And she cooks, too.

My girlfriend's roommate moved out a week and a half ago. She recently returned to help clean up the not so thin layer of filth she left there. This conversation occurred soon after.


Girlfriend: She took the fucking dish rack. I have to run to get another.
Me: She is a bastard woman.
Girlfriend: I know. I am so over her, so I stole all her tampons.

I Have Diabetes

So I'm not dead. That's good?

Those of you that read my post from yesterday that I made before going to the doctor will know that I began suffering from a bout with dizziness since late Monday afternoon. In response to this post, my internet friend Jay of Genius...Pending made a very astute guess as to what was causing my dizziness. He suggest it could be a sign of Diabetes.

Immediately this clicked in my head as a correct diagnosis for two reasons. The first, as Jay mentioned, is my atrocious diet. My diet consists mainly of meat, bread and candy. Many times all at once. The only vegetables I will eat are corn and potatoes, and every time I tell this to someone who is preparing to verbally bludgeon me for my eating habits, I am told that these two don't even really count as vegetables. I can only imagine this is because they taste good. Shortly before I felt the first woozy feeling on Monday, I had partaken in a bag of Gummi Bears. They really are silent killers.

The second, and bigger, reason I have diabetes is my unrelenting verbal hammering of Wilford Brimley. And yes, I added in the word "verbal" after rereading that sentence. For about 3 or 4 years now I have used the actor turned spokesman to garner countless laughs from friends and strangers alike. I have done dead on impressions of him saying foul and ungodly things in the voice mails of friends. I have tapped the Brimley well here on this blog ages ago (2005? Holy Crap). So now after all this, Karma has reared it's ugly head and bit me right in the... organ that produces insulin... I bet that low life oatmeal pusher is laughing his soup strainer off right now.

So it was a rough visit to the doctor yesterday. As if the bad news wasn't enough the guy was kind of an asshole. Whenever I would ask him about what steps I need to take to change my life to live with my disease he would look at me in a very condescending manner and tell me that I don't have diabetes, and my dizziness is being caused by fluid in my head. Telling me that I am just congested.

Obviously this made me quite upset. Not only was he ignoring everything I was telling him about MY body, but "fluid in my head?" As in Water on the brain? As in the guy was calling me mentally challenged? I won't stand for this kind of treatment, so I squatted down and ambled out of there proclaiming, "I HAVE DIABETES BUT I AM STILL A HUMAN BEING!"

Discriminating against a person because they have a disease is sick and wrong. Don't do it people.

By the time you read this, I might be dead.

It's true. Here's why.

As anyone who has known me for more then 5 seconds knows, I fall under the classification of "Worrier." I worry about any and every thing you could imagine, such as the fact that my fingers are the size of a 12 year-old's or that the shirt I am wearing makes it look like I have A-Cups.

Strangely enough, the things I never really work myself up over are medical related issues. I have to feel seriously out of or be in a great deal of pain for me to give up the "It will be better after I sleep a while" treatment plan I subscribe to.

Now it isn't one of those situations where I don't want to go to the doctor because I am afraid I will find out I have something horrible. I would be upset if this happened, but I'm sick and think I would enjoy the free sympathy and excuse to not work and be a complete bum.

But yeah, I usually try to tough it out and trust my immune system to repair any damage I have done by eating a donut I dropped on the floor of the Port Authority Bus Terminal, or lifting heavy objects whilst trying to build myself a fort.

There is something that is threatening to ruin my toughness in the medical zone though. Something evil and very powerful that is snaking it's way into my brain. Something called... WebMD.

As I am sure most of you know, if you feel like crap and go to www.webmd.com, you can enter in your symptoms and in seconds you will find out that you could have one of possibly hundreds of horrible diseases and conditions.

So today I decided to visit WebMD because since 5PM yesterday I have had this really strange dizzy feeling that I can't seem to shake. Usually standing up and physically shaking until I feel better works, but it only exacerbates my current problem.

I entered in my symptoms and found out that I could possibly be suffering from some of the following conditions:

Brain Tumor
Leukemia
Pulmonary Adema
Cerebral Thrombosis
Acute Aural Hydroplosion
Swimmer's Ear
Posterior Cerebral Tightness
A Sprained Skull
Jeff's Syndrome
Prolonged Transformation into Robot

With millions of people using this website to self diagnose themselves, it's no fucking wonder I can't get a god damn doctor's appointment today. There are probably legions of people flocking to doctor's offices every day because they saw on the Internet that their tummy hurts because their body is rejecting a liver transplant they never had.

