The Time I Played Pool Basketball

I’m going to tell you guys about the time I played a 14-year-old kid in pool basketball.  As with most experiences in my life, it did not go well.  It was the summer after my Junior year of college and I had a part time internship.  As I wasn’t old enough to buy alcohol, my days consisted mostly of hanging out at the pool in my apartment complex and attempting to catch the eye of the girls that hung out at my apartment complex.

There was a pool basketball net, which was cool.  Water basketball eliminates the need for dribbling, which I’ve always found to be very cumbersome.  As someone who cannot cut food with his left hand, attempting to control a bouncing ball with said hand has always proved to be an exercise in futility.  This eliminates most of my usefulness on the court; my only existing contribution to pickup basketball games is that I am sort of tall, and nothing else.

 

On that fateful day, there is a pretty girl tanning at the pool that is ignoring me, as usual.  So I decide to put on a display of manliness, and take to the pool by myself.  With nobody guarding me, I put on a respectable display.  I am making just over half of the shots I attempt, mostly layups.  I am using the backboard much less than usual.  I swish one or two shots from less than 5 feet away from the hoop.  I am LeBron James.

A young man comes up to me and asks if I would like to play him one-on-one.  Normally I would say no, because playing people that are younger than you in sports is almost always a lose-lose situation; but Tanning Girl looks in my general direction as he asks.  She is adjusting to get an even tan, but I pretend she is interested.  His mother, sitting on a chair a few feet away, tells me that her son is 14 and made his high school JV basketball team as a freshman.  She says that Seth is very good.  As a 6’2” 20-year-old, I’m sure I would make at least one Varsity basketball team.  I probably would not, but I am still bigger than he is.  I will crush Seth.

I jump out to an early lead, using my height and long arms to prevent him from scoring any points at all.  Tanning Girl is largely ignoring the game until Seth inadvertently splashes her, at which point she yells, “what the hell,” and moves to a different chair further away.  I try to give her a knowing look, one that demonstrates our mutual hatred of Seth.  She ignores me.

When I am one point away from winning, Seth, desperate to make a dent in my sizable lead, splashes water into my face while I’m in the act of shooting.  This dislodges one of my contacts, and I am instantly rendered half-blind, gasping in pain.  His mother laughs as the heavily chlorinated water burns one of the most sensitive areas on my body.  I briefly consider pushing her head underwater, but feel that Tanning Girl would not be impressed.

Now with little to no depth perception, I watch as my lead shrinks.  Knowing my weakness, Seth routinely splashes my face before darting to the rim and making layups with absurd ease.  To my horror, Tanning Girl has started to take interest in the game, as have several other pool patrons.  She cheers for Seth alongside his mother.  She has betrayed me.

After a short period, we are tied with one point to go.  I am tied with a 14-year-old in a game of pool basketball, and he has possession of the ball.  I am going to lose.  In a fit of ill-timed gallantry, Seth abandons his splashing and attempts a clean game-winning shot.  I see him go up.  I meet him, and block the shot with as much force as I possess – right into his face. I vaguely register that the full force of the block has rebounded off Seth’s face, and that he might be in need of medical attention.  I do not care.  Jubilant, I grab the ball out of midair and slam the ball through the hoop.  I have done it.  I am victorious.  I am all that is man.

As I come back to reality, I realize Seth’s mother is screaming.  Turning around, I see that Seth is crying and holding his hands to his nose, which is gushing blood.  I know it sounds like exactly what happened in Meet the Parents, and that is because it is almost exactly like what happened in Meet the Parents.  Multiple people are yelling at me.  Tanning Girl is one of them.  A man who arrived in an old pickup truck is angrily pointing at me.  I wonder if he has a gun in his truck; I begin to fear for my life.  I ask loudly if Seth is okay, to which he replies, “Fuck you.”  His mother screams at me to “get out,” which I do as quickly as I possibly can.  Many people might call that cowardice.  To those people, I say this: you are right.

 

There have been a lot of awkward, cringe-worthy moments in my life, but this one might take the cake.  Whenever you’re confronted with situations that seem to be lose-lose, they probably are, and it’s best to just walk away.  Sure, you might win, but you never know when a display of supreme, awesome manliness could result in you being threatened by men who drive pickup trucks.

But most of all, just remember: I beat Seth fair and square.  That fucking point counted.

Get Out: A Review

Hello!  I haven’t written a review in a while, mostly because I discovered that there are cool shows on the HGTV channel that are all about Home Improvement (not the Tim Allen program).  I’m really into DIY (Do It By Yourself) stuff, and I even made a chair a few years ago.  My friends will tell you it’s just an old tree stump that I found in the garbage and put in my bedroom, but they’re not designers so they should keep their opinions to themselves.  But after several failed attempts to knock down my neighbor’s garage, I found out that you can’t just fix someone’s house because you think it looks bad, even if you have a video camera.  In fact, using a video camera can backfire, as it can be presented as evidence against you in a “court of law.”  I can’t reveal any other information because it’s an open case, but it’s safe to say that my neighbor is unhappy with the way I may or may not have been treating his garage.

Anyway, I saw Get Out the other day.  I didn’t see it in theaters, because several local cinemas have declined my business recently due to an incident that was blown way out of proportion.  I brought several live lobsters into the theater one night and they assumed that I was going to try to eat them in the middle of the theater, but I was really just bringing my new lobster buddies to see a movie with me (Finding Dory). They took my lobsters away even though I bought them tickets because they were a “safety hazard” and “stolen from the grocery store,” but I think it’s probably because the lobsters weren’t humans and the management was desperate to push their anti-lobster agenda.  It’s 2017, and I think we should stop hating things for how they look on the outside.

Get Out stars Daniel Kaluyya (really cool last name) and Allison Williams (not nearly as cool of a last name).  They’re a couple, and he’s meeting her family for the first time.  He’s black and she’s white, and the whole movie is basically about him trying to escape from her family, who wants to use his brain to make a blind guy see.  If I were her, I would’ve tried to make him feel more at home as opposed to trying to steal his brain, but some people like to come on strong.  I bet Williams was regretting her decision when Kaluyya killed her entire family with knives, and guns.

