I Gotta Have Faith

After pondering my previous post, I've come to the conclusion that the destruction of Santa by my father definitely started a downward trend in my mental well being and overall quality of life.
It's time to make a change. Gonna make a difference. Gonna make it right! Err.. anyway, I think what I need to make life awesome like it was when I was 8, is something to believe in again. I need to fill that hole that my father jackhammered into my soul, so many years ago.I need some faith, faith in something powerful and unknown, something mysterious. But whatever shall I choose to believe in?

Here are my options:

God - I tried this for the first chunk of my life. That is to say, I was told to try this until I was 13. After my Confirmation, my father told me he wouldn't force me to go to church on Sunday any more, so I cashed out at the party and headed off into the sacrilege sunset. While many people do get a lot from their belief in God, I am not a fan of his methods. If you want something from Santa, he will get it for you as long as you have been a good person for the past year which doesn't seem like much to ask, and it benefits society. Now I could start praying to God for a Man Groomer or a Salted Meats Gift Basket, but odds are he won't think that kind of prayer is worthy of answering. God has a very poor return rate on requests. That's why whenever he finally does answer one, people will freak out and start building shrines.. It's customer service so poor that you rarely see it outside of a Verizon store. I will have to continue to pass on God.


Ghosts - Right of the bat, ghosts are not looking too good to me as a choice. First of all they are just boring people like the rest of us. My grandfather couldn't be bothered to fly up from Florida for my graduation so I doubt he would be willing to do anything for me now either. Second, they are inconsiderate. They know they scare the hell out of us living folk, but do they make any effort to be a bit less likely to make me wet my sheets? Nope! Maybe instead of showing up at night all the time when it's much scarier and I am trying to sleep, you could come around at like Noon on a Saturday. And knock first before you come floating into my room. Just because you were murdered in my home 30 years ago doesn't mean you forever retain the right to come barging into my bedroom wailing away when you know damn well I have a very full self-abuse schedule! Fuck you ghost!

Aliens - I don't have any immediate aversion to believing in an Outer Spaceman. They would undoubtedly have all kinds of futuristic technology to give me, like white tomato sauce that won't show as much when I spill it on my white shirt that I always seems to be wearing when I have Italian food. Or maybe something that lets me change the channel with my mind because using the remote for too long makes me winded. I would have no idea how to communicate any requests with them though, and there seems to be no solid evidence of them ever responding to those who believe in them. It's a tough call. Perhaps if I stuck with it for a while and held steady in my beliefs, they would reward me with an acting career and a cure for my homosexuality. This feels like a maybe.


This is a lot to digest, and I have more options in my head. Feel free to chime in with your beliefs. To be continued...

Thanks Dad! (A Christmas Tale)

It's that festive time of year again where memories of past Holiday disappointments, fist fights and trauma come bubbling up to the surface to bask in the warming glow of multi-colored LEDs. Of the numerous ones I can recall, perhaps the one that is most vivid in my mind is the time I found out that (SPOILER ALERT) Santa Claus is not real.

I was in 4th grade at the time which puts me at what, 12 years old? This must be a normal time for kids to discover "The Great Lie" because I remember having a few rousing debates over the existence of Sainted Nicholas with fellow classmates. I hypothesized that Santa was in fact real; however the Tooth Fairy was obviously a ridiculous creation from the mind of man. I firmly believed this to be true and vehemently defended my position in between sips of Hi-C during lunch.

My childhood came crashing to an end soon enough though. As more and more chocolate was taken out of the advent calendar, my father decided he should ask what I wanted that year. I hate that what I am about to say makes me feel old now. For Christmas that year, all I wanted was a Nintendo. Not a 64 or even a Super one. A boxy, mike tyson punchin, blowin 'on your cartridges Nintendo Entertainment System. When I told my father this, in a much more brief way, his immediate response was to look away and almost grumble, "Santa isn't made out of money you know."

Devastation.

I peaked very early intellectually, so I quickly figured out what this meant. I ran to my room, jumped on my bed and sobbed. It probably didn't help that my father delivered this life-altering news with all the subtlety and tact of a rampaging locomotive. My entire life was a lie! Why would they do this? What else were they lying to me about? Are they really even my parents?! It won

It was a very sad day, but I eventually recovered. That is until my brother woke up at 3 AM on Christmas morning, ran downstairs before everyone else, and then ran back upstairs to wake me up and tell me I actually got a Nintendo ruining the surprise. I cried again. I was a huge pussy back then. Until about age 27 really. Then I downgraded to "kind of a pussy." Things are looking up

Civil Rights Hero

There are moments in time where fate unexpectedly calls upon a person to step up for the greater good. History may call their name by pure chance or coincidence, but they recognize society needs them to take action. I I am experiencing such a moment now. This is how history begins.

Like many people, I go through periods of time where I do not have much concern for my health or weight. I call these periods "normal." There are occasions, usually when I sniff out a chance someone may see me in the naked, where I decide that it is my waistline that is making my shirt stick out so much on the sides, and not that "it's just the style these days." Menswear companies will never decide that next season all the stylish men will want to look like over ripe pears.

I had such an epiphany several months ago and began to exercise more and eat better. Now, the list of foods I eat is short and has about as much nutritional value as a sack full of rubber bands, so for me, eating better means eating less and trying to find anything halfway decent to substitute for my usual meals of shaped lard and several small piles of sugar. This lead me to the item known as the bar. Some are called energy bars. Some are called meal bars. Everybody knows good ol' granola bars. All bars, and all of them containing fewer calories than my normal junk.

My genius plan? Have one of these in lieu of a normal lunch every day that I am at work, since that was probably my most damaging meal due to the ease at which one can obtain fantastic tasting garbage in Manhattan. Not exactly the most sound dietary practice, but combined with some exercise and a bit of self control, it worked quite well.

