paying for anyone else, particularly in a restaurant bill.
This guy is the coolest person on the planet.
This is my favorite of the ‘meaning’ trilogy. Meaning: window shopping. He’s once again letting his one night stand know that he does not have the funds to pamper her. In fact, the only two dates that involved him spending money were his meaning soda date and his coffee date. Lets be honest, he’s only going to buy you coffee is if the girl at the cash register has big boobs, and soda prices, while much more than they were when people actually went on soda dates, are still quite affordable. Plus, lets call them by what they really are: a dutch coffee date and a dutch soda date. Hand over that $1.42.
Most men want to put up a facad that they can afford to shower their dates with gifts. Not this Romeo. He’s telling her, ‘if you like nice things, on our date you’re only going to be able to look at those nice things through a window.’ Then he expects to get laid. It’s brilliant and cost effective, which is essential in this economic climate.
Wait, are you sure about this?
… cause books can be expensive.
Ah, that’s more like it. The library date is perfect foreplay before a one night stand. What better way to get her in the mood for a romp in the hay than taking her to an environment where you’re both surrounded by rowdy kids, stressed out teenagers, and old women who keep telling you to keep your voices down? I just hope the librarians don’t recognize this guy when he brings his date, because it’s likely he’s been kicked out of every library in Brooklyn for looking at porn in the computer lab.
At this point, the man who hung up his offer for a physical and terrifying relationship that will last no more than 4 hours has made it very clear on what he is looking for. He wants a woman now, and he’s willing to put up with all the typical female cake and ice cream bullshit as long as it ends with a little naughty time. But one thing is clear: he is NOT looking for love.
Or is he…
WHAT?!?!?! Meaning: maybe romance?? The most romantic thing he’s said up to this point is that he is willing to take out a female as long as she pays for her half of the bill. Now he’s putting it out there that he might be looking for something a little more serious than your average zoo-then-sex rendezvous? I can’t figure this man out. He’s a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a really filthy personal ad on a subway train. I just hope that he finds what he is looking for… because if not, I think a random female in my neighborhood will soon be murdered.
Thomas Swindle, New York City’s newest evil mayor, makes an astonishing announcement during his first televised appearance: he is offering ten million dollars to the first person who tickles Manhattan resident Carl Philmore to the point of urination. The city erupts in an elaborate search of Carl, who we find out midway through the film has been bullied by the evil mayor his entire life. It becomes an an elaborate game of hide and seek for Carl as millions of people look for him with fury in their hearts and tickles in their fingers.
Evil Mayor Thomas Swindle
That Kid from Freaks and Geeks that always looked scared
Who funded this project?
Macaulay’s most inspiring role since Michael Jackson’s ‘Black or White’ video. – Roger Ebert
… I thought of this terrible blog idea today when I was on the subway and thinking about how terrifying it would be if everyone on there with me wanted desperately to tickle me. Life inspires art.
One night a week my gal pal has evening classes, meaning that for a few hours after I get home from work I am able to do whatever manly thing I want. Finally, some time alone to let the man inside me (eww) come out in full force. So what do I do on these nights? Do I buy a steak, take my shirt off, crank up the pornography and practice my farting? No. In fact, so far my nights have been anything but those things.
Since classes just started, this is my second Bachelor Pad night of the year. Here is a recap of my first two.
BACHELOR PAD NIGHT #1
Last week my bachelor pad night started strong. I picked up some dinner and when I got home I was planning on watching Moneyball. Ultimate dude stuff… just as long as the fact that my dinner was generic frosted flakes is overlooked.
I got home and start preparing my mandinner when, out of nowhere, the largest cockroach that’s ever lived on this planet darts across the counter and into my sink. I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘You’re in New York now. This must be common place.’ It’s not. This was my fist cockroach, and he was the size of my fourth-grade music teacher. So, as any mature adult in this situation would do, I starting screaming profanities, all the while trying to trap this gigantic bastard under a plastic cup as he scattered quickly around the sink. While I ended up breaking the cup, I did not end up breaking the cockroach. He swiftly climbed out of the sink (which in itself is repulsive) and jumped to the floor. There he took immediate shelter under the small ledge between our floor and counter.
He stood still at that point. So did I. It was your classic Brooklyn standoff. Now what? I knew I had to kill it, and to avoid the years of therapy that I would need if I got a napkin and felt this midget crunch in my hands, I decided to put a shoe on and stomp the hell out of it. Unfortunately his positioning under my ledge made it impossible to tell where he was when I approached him, and after stomping hard on the area where he originally was, I came to find out that he escaped. Where he went, I’m not sure. But he was gone.
I went to the living room to go over my options.
Option 1: I could just leave the apartment and come back the day that we moved out, which at the earliest would be the summer of 2013. But I could find stuff to do until then. It’s the city that never sleeps.