Almost everyone ends up dead in this movie, except for Kaluyya and his friend who works at the airport.  No matter how many people died, it never seemed like enough.  That was pretty much the whole movie.

Here are some things I liked about Get Out:

• Jordan Peele. I went to the same high school as Keegan-Michael Key, and he was Jordan Peele’s costar in Key & Peele.  So I basically went to the same school as the writer of this movie.  I don’t know either personally, but I’ll probably tell a lot of people at the bar that I do.
• Magic.  There was some sort of magic going on, brain switching and all that.  I missed some of the finer points because I was trying to de-shell a pistachio for like 20 minutes, but magic is the only logical explanation.  Harry Potter!
• No Brad Pitt. Usually I want Brad in every movie; every movie would be greater with the Pitt!  But he’s been going through some trying times with Angelina Jolie.  If you ever don’t know whose side to take, remember that Angelina Jolie once married Billy Bob Thornton when he had a goatee, and he didn’t even have to use a weapon to force her to.

Here are some things I would’ve changed:

• Hypnosis. There was some hypnosis in this movie, which I didn’t like.  I don’t like anything that doesn’t have clear instructions on its Wikipedia page, and the one for hypnosis is very confusing.  I tried hypnotizing a homeless guy on the train the other day, and all he did was punch me in the face and steal my wallet.  No thanks, hypnosis.
• Deer Violence. They killed a deer in this movie by hitting it with a car, and Kaluyya uses a dead deer’s antlers to stab a dude.  I don’t like animals being exploited by the film industry for violence, except for when Scar dies in The Lion King.  That guy was a real dick.
• Bathroom Breaks. Nobody went to the bathroom in this movie.  What the heck!  Everyone has to use the bathroom, even pretty girls who ignore you at the bar.  One time I told a girl that I knew she went number two, and she dumped her drink on me.  My friend said that she did it because I offended her, but I know that she just did it because I discovered her secret.

I really liked Get Out.  It was probably the best movie about a guy murdering an entire family to avoid having his brain stolen that I’ve ever seen.  Overall, I give it four out of four black licorice sticks.  (I’ve been rating things in black licorice sticks lately because I got some as a gift, and boy, are they absolutely disgusting).

There you have it.  See you at the movies!  I’ll be the one wearing a wig and trying to get a Senior Discount. 

Kong – Skull Island: A Review

I saw Kong: Skull Island yesterday.  I didn’t really want to see a movie, but I really wanted some Sour Patch Kids from the movie theater.  Some people will tell you that all Sour Patch Kids taste the same regardless of where you buy them, but some people think that Tobey Maguire is a good actor, and some people buy PT Cruisers.  Point is, there are a lot of stupid people out there, and you shouldn’t assume that everything you hear is true.

I didn’t know what movie I wanted to see, but I remembered that we used to give my dog these toys called “Kongs.”  I thought the movie might be about a bunch of dogs playing with toys, so I got really excited and shouted “ONE TICKET FOR THE KONG MOVIE PLEASE” at the ticket lady.  She said, “relax,” and I said, “absolutely not,” because watching a bunch of pups play with toys for two hours isn’t something that anyone should ever be relaxed about.  I didn’t think they were going to let me into the movie, but then a homeless guy outside of the theater shit his pants and I think they decided they had bigger problems.

It turns out Kong: Skull Island isn’t a movie about dogs at all.  It’s about a bunch of guys, led by Tom Hiddleston (background vocals for Taylor Swift) and Samuel L. Jackson (the only black guy in The Avengers), going to an island and becoming friends with a giant monkey.  At first they drop bombs on Kong’s home, which seems like a weird way to go about making friends, if you ask me.  Usually when I try to make friends I bake them a pie, or I ask them if they want to play a rousing game of Parcheesi.  Maybe attacking people is a better way to make friends?  I’ll have to try it and find out.

John C. Reilly (the guy from the Will Ferrell movies) is already friends with Kong, so he introduces them and they join forces against a bunch of big lizards.  Brie Larson is also in the movie, which is cool because she’s really attractive and she seems smart.  Brie Larson is the whole package.  If I were in a movie with Brie Larson I’d pay the director anything he wanted (except sex) to get a scene with me smooching her.  Then I’d keep screwing up the scene, so I could kiss her over and over again.  They’d figure out my plan eventually, but I wouldn’t stop.  They’d probably have to kick me off the movie.

Kong fights the lizards, and that’s pretty much the whole movie.  I’m not really sure how the movie ends, because I got a really big box of Sour Patch Kids and I ate them way too fast.  Like 5 minutes, the whole box was gone.  So I got a stomach ache and I had to go to the bathroom for the last half of the movie.  But I’m sure Kong probably wins, and Brie Larson ends up with someone other than me because life is terribly unfair.

Things I liked about Kong:

• Brie Larson. Not only is she named after my favorite cheese, but she’s pretty and she can act.  She was also a photographer in the movie, which seems like the kind of cool thing Brie Larson would be into.  Brie Larson is the gift from god that we don’t deserve.
• Classic Rock Music. There were a lot of really good classic rock songs that made me feel like I was in the 70s.  The 70s seemed like a really cool decade; people were pretty nice to each other, and it just seemed like everybody was into havin’ a good time.  Everybody except Charles Manson, who liked to kill people.  I’m sure to him that killing folks was a good time, but I’ll say “no thanks” to those kind of shenanigans, Charlie.
• Dinosaurs.  There were dinosaurs on the island that they went to.  I’d like to be a dinosaur, but only like half the time.  The perfect scenario would be an Avatar-style world where I could go and be a pterodactyl for a day or two, then come back to humanity and have a hearty basket of chicken tenders (I don’t think I’d be able to find any chicken tenders in the dinosaur world) and curly fries.  If you think straight fries are better than curly fries, you are going to hell.

Things I didn’t like about Kong:

• No Bananas. Kong is a monkey, and monkeys eat bananas.  In this movie, there were zero (0!) bananas.  Any movie that features monkeys eating anything other than bananas immediately loses all credibility.  Good luck trying to convince me this is real, people who made this movie.
• Tom Hiddleston’s Name. I really like Tom Hiddleston.  He seems like a nice guy, and Brie Larson likes him, so he’s a obviously a straight shooter.  But I don’t like his last name.  “Hiddleston” sounds too much like “riddle” and “diddle” to me.  I don’t like riddles, and I certainly don’t want Tom’s digits going anywhere near my tookus.  Keep your fingers to yourself, Tom.
• No Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt should have been in this movie, even if it was just a small part.  He’s the world’s best actor, plus he could deliver a witty one-liner or two when things start to get tense.  Like if a guy got stung to death by a mosquito, he could chime in.  “That’s just the jungle, folks,” he’d say.  What a stand-up guy Brad is.

Well, there you have it.  Overall, I give Kong: Skull Island four out of four hats (I’m into hats lately).  See you at the movies!  I’ll be the one by myself, trying to sneak some of your popcorn.

Notting Hill: A Review

Hey!  I’ve been in the dumps lately, so I haven’t had much time to write anything.  A few weeks ago I pet a dog and he didn’t seem to enjoy it at all, and I don’t think I’ll ever truly get over it.  I looked up fun ways to make myself feel better on the internet, and one of the things I found was trying something new.  So I tried to do parkour at the park next to my house, because I saw a video on the internet and it seemed like something James Bond would do and James Bond has kissed a lot of girls, probably more than 10.  I hope James Bond gets tested in between his secret agent missions, otherwise his privates could be a real mess.  Anyway the parkour didn’t turn out well, because I hurt myself trying to do a flip over a park bench and I had to go to the hospital.  A lot of bystanders might tell you that I hurt myself trying to catch a squirrel and teach it to sit on my shoulder, but they don’t really know what parkour looks like so you should just take my word for it.

I still wanted to try something new though, so I decided that I’d write a review of an old movie that I hadn’t ever seen instead of a new one in theaters.  I figured the best way to pick what movie to watch would be to go to a Blockbuster and randomly choose one from the shelves, but then I realized that almost every Blockbuster has closed.  The only Blockbuster I know of is a couple of blocks away from my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s just a homeless guy that sits in front of a really big cardboard box that has the word “Blockbuster” on it.  It smells like he poops in there, but I’m always too afraid to ask.

Anyway, I landed on Notting Hill.  You might ask “why Notting Hill,” and to tell you the truth, I don’t know.  An honest answer might be that I love Julia Roberts, but an even more honest answer might be that it’s the only DVD I could grab before my neighbor chased me out of his apartment.  Notting Hill stars Roberts (People magazine) and Hugh Grant (almost any movie on the Hallmark channel), and came out in 1999.  I was only 8 years old in 1999, and I had even fewer friends than I have now, if you can believe it.  Other fun facts from 1999: Santana and Rob Thomas were teaming up for the cross cultural smash hit, “Smooth,” Tom Cruise was still only like 5 foot 9, and I was busy not being invited to Paul G’s birthday party, which was at Chuck E’ Cheese and was probably really shitty because I wasn’t there.

Notting Hill is about a guy (Grant) who owns a bookstore, and isn’t rich.  Then he meets a famous actress (Roberts), who buys some of his books then kisses him full on the lips. Whoa!  Hot diggity dog for Hugh Grant!  I don’t remember if she pays money for the books or if he lets her pay for the books with the kiss, but if it’s the latter, that’s coming dangerously close to prostitution.  Hugh Grant should really keep an eye on those types of transactions; I’d hate to see him get in trouble for something like that.

The whole movie is basically the two of them breaking up, and then getting back together again.  Grant breaks up with Roberts because she’s famous, which I think is dumb because I think he’d probably get a lot of perks if they stayed together.  He could probably go to a restaurant and order off the breakfast menu for dinner, and they’d allow it.  A lot of people say that eating breakfast for dinner isn’t all that great, but those people are liars.  If I dated Julia Roberts I’d order an omelet for dinner and brag to the guy next to me that he couldn’t.  Then I’d probably feel bad and offer him some of my omelet because what goes around comes around, you guys.

Roberts and Grant get back together at the end and Roberts gets pregnant.  Normally I would believe it was happily ever after, but Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are getting a divorce so I don’t really know what to believe anymore.

Things I liked about Notting Hill:

• Acceptance.  Roberts and Grant did a good job of overlooking each other’s faults in this movie.  Roberts overlooks the fact that Grant is poor, and Grant overlooks the fact that Roberts has really big teeth.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse smile, but I have seen Julia Roberts smile, so I can imagine what it looks like.
• Ice Cream Sandwiches. I can’t remember if anyone ate an ice cream sandwich in this movie, but I’m going to assume they did because I just had one while writing this and it was fantastic.  I don’t think I love anyone as much as I love ice cream sandwiches, and I have a great relationship with my parents.  Hugh Grant probably snuck into his trailer all the time to eat ice cream sandwiches, the sly dog!
• My Couch. This one doesn’t really have to do with the movie, but I liked that I could stretch out on my couch and watch it.  One time I tried to stretch out on two seats at the theater, but the woman who was in the seat I was trying to put my feet on was a real jerk about it.

Things I didn’t like about Notting Hill:

• No dogs. I think it was stupid that neither Roberts nor Grant had a trusty pup to get them through the hard times in this movie.  If Grant was smart, he’d have gotten a dog and taught it to get him beer from the fridge.  Then he could drink while he cried and watched Roberts’ old films, which seems like the kind of thing Hugh Grant would do for sure.
• No breakfast for dinner. It seems pretty ridiculous that they didn’t show Grant ordering breakfast for dinner, not even once.  He could have even ordered a side of hash browns and I would’ve been fine with it.  The more I think about it, Hugh Grant is kind of an idiot in this movie.
• Brad and Angelina’s Divorce. It is tearing me up.

 

Well, there you have it!  Overall I give Notting Hill 4 out of 5 cups of tea.  Let me know what movie you think I should review next!

Your Guide to the 2016 Olympics

Hello everyone.  The 2016 Summer Olympics are almost here! The Olympics are held every four years, and bring the world together to watch the athletes that got away with using PEDs compete for their respective countries.  For those of you who don’t know, the Olympics began back in ancient Rome, when Julius Caesar challenged some guy to a push up contest.  Since then the Olympics have evolved into a worldwide phenomenon, one that almost always leaves the host nation with crippling debt and allows Subway to remind people that they endorse professional athletes, and not just weird guys who like kids.  This year’s Olympics are being held in Rio de Janeiro, and promise to leave Brazil an even bigger shithole than it was before, if you can believe it.  The 2016 Games consist of 42 sports; 306 events in only 19 days!  I know that sounds overwhelming, so I’ve created a handy dandy Olympic Guide to assist you in nailing down exactly what you should and shouldn’t watch.

First things first: a few facts about the host city.  Rio de Janeiro was named after the 2011 animated feature film Rio, which featured Jesse Eisenberg and Anne Hathaway as the voices of the two main characters.  There is no known record of the city’s name before the movie came out, and quite frankly, I don’t care to know it.  Despite the film’s terrible stars, it was a moderate box office success that showcased some of the bright colors and spicy attitudes that permeate Brazilian culture.  Experts say that the government of Brazil first began distributing colorful garments to distract its citizens from the poverty and crime that run rampant through the streets of the South American country, and the move has proven surprisingly effective.  Brazil has a knack for churning out soccer stars, having won the FIFA World Cup a record 5 times.  It is also home to a large swath of the Amazon River, which is surrounded by a dense tropical forest that the Brazilians are doing their best to destroy.  No matter how many trees are chopped down each year, it never seems like enough.  Brazil also has its own unique food (I’m assuming), but I don’t know any of the dishes because I don’t speak Portuguese and I’ve never been there before.  I think bananas grow there?  Nobody knows for sure.

But enough fun facts!  You’re here for sports, and sports you shall have.  I can’t go through every sport being played in the Olympics, because that would take too long and I have a lot of stuff to do today (eat, sleep, watch National Treasure, etc.).  Here are some things I think you should know before you tune in to Rio 2016.

Rowing
Rowing is basically just a bunch of dudes racing in canoes.  It might sound boring, and that’s because it is.  If I wanted to watch people frantically row a boat, I’d watch Titanic.  At least I’d see Kate Winslet’s boobs.  Granted, the potential exists for aquatic crashes, fights, and possible anaconda attacks in the dirty Brazilian water.  But I won’t watch.  If I really wanted to see people row a boat on some river, I’d watch my uncles try to fish.

Fencing
Fencing is like sword fighting, but for people who enjoy dressing like weird Storm Troopers and using little bendy swords instead of the actual ones you see on the HBO smash hit, Game of Thrones.  I guess one of the guys’ helmets could fall off and then you could get some dramatic footage, but the odds of that are slim to none.  If they want me to watch this, put the contestants in full knight armor and let ‘em have at it.

Rugby
Rugby is like American football, but with no pads.  Can you imagine football with no pads?  I can, but I probably couldn’t have before I watched rugby.   Do I understand the rules?  Of course not, nobody does.  I doubt even the players understand the rules, or the referees.  But the New Zealand team does a dance when they win that reminds me of Lilo and Stitch, which is a great movie.  I challenge anyone to dislike rugby, and I challenge anyone to dislike Lilo and Stitch.  Seriously, if you say you don’t like that movie I’ll come to your house and make you watch the whole thing with me.  Rugby: 10/10 will watch religiously.

Volleyball
Volleyball is a pretty cool sport.  It’s not as cool as rugby, but it is close.  It’s like a big game of hot potato, which is a game I always won when I was little.  Some people from my past might tell you I won because I cheated and threw the potato at the other players and scared them into quitting, but those people need to mind their own business and stop making excuses for things that happened a long time ago.  Also, there’s the off chance that a spectator could get hit with a stray ball, which is funny, unless they’re old.  They could die, and death is never funny (unless the person who dies is Donald Trump).  A lot of people only know volleyball as the thing that Tom Hanks drew a face on and had sex with in Cast Away, but I think it’s more fun as a sport.

Swimming
People like swimming, but I don’t really get it.  The bathing suits are either way too revealing (men) or not nearly enough so (women).  If I wanted to see dudes walking around in Speedos, I’d just watch my neighbor Gary try to sell lemonade to the neighborhood kids.  No thanks, Gary.  If people are swimming in the rivers of Brazil this has the potential to be somewhat exciting, due to the amount of chemical waste in the waterways surrounding Rio and the supposed dangerous animals that have shown up (jellyfish, poisonous fish, Michael Phelps).  I would probably tune in if they wore water wings, because watching people try to swim fast in water wings is hilarious.

Table Tennis/Badminton
I know these are two different sports, but they’re essentially the same thing.  It’s one team or person using a racquet to get a little object over onto the opponent’s side, and not letting it hit the ground.  Both of these involve a good deal of skill, but apart from some thrilling volleys, are relatively boring.  I propose that both of these events be turned into full contact sports.  After all, most of the world’s best spectacles are full contact (football, hockey, The Bachelorette), and it would greatly increase the entertainment value.  Until then, hard pass on these two.

Soccer (Football)
Everywhere else in the world calls this sport football, because you kick a ball with your foot.  But because Americans have to make everything way more difficult than it should be (not using the metric system, calling the “bathroom” the “restroom,” having way more fat people than everywhere else), we call it soccer.  Soccer is a very fun sport to play, but not so much to watch.  Usually the matches only have one or two goals, and feature a lot of people falling down because they get breathed on too hard.  If you’re interested in how to look like you know what you’re talking about with soccer, I wrote this about the World Cup in 2014.

There you have it!  I hope this has been informative for you guys.  If anyone wants to come over and watch the Olympics with me, I’ll be painting “USA” on my chest in the mirror.  After, we can do what every American Olympian does and go to Bennigan’s for 3 to 4 Monte Cristo sandwiches (minimum).  See you there!

A Sociopath’s Guide to the Holidays

The holidays can be a stressful time of year.  So many things to accomplish, so many people to see, so many presents to buy; and so little time to do it!  It’s crazy that we do all this because some little dude was born in a barn a million years ago, but tradition is tradition after all.  I’m here to give you tips and tricks that will make you the star of the party.

Dress the part.
Nothing you do matters unless you do it looking nice, which is something that homeless people will never understand.  If you walk into your grandma’s house wearing some poverty sweater you found at Target or Meijer or some other trash store, your family is going to talk tons of shit behind your back; and quite frankly, you’d deserve it.  They might even kick you out of the party; I don’t know how ruthless your family is.  Neither of us want that to happen, so listen up.

As a rule of thumb, always dress as if you’re going on a date with Brad Pitt; this goes for both men and women.  And guys, before you say anything, don’t act like you’d turn down dinner with Brad Pitt.  Don’t lie to yourself like that.  Brad Pitt expects pomp and class from his dates.  No t-shirts, no slippers, and for God’s sake, no cargo pants.  In fact, I’ve created a helpful list of people that are allowed to wear cargo pants without looking stupid:
1.             Actual soldiers in the military
That’s it.  Those are the only people.  Have some respect for yourself, and some respect for Jesus.

Pro Tip: Go to the mall about a week before Christmas.  Walk into the classiest clothing store you can find and browse the shelves.  Then, all you have to do is wait for some schmuck to spend a ton of money on a nice shirt, follow him out of the store, and bump into him hard enough that he drops his bag; then, take the shirt.  Some people might consider this “stealing,” but I saw Matt Damon do pretty much the exact same thing in Ocean’s Eleven, so that can’t be true.  Matt Damon’s never stolen a thing in his life, except the hearts of his audience.

Know a bit about fine food and drink.
The key to any holiday party; or any dinner gathering, for that matter; is making everyone else think you’re smarter than you actually are.  Chances are, your family thinks you’re an idiot, and they’re probably right.  That’s why you’re reading this article, isn’t it?  It’s your job to change their mind.  This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, but my personal favorite is to demonstrate that you know a lot more about fancy food and drink than everyone else there.  Nothing is more intimidating than someone who is clearly smarter than you.  Here are some things you can do to class yourself up.

• Tell anyone that will listen about the season finale of Top Chef, and about how the contestants weren’t “adventurous enough” in the kitchen. Say you could’ve done better.  Say this multiple times.
• Talk about how you’ve spent the past year “refining your palette.”
• Buy a cheap bottle of wine from the supermarket, put a super expensive sticker on it, and talk about the various aromas that you experience while you swirl it around the glass.
• Insist on bringing and using your own glass; give a small chuckle when the host offers you one of their glasses. Say, “that simply won’t do.  Not for this vintage.”
• Use words like “full-bodied” and “astringent” to describe the wine.
• Comment on the presentation of the food. Call it “sublime.”
• Google a list of spices and ask people if they put them in a dish (i.e. “Aunt Pam, do I taste a hint of saffron in your turkey this year?”).
• Talk about the reduction that the turkey was basted in. Say that it is “divine.”

Remember: nobody really knows what they’re talking about when it comes to fancy wines and expensive food.  When in doubt, keep it simple.  Lie.  Like everything in life, it’s not a lie if they don’t find out.

Pro Tip: Buy a turkey from somewhere like Boston Market or some place that cooks those kinds of things.  If you really want to get regal with it, buy a dish that is a bit more exotic; think pheasant or quail.  Then, watch a YouTube video of how to make it look decorative; put parsley on the side, whatever; and tell everyone you made it at home.  When people say that you shouldn’t have gone through the effort, insist it was nothing.  Boom.  Party star.

Buy better presents than everyone else.
On Christmas Day, don’t be afraid to resort to trickery and/or mischief.  Are you having a White Elephant or Secret Santa exchange?  Insist on a small price ceiling for gifts, i.e. $20.  After doing so, spend at least double that on yours.  This will ensure that your gift will be the best; and if it isn’t the best, at least you can subtly brag that it was the most expensive.  The key is to sound bashful, like you’re almost embarrassed that you spent above the limit.  Say things like “I felt bad spending that much, but I knew how much he/she would like it.”  This is a foolproof way to impress your family.  Oh, say you were “overcome with the spirit of giving.”  People eat that shit up.

Pro Tip: Use the term “cute” to describe other people’s gifts.  A well-placed “Oh, that’s cute” goes a long way in undermining a gift’s sentimental value, which in turn increases your gift’s value in comparison.  Also, congratulate people on a “good effort.”  This implies that while they tried their best, they kind of shit the bed with the gift.  Make sure nobody says this to you.  It’s fucking devastating.

---

In closing, have fun this holiday season.  Give some presents, see some family, burn down a pine tree, whatever you want to do.  And make sure to shower me in gift cards/cold hard cash.

Oh, and if you need some ideas on how to spruce up that party you’re thinking about having, refer to this handy dandy list for a few helpful hints:

Christmas

Woodward Nightmare.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.  Let’s take our old cars and drive up and down the street!” – An Idiot

“Yeah!  We’ll all bring ours too!  Let’s do this!” – Thousands of Other Idiots

I wasn’t around when the Woodward Dream Cruise started, but I imagine the conversation to get it started went a lot like that.  A lot of people say that if they had a time machine, they’d go back and kill Hitler.  I wouldn’t.  I would go back, get Hitler, bring him back here, and put him behind the wheel of a car while he’s stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for hours and hours.

Then I’m pretty sure Hitler would kill himself.

For those of you who are mercifully unaware of what the Woodward Dream Cruise is, I’ll enlighten you.  It’s an annual celebration of classic hot rods and American muscle cars; a weekend where people from all over the country descend upon a small stretch of highway in southeastern Michigan to rev their engines and waste thousands of gallons of one of the most valuable fuel sources available to mankind.  It’s like one big NASCAR event, if there was a NASCAR event that involved cars maxing out at 10 MPH; one where nobody wins, but almost everybody loses.

The Dream Cruise brings a lot of money to the area, and I suppose for that I should be thankful.  Except the businesses that tend to receive the money; motels, fast food restaurants, etc.; usually attract society’s lower rung.  For instance, one of the motels that rely heavily on the Dream Cruise weekend to stay afloat was the site of a murder last year.  But any press is good press, right?

Generally speaking, there are 4 types of people that attend the Woodward Dream Cruise.

1. The Back Woods Families.
   They love the Dream Cruise because, well, it’s free. These peoples’ idea of entertainment is setting up a lawn chair, downing a few Budweisers, and watching old folks listen to Bruce Springsteen.  These are the people who have Dale Earnhardt-themed birthday cakes, even though he died 15 years ago (RIP, Intimidator).  The people who have Truck Nutz swinging from their ’89 Dodge Ram.  The people who eat regularly at Fuddruckers.  They often attend Monster Truck events.
2. The Young Guns.
   These guys are different. They don’t care about the “Classic” cars, and they could give a shit about you and your family.  They drive something like a Ford Probe or Dodge Neon with tinted windows and a super loud muffler, usually blaring an “underground” white rapper (probably their cousin) who uses far too many curse words.  They use this weekend to try to forget that they dropped out of high school, and they’ll fight you if you look at their car wrong, or look too educated.  They’ll probably be wearing FUBU jerseys and smoking Menthol cigarettes.
3. The White Trash.
   The classic Dream Cruiser. A cross between Back Woods and Young Gun, these people are here to get drunk and see how many people they can offend at once.  Taking a break from their trailers and guns, you’ll usually find male White Trashers with either camo shirts, Oakley Gas Can sunglasses, and sagging jean shorts; many times, all at once.  Like the Young Guns, they’re drawn to loud music, and tend to identify with the shittier cars on display.  They won’t take off their sunglasses if they’re inside, unless it’s to put them on the back of their head.  Females tend to sport lower back tattoos, multiple body piercings, and clothes that show far too much skin for a family event.
4. The New Hot Shot.
   This is the guy from out of town who heard about “a place to show off your car” and decided to drive up his brand new Corvette. He’s under the impression that women will flock to his ride, and he’s usually wearing far too much cologne.  He gets pissed at little kids when they touch his car, and has little to no people skills.  In short, he’s a douche, one who’s way out of his element.

The Dream Cruise brings together these societal outsiders and gives them a place to thrive.  It also means that for three days, it’s impossible to find a parking spot in front of my own house.  My 10 minute drive to work turns into 45.  People throw trash on my lawn, fight each other, and occasionally, key my car.  Wohoo!  Dream Cruise!  REV YOUR ENGINE LOUDER, DO IT LOUDER, PEEL OUT, YES YES YES YES!!! CRUISIN’ WOODWARD!!!

The thing is, I honestly don’t have a problem with any of the people I listed above; as long as they don’t make my life a living hell.  Live your life how you want, enjoy what you want to enjoy.  If you want to spend your free time watching other people in traffic, go ahead.  If you want to buy your clinically obese 9 year old multiple elephant ears, you should do that!  Do what you want!  Just don’t do it so damn close to my house.

Fourth of July

More like U-S-YAY!

The Fourth of July is a holiday uniquely American in its tradition.  Independence Day, as it is often called, celebrates the day that George Washington first bit into a hot and juicy Ballpark Frank.  It’s called “Independence Day” because our country’s first president was tired of counting on the British for food and was determined to eat what he liked, when he wanted.  The British are notoriously disgusting eaters, and consume snails and fish eggs and even animal poop I think.  George wasn’t having any of that shit (ha!), which is why many people around the country tend to commemorate the holiday by firing up their grills (not the kind you put in your teeth) and cooking up some hot dogs.  Grilling hot dogs is one of the most American things you can do, along with owning guns and invading other people’s land.  George Washington did all three, and that’s why he was elected president.

People celebrate the Fourth in a number of different ways; in truth, there are very few wrong ways to celebrate the best country on earth.  I, for one, try to do everything that French people cannot do, like be nice to my neighbors and think about how my country has won wars before.  Could you imagine living in France?  I could never hate myself that much.  Here are a few popular ways to honor America on this country’s most special day.

1. Hot Dogs.  I touched on the hot diggity dogs up above, but they can’t be mentioned enough.  It’s been said that along with hamburgers, hot dogs are one of the only foods that is almost entirely American in origin.  In fact, legend has it that the first hot dog ever was made by George Washington with the meat of his conquered British enemies on the battlefield.  I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know that the British aren’t to be trusted.
2. Boats.  I believe that George Washington tactfully chose July 4^th as the date with which America would be remembered, for the simple fact that in almost every part of the country, July represents the height of boating season.  Fun fact: it has never rained on the Fourth of July, not even once.  There are a few “Boats and No’s”, things you shouldn’t do on the open water, the most important of which is wearing a shirt while you swim.  It doesn’t matter how fat you are, that white undershirt isn’t doing anything to hide your girth, and frankly you’re disrespecting the founding fathers when you wear one.  The young men of America’s past didn’t die so you could embarrass your friends like that.  Benjamin Franklin (the guy who invented the kite) was pretty tubby, but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a shirt while swimming.
3. Fireworks.  Depending on whom you ask, fireworks are either a child’s favorite holiday delight or a Vietnam War veteran’s worst nightmare.  Either way, fireworks represent the most legal way to blow things up, something that Americans have been innately drawn to do for centuries.  The Fourth of July is the United States’ birthday, and I consider fireworks to be the candles of America.
   Sidenote: “Sparklers” are not fireworks.  Unless you’re 1-5 years old and can’t comprehend the awesomeness of our country, don’t disrespect it with what are essentially really long matchsticks.
4. Movies.  If you don’t have access to a grill, a boat, or fireworks, fear not; you can still bask in the glory of Uncle Sam.  Almost every television station in the country plays patriotic movies all Fourth of July weekend, as they damn well should.  Your tube will undoubtedly be filled with such iconic films as The Patriot, Independence Day, and the National Treasure series, among others.  These features star noted Americans Mel Gibson, Will Smith, and Nicolas Cage.  It’s estimated that if the Americans had the sleuthing skills of Nicolas Cage back when they were fighting the British, we would have won the Revolutionary War in less than three weeks.  He truly is The National Treasure.

Just remember: America was founded on the idea of freedom for every man, so no matter what, don’t let anybody dictate how you should spend your Independence Day.  If your neighbors, the “police,” or even your family try to get in the way of your patriotism, tell them you bleed Red, White, and Blue.  Show everybody just how American you are by chugging a Budweiser on your boat, with the Union Jack draped around your shoulders and Francis Scott Key’s pièce de résistance playing in the background; and know that you’re living in the greatest country on the planet.

My Day At The Zoo

The zoo should be a magical place.  For one, there are animals from quite literally all over the world.  Lions, tigers, snakes, sea turtles, eels; you name it, they probably have it.  Majestic beasts as far as the eye can see!  Also, they have ice cream.  Like a lot of it.  I really don’t see how you could screw up a place that has both ice cream and boa constrictors.  It’s almost impossible to do.  But they did it.

Sidebar: Matt Damon bought a zoo for his family in the major motion picture, We Bought A Zoo.  Matt Damon’s got a lot of cash, and if he’s out buying zoos for his kids they’re probably awesome.  Matt Damon does nothing that is not awesome, and Matt Damon bought a zoo.  It is reasonable to assume that if Matt Damon bought a zoo, Matt Damon visited a zoo.
–          Matt Damon only does awesome things.
–          Matt Damon visited a zoo.
–          Therefore, visiting a zoo is an awesome thing to do.
It’s science.

The first thing I saw when I entered the zoo was a giant monkey cage filled with chimpanzees.  I should’ve known right then and there that this zoo was bullshit, because the monkeys didn’t have a single banana; not one.  No sight of a banana anywhere in the cage.  I’ve seen The Jungle Book, I’ve seen MVP: Most Valuable Primate.  I know how this shit is supposed to go down.  Aside from bugs and probably their fair share of feces, bananas are pretty much all monkeys eat.  Speaking of feces, there was a serious lack of it being thrown around by the chimps.  I don’t know where these clowns at the zoo got their chimps, but it’s pretty difficult to imagine any REAL chimpanzee going less than 5 minutes without either eating a banana or throwing a pile of poop at something.

I made a mental note to come back and check on the chimps later.  If there wasn’t a big shit fight going on when I returned, I was going to speak to the administration as to the validity of their monkeys.

I decided to head to the polar bear exhibit (because fuck yeah, polar bears), and when I got there the guide told me I couldn’t feed the bears Coca-Cola.  Bad start to the day.  He said it wasn’t safe, and that polar bears don’t even drink sodas.  Said the plastic bottle was a “health concern” for the bears.  Yeah, okay.  Watch a Coke commercial and then tell me bears don’t drink soda, Mr. Expert.  As far as the bottle goes, they have no problem twisting the cap off on TV, and I told him so.  I told him to offer the bear a Coke, and let the bear decide.  I bet that bear would’ve loved an ice cold carbonated beverage.  The guy was an idiot.  I told him that if he was so smart and knowledgeable about the polar bears he would wrestle one right then and there, which of course he didn’t.  Zoo security showed up after about 15 minutes and forcibly removed me from the exhibit.  They said there were reports of a man heckling the staff, and that I was endangering both myself and my fellow zoo patrons; but I know they just took me away because I exposed that guy as a big pussy.

That was a pretty big letdown.  I was really looking forward to offering those bears a delicious beverage, because I’ve seen how much they enjoy them in the TV spots.  It’s fucking adorable.  And that ass-clown got me thrown out of the exhibit.  But I wasn’t going to let it get me down.  There were hundreds of other animals in the zoo, and besides, I could do a little drive-by and toss the bottle of Coke into the polar bear tank as I was walking out.  Those bears were going to get their soda, dammit.

I picked myself up and headed over to the Bengal tiger pen.  If polar bears are an 8/10 on the animal scale of awesomeness, Bengal tigers are probably an 8.5.  Now that it comes to it, I would pay good money to see a fight between a polar bear and a Bengal tiger.  I would also place a good deal of money on the tiger to win, because I’m not an idiot.  If polar bears are that easily distracted by Coca-Cola, a well-placed soda could decide that entire match.  I’d put my money on the tiger, throw a Coke into the ring about halfway through, and rake in the mula (fancy word for $) when the tiger destroyed.

I’m getting distracted.  Anyway as badass as the tigers are, I’ve got beef with the Bengal tigers, because nine times out of ten they’re just shut up in their caves.  I drive all the way out to the zoo, spend money to get in, and almost never see a tiger in action.  It’s really selfish of the tigers, if you think about it.  It’d be like going to a Broadway show just to see Bette Midler eat Wheat Thins on a couch or something.  Thankfully, the tigers were on their A-game that day.  There were a few out and about, playing with sticks and rocks and doing tons of other shit that tigers love to do; all of it infinitely badass.

I was watching two cubs wrestle when I looked up and saw an Indian staff member making his way into the pen with a huge bucket of tiger food.  I couldn’t tell what was in the bucket, but I bet it was 4-5 boxes of Frosted Flakes (minimum).  As the Indian man was turning to leave the pen, I shouted out that he should do a Life of Pi remake.  The man turned around and tossed up his hand, waving me away.  He didn’t get it.

I started explaining the concept to him.  “You know, the one with the tiger and the Indian guy?”
He continued walking away.  “On that boat?”
He was shaking his head.  Maybe he didn’t hear me.  “SIR, THE ONE WHERE HE’S STRANDED ON THE OCEAN WITH THE TIGER.  SIR?  THAT MOVIE WITH THE INDIAN GUY WHO-”

Again, security was brought to the exhibit.  As they led me away from what was quickly becoming a crowd in front of the Bengal tiger pen, they said that they wouldn’t tolerate racial insults being directed toward zoo staff members.

I was incredulous.

“Racial insults?  Come on, you guys know as well as I do that guy looked just like that kid from the movie.  Who let that guy work the tiger pen anyway?!  They’re the bad guy here, they’re the one that you guys should go after.  Let’s pay THAT racist a visit!  Oh, and you guys know you’ve got a total amateur working the polar bear exhibit, right?  AND fake monkeys?”

They didn’t see it my way.  They informed me that if I was caught harassing any more of the zoo staff, they would be forced to remove me from the premises and file an official police report.  I assured them it wouldn’t happen, and that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

I was intending to save the grey wolf exhibit for the last stop on my zoo tour, for obvious reasons; wolves are scientifically the most badass animals in the world.  But in light of the incidents at the polar bear exhibit and tiger pen, I needed a pick-me-up.  I decided to trek over and view the most majestic beasts in the entire place.  I had even worn my three-wolf shirt that day, to show the wolves that I, too, am capable of serious amounts of badass shit.

However, after walking around forever (15 minutes), I couldn’t find the wolf pen anywhere.  I had built up a good amount of resentment toward the zoo staff at this point, but this wasn’t the time to be a proud man.  The wolves needed me, and to a much higher degree I needed the wolves.  I went up to a female employee and asked very politely if she could direct me towards the wolf exhibit.

She told me there was no wolf exhibit.

I stared at her for a good thirty seconds without speaking, and then relief broke over me.  Surely, this was a clever ruse concocted by the administration.  They had seen my passion for animals at both the polar bear and tiger exhibits before this, and they were having a laugh at my expense.

“No, really,” I said, “if you could tell me where the wolves are located, I’d really appreciate it.”  I pointed at my shirt.  “As you can see, I’m a big fan.”

“Sir, I’m afraid we don’t have any wolves in this zoo,” she said.

No wolves?  What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?

“What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?” I asked loudly.

“What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?” I repeated.  People were starting to stare.

“WHAT KIND OF SHIT EATING ZOO DOESN’T HAVE WOLVES?

“WHAT KI-“

 

They threw me out of the zoo.

An Open Letter to John Krasinski, from his BFF Forevs.

Dear John,

First, let me say that I appreciate the hug you gave me before I left your house the other day.  You didn’t need to do that, but it was awesome that you did.  If I seemed a bit overzealous returning the hug, know it’s only because I care.  I know you were initially a bit standoffish about the whole thing; when we met I did reveal to you that I was neither sick nor dying, which I realize I might have hinted at heavily in my first letter to you; where I stated “I’m dying with sickness and all I want to do is hang out with John Krasinski”; but I know you had a good time, no matter what the police report said.  While I agree that it was morally wrong to lie to you about the terminal illness, it got me a day with you, so I’m not too worried about the whole thing.  I knew that if we hung out you’d realize we’d be best friends.

I had a lot of fun with you, John, and that isn’t just because you showed me tasteful nude photos of your wife, Emily Blunt, and your former costars, Jenna Fischer and Rashida Jones.  To be fair, you didn’t “show” me them as much as I simply stole your phone and locked myself in the bathroom with it, but let’s not get caught up in the details of the thing.  Point is you’re a regular guy, John, and we work well together. When we played mini-golf, you didn’t let me win.  Any other celebrity would’ve done it, because they would’ve seen how much it meant to me.  I was throwing my putter and using some pretty indefensible language in front of children; the game clearly meant more to me than it did to you.  I’m sure someone like Brad Pitt would have let me win, probably to “avoid a scene.”  But you competed, and I respect that. However let the record show you only won because I let you, because you’re my favorite actor.  Remember that.

You were really cool when we went to get ice cream after.  You got Neapolitan, which is gross, but I had no right to call you a bitch.  I would like to formally apologize, from one friend to another.  At the time, I was understandably upset that you didn’t want to get matching ass tattoos with me, something that I truly believe would have made our best friend bond even stronger.  What’s the point in having a best friend if you’re not going to get “BFF” written permanently on your skin?  I digress, but rest assured that at some point, we’re going to get some best friend ink.  I’ll drug you if I have to, John, but I don’t want it to come to that.

How’s the car treating you?  I know you probably thought I overreacted when a few times when we were having our joy ride.  If I did, it was only because I wanted to show off.  I was nervous!  I just want you to know I’m not proud of how many derogatory math jokes I made to that Asian man in the minivan, and I’ll admit the language I used in front of his children was questionable at best.  In my defense, he could probably kick your ass at Sudoku.  That guy was definitely good at math.

Also, I’m now comfortable saying that it was probably out of line to tell that cop to go “fuck his socks” when he pulled us over.  Yes, I know he only pulled us over because I flipped him the bird, and yes, he didn’t respond well when I told him you were “John Fuckin’ Krasinski.”  I’m genuinely sorry he took us both into custody.  I’m sorry for a lot of things, but you know what?  We had fun.  Everybody makes mistakes, John, and now you’ve got a (best) friend who’s man enough to admit when he makes them.

Warm regards,

Your BFF Forevs

 

P.S.  Apparently the authorities are under the impression that you never want to see me again, and that you’ve filed for a restraining order.  I feel like there may be some sort of misunderstanding; I only threatened your wife and newborn child because you were showing signs of backing out of our BFF friend date!  I never meant them any real harm.  And I know I told you I had a “gun,” but that was just joshing around between two best buds!  Years from now, we’ll look back at this whoopsie-daisy moment and laugh.