You may be wondering what this has to do with me becoming the figurehead for a social revolution. You see, it came to my attention yesterday, after months of eating these bars, that my particular bar of choice, the Luna Bar, is in fact a nutrition bar for women. I made this discovery when I looked on the package and hidden on the front of it under the word "Luna" I saw "The Whole Nutrition bar for Women."

I was appalled at first. I felt violated as a result of such devious packaging design. For I moment I also felt the kind of confusion set in that I usually only experience after I have one of those dreams where I am playing touch football with a shirtless Tom Wopat. But I fought that off. This was not my fault! Nothing about this bar would give me any clue that it was a bar for women, aside from it saying it on the front of the package. And what kind of sexist nonsense is this anyway? Why is it only for women? I enjoy their White Chocolate bar quite a bit, and judging by the feeble protrusion from my groin I am 85% sure I am a man! Why isn't it a nutrtion bar for everyone?

This is when I got to thinking, which people usually tell me is a bad thing, but you can get the hell out of my way now! There are many products out there that are sexist towards men, and I am not going to sit down for it any more. No one bats an eye if a girl uses a regular old razor, but the second I use some purple razor to shave my legs for a photoshoot, people give me all kinds of crap. Maybe I would like some extra padding and support in my shoulder region. And what exactly are you trying to hide Secret? Is it that this PH balance mumbo jumbo is sexist propaganda? I'm done with it all! I may even start using tampons just to prove a point.

So there it is. I'm a regular Susan B. Manthony. Remember this moment, for future generations will.

How I Became Grossly Overweight

I have a terrible new hobby.

Baking,

I was browsing the internet at work and came upon a book that piqued my interest. That book is Ratio: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking, by Michael Ruhlman. Now you might think it is odd for me to be interested in any kind of cooking, since I really only enjoy meat, pasta, candy and any combination of those three things, especially if you melt mozzerella cheese on top of it.

While the idea behind the book is interesting for sure (learning the basic formulas of food and then experiment and expand on them with no need for recipes), what stopped me in my web surfing tracks was this.

A sweet ass Bread Wheel!

Countless times I, and many other philosophers, have wondered what exactly the difference between pancake batter and crepe batter is. What makes muffins sort of cake, but not really? Now the mystery is solved. My mind was blown when I saw that all that seperates a Fritter from a Popover is one extra part of flour. This is real life magic.

After obtaining the book, I did what I do with any instructional material. I skimmed through half of it and then went of half-cocked and attempted to create something.

Cookies were picked as my starting point. For the past three weekends I have made them. I started of baking with the very basic ration in the book which is 1 Sugar, 2 Fat, 3 Flour. This cookie is on the crunchy side and obviously doesn't have much in the way of interesting taste, but hey, it was an actual cookie, and I didn't chip a tooth or give birth to a colony of intelligent parasites in my gut.

With the attempts that followed I experimented with the ingredients and ratio of each. My goal was to figure out how to make a cookie that was chewy, and this weekend I achieved it! Go me.

Now the question is, what kind junk do I want to throw in there. I did the whole chocolate/peanut butter chip thing. It seems odd that I've spent large portions of my week conjuring up different flavor ideas in my head when normally I would looking at strange women and wondering what they'd look like nude and in my house.

I've mainly just been thinking about what are in my cabinets and then combining them together. This has led me to amazing flavors such as maple syrup/cashew and Cap'n Crunch/bourbon. I have also decided at some point I would like to make scotch and sodabread, but that is much farther down the road of my doughy journey.

I would also like some help in switching my wardrobe over to mostly items with an elastic wasitband. What cookies do you like that I should eat? What never before seen cookies from myth and fantasy would you like to see made?

Goose Egg

After a disappointing journey across the globe attempting to have sex with all of the people I am allowed to, I have returned with an 0 fer. I came relatively close to intercourse a time or two. Once when I watched Kevin Bacon fuck in a hammock for 2 and a half hours. Also, Betty White taught me what an "Macedonian Tongue Shovel" is. I learned by doing.

Now that my quest is abandoned I am free to enjoy the rest of the summer in the usual fashion. This includes deluding myself into thinking I will actually go to the beach and take off my shirt and cutting 65 percent of the legs off of my jeans.

I also plan to spend much time strolling around neighborhoods with a boombox on my shoulder that is blasting the ice cream truck music. When the children run outside, I will laugh at their disappointed faces. Then I shall ease on down the road.

A List of People I Can Have Sex With

The following list has been submitted by my girlfriend in response to my previous post:

(Links instead of pictures because they don't get me frustrated to the point of pissing blood)

Betty White

Dita Von Teese

Dolly Parton

Chuck Bass

Rebbie, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine or Marlon Jackson 

Cate Blanchett 

Jennifer Aniston if you promised not to break her heart

Alanis Morrisette

Kevin Bacon

Lynne Spears

Any of the Real Housewives of New York, except the countess (Find it yourselves.)

And any of the people on my list, except for Padma Lakshmi

After reviewing this submission I have decided to consider it as a "To Do List."

Cate Blanchett better watch her white ass because I am comin' for it.

7 People My Girlfriend Can Have Sex With

Intercourse with any of the following people will not result in our relationship ending, provided she doesn't leave me for them.

1. Any openly gay celebrity

2. Anderson Cooper

3. Rusty Staub

4. Padma Lakshmi

5. Henrik Lundqvist

6. Ron from The Biggest Loser

7. Famous Amos

I may start a list of the people i would least want her to pork. The number one spot would definitely be held by Ed begley Jr. due to his massive cock. I'll update you as it forms.

If you have an question regarding the reasons for including any of these people on my list, please feel free to ask.