Option 2: I could call the police and they could take care of it. NYPD doesn’t have that much to do, especially at night.
Option 3: I could call the landlord to come over and kill it. He’s a tough bald Russian guy, so it wouldn’t be embarrassing at all.
Pretty soon it became clear that my best play was to get some roach spray and douche my apartment in it. So that’s what I did. I got some Raid, sprayed the kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom, my body, my throat, all of the girlfriends jewelry and perfumes, and every piece of fruit we had (I’m kidding… we don’t have fruit). I bugproofed the apartment, and all it took was a $10 bottle of raid and 17 years off of my life expectancy after breathing in an abundance of toxic roach spray.
After that was done, I sat in the livingroom scared to death of the kitchen, and refused to get up and walk around in fear that the huge bastard would be around the corner looking to wrestle. BACHELOR PAD!
BACHELOR PAD NIGHT #2
Fast forward to this week and here I am. It’s Tuesday night. Bachelor pad night. I’m a 30 year-old man trying to relax after a hard days work, and I can do whatever I want. That being said, what was I doing before I starting blogging about how depressing my Bachelor Pad evenings are? What was I doing the one night where I am allowed to do whatever I want to in my apartment? Laying on my couch, wearing my pajamas at 7 pm (6 pm cst), eating Valentine’s Day heart candy, which is my desert after a hearty dinner of Capt’n Crunch Berries, and watching the second season of Lifetime’s breakout reality show Dance Moms.
not a joke
When I was a kid, I loved the Bubbles joke. Here it is, in its entirety:
Wanna hear a dirty joke? A kid fell in the mud.
Wanna hear a clean joke? The kid took a bath with Bubbles.
Wanna hear a dirty joke? Bubbles was the girl next door.
I laughed hard at that joke as a kid, way before I understood what it meant. Until I was nine I thought that his next door neighbor was literally a bunch of bubbles, and the thought of having a female neighbor who is made up of bubbles was completely hilarious to five-year-old Sean. Thirty-year-old Sean finds that notion pretty humorous also, but he has concerning adult questions about a female made up entirely of bubbles, such as how this bubble woman would be able afford life insurance since she can seriously go at any time, and what popping her che… forget it.
It seems like back when I was growing up, dirty jokes were fewer and far between. Don’t get me wrong, I heard my fair share. But they seemed more rare than they are today. Maybe it’s because adults back then kept them out of earshot from kids. I doubt that though. It was the 80s. The adults were too preoccupied with trying to keep their mustaches out of their mouths and their cocaine habits a secret to worry about kids hearing a joke with the word ‘boobs’ in it.
Now every joke I hear is a dirty joke. Maybe not so much in that it involves sexual content, but in that it is something that should not be repeated in public, at a job interview, or to anyone associated with the church. If someone above the age of 10 but under the age of 70 tells me a clean joke, I just stare at them, waiting for the word ‘balls’ to come out of their mouth. Then I tell them the one about the Russian who went to the strip club covered in poo.
(That’s not a real joke… but I really wish it was. If you can think of a punchline, please email it to firstname.lastname@example.org. Make the subject of the email, “Punchline for the joke about the Russian covered in poo going to the strip club”)
Because it was a rare treat to hear these types of jokes when I was growing up, to this day nothing makes me laugh more than cuss words and jokes about wieners, which is probably why I enjoy South Park so much.
Monday, January 2: Just got a full-years membership to the gym! They offered shorter memberships, but I won’t need it! This is the year! I know I said that last year, but I got that hip injury in early January after bowling and didn’t want to cause any permanent damage, so I had to stop working out. But now I have a whole year ahead of me and my hip feels fantastic. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I’m going to spend most of my time working on my triceps, biceps, and abs, with a little cardio afterwards. Tuesday and Thursday will be purely cardio, with maybe maybe other leg exercises also, but I don’t want to start out with too much. That’s what idiots do, and they don’t even make it to February.
My goal is 20 pounds. I’m hoping for more than that, but since I’ll be putting on some massive muscle it might make the weight loss more difficult. That’s what always happens on Celebrity Fit Club. So excited, tomorrows the day!
Tuesday, January 3: First day went great! Worked hard on my lats, triceps, biceps, abs, and did twenty minutes on the elliptical machine. The trainer there said I should take it easy, but here I am a few hours later and I’m not even sore! I gave the trainer the middle finger behind his back and he may have seen me because of the mirrors, but he didn’t say anything. Doesn’t matter, he seems like a dick. Not sure why I didn’t start working out sooner!
Wednesday, January 4: Pretty sore today. Had to call into work because I couldn’t lift up my arms to put my shirt on. I probably didn’t stretch right. My legs ache too, so I think I’ll skip my cardio exercises today and pick it up tomorrow.