I won't even get into the fact that every time I call a doctor's office they won't give me an appointment today because I am a new patient, and then before they tell me when I can be seen, they have to find out what my insurance is. It's enough to make Canada look attractive (The buckets of free sex they give out up there doesn't hurt either).

So yeah. I'm dizzy and slowly dying of a variety of horrible things. How are you doing?

Help?

I normally wouldn't post so soon after a previous one, but I just sneezed very hard and a muscle over my ribs spazzed the fuck out on me.

Now it's cramping up! How the hell do I walk off a rib muscle cramp? Are there even such things as rib muscles?

I'm obviously in tip top shape.

Could it beee.....

I have no recollection of mentioning this little tidbit in the past, but occasionally when I am in the need of a little extra cash and have free time after work or on the weekends, I have another job. I know you are all very funny and thinking , "Ha Ha. Probably a gay hooker." Well I am flattered that you think my buttocks look durable enough for such a demanding occupation, but this is an incorrect guess.


The job of which I speak is that of professional usher at a Broadway theater(re). At this job my responsibilities include handing out Playbills, escorting or sometimes merely pointing people to their seats, and also wanting to make love in dis club.


I have been doing this pretty irregularly for about a year and a half now, but about a month ago while trying not to fall asleep during the show, I opened my eyes long enough to notice something strange on the carpet. You tell me what you see.



That's right. You see a Carpet Satan, or at the very least a carpet demon. If you can't quite feel my Rorschach here, I will help you out.




See what I mean now, non-believers? Notice the Lucifery face and horn region. Also take note of the classic oddly bending devil goat legs and hooves. He is well defined abs like all standard depictions of Beelzebub do. A crown is affixed atop his dome to signify he is the King of Hell/Prince of Darkness. I'm not so sure about the wings though. I'm sure the devil could have wings if he wanted, but they make me think this could also be a tribute to Sardo Numspa.

If you can make out anything different, please share it with us. or you know, just tell me I am right and devote your eternal soul to Satan.


I hope to be posting more often. I'll do it until I run out of things to say.

The kind with the feet?

Recently I have learned that at a very young age I was quite advanced with regards to my knowledge of topics in the sexual realm. This discovery was made as a result of three related tales my mother told me.

Before I get into them, I will introduce you to the cast of characters.

Young Ryan - a precocious little youth who fought and clawed his way into the world approximately 6 or 7 years before these stories took place. Over 20 years later he still has no idea what precocious means.

Young Steven - A 6 or 7 year old boy who lives directly across the street from Young Ryan, and many times left his childhood compatriot to journey off to day camp alone due to getting nervous and having to take a shit every time the bus arrived to pick them up. An avid Billy Joel fan.

Young Bernadette - younger sister of Young Steven at the age of 5 or 6. Umm...she was a girl. Listen, all I can remember about her is that at the age of 16, 8 years after their family had moved out, she scratched the hell out of my friend Johnny's back while swimming in his pool during a visit to their old neighborhood. The main thing to remember here is that she is a girl.

Mother Fran - Giver of life to Young Ryan.

Mother Eileen - Giver of life to Young Steven.

OK here goes.

PART 1 - The Home of Young Ryan- Interior - Living Room
Young Ryan and Young Steven are sitting on the floor watching the 1986 film classic "Little Shop of Horrors". During one scene, Steve Martin, playing the sadist Dentist, turns to his girlfriend Audrey, played by Ellen Greene, and says, "You got the handcuffs?"

Young Ryan - What do they need handcuffs for?
Young Steven - People use them when they have sex.

Upon hearing this, Mother Fran runs to the kitchen while trying to stifle a laugh and quickly calls across the street. Mother Eileen picks up the phone on the other end.

Mother Fran - (while losing control of her stifled laughter) - What the hell goes on at your house?

aaaaaaand SCENE!

PART 2 - Exterior - Day Camp -an open field on a sunny day.
Young Ryan and Young Steven sit in the brilliantly green grass and talk about something I can't remember. Probably Transformers or dinosaurs or Macho man Randy Savage. I can't remember. Creepy Weird Girl Who I Don't Remember approaches the dynamic duo.

CWGWIDR