Thursday, January 5: Went back to work and to the gym. Took it easier this time so as not to overexert myself. Did 5 minutes on the elliptical and then called it a day after farting out loud during my ab workout. Figured I’d just do sit-ups when I got to my apartment, but my wooden floor looks like it is covered in my roommate Fred’s hair and I don’t think I should be the one to sweep it up. I don’t care if he’s going through chemotherapy, he still needs to be considerate.
Friday, January 6: Friday! Was going to go to the gym, but Fred is having a birthday bash at Legends tonight at 6. I could’ve showed up late, but I didn’t want to be the only sober one there. Gonna go hard tonight. I earned it!
Monday, January 9: Drank all weekend. Fred said were not friends anymore. Not sure what happened, but I’m way too hungover to workout. I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll need some greasy food at lunch to get over this hangover, which means I need to go real hard tomorrow. NO EXCEPTIONS!
Tuesday, January 10: The greasy food I had yesterday gave me ridiculous diarrhea. I got to the gym parking lot, but I had to speed off to McDonalds to use their bathroom. Decided to just get some food there and call it a day. Tomorrow for sure.
Wednesday, January 11: Did lats and biceps today. Also 4 minutes on the elliptical. I think two younger girls were laughing at me. They may have heard me fart last week. I left just in case.
Thursday, January 12: I was going to do some elliptical today, but a guy I work with says it’s not that effective. He said doing the treadmill is way better for you. I’m pretty set in my workout routine and am hesitant to add a whole new exercise to it. I’ll just stop doing the elliptical and maybe pick up the treadmill in February. I’m probably good without both though.
Friday, January 13: Thought I forgot my gym clothes at home, so I didn’t workout. My gym bag was in my trunk, and I actually remembered that before lunch, but by then I had already gotten used to the idea of not going to the gym. I went out instead after work. I saw Fred at Wild Willy’s. Apparently I tried making out with his sister at his birthday party. I don’t remember that at all. He’s such a prude. He needs to realize that even though his sister is mentally “slow”, she is a sexual human being like the rest of us.
Monday, January 16th: Went to the gym. When I was putting on my workout clothes an old Chinese man caught me staring at his genitals. As soon as he went to the shower I got my stuff and went home.
Tuesday, January 17th: Decided to skip today just in case that Chinese man is there. Plus those girls who think I farted were there last Tuesday.
Wednesday, January 18th: Looking back on my journal I see that those girls were there on a Wednesday, so I decided to just go home to avoid them. I’ll go real hard tomorrow though. I have to. This is the year!
Thursday, January 19th: Did about three minutes of arms before I got bored and decided to split. They seriously need to play something better than King of Queens on their TV’s.
Friday, January 20th: I hadn’t worked out on a Friday yet and didn’t want to break my body cycle, so I went out. Total binger. I ate two whole pizzas around midnight on a dare. I puked pretty heavily afterwards, so most of the carbs are probably gone. Monday I’ll get back into the swing of things.
Monday, January 23rd: Spent all day at work online trying to see if I can get some of my membership deposit back. It’s really not a good gym, and their clientele makes me feel uncomfortable. I’d be more motivated to go if there weren’t so many freaks there, but because everyone is so weird there I never want to go. It looks like membership is probably non-refundable. I hope not. Tonight is $1 wings and free darts over at Suheys, so I’ll go there tomorrow and find out.
Tuesday, January 24th: One of the personal trainers told me to ‘eat shit and die’ after I called her gym a Nazi training facility. They refused to refund even a portion of my money! How is that fair?!?!? When she told me that my contract states that I cannot get a refund for the year I told her she was a smelly bitch and then made the Nazi comment. I was escorted out and told I wasn’t allowed to come back. Since I didn’t get my money back and I’m running low on funds, I’ll have to wait until next year to get another gym membership. That’ll be good though. I’ll come in with a real strong head of steam. Next year is the year!
Traffic on my website has been down lately. People would probably attribute this to my sporadic and and infrequent posting. Personally, I’d rather blame it on the holidays. And maybe 9/11. Whatever it is, it’s out of my hands. I even resorted to putting up a picture of an old man with a black eye, the internets sure-fire way to gain an audience. But it didn’t work. Traffic is still sparse. This needs to change.
So in a cheap but necessary ploy to get more hits on my website, I’m going to have to give what readers want.
Lindsay Lohan recently did a photo shoot for Playboy, and the issue is supposed to hit filthy newstands next week. I just read that the photos were leaked to the internet, and after doing some research I was able to locate the Lohan picture that everyone on the internet wants to see. So although I try to keep this website somewhat appropriate, I have to do this. I hope you’ll understand.
I saw an old man with a black eye today. I couldn’t figure out whether it was extremely sad or extremely bad ass…
…I think a little bit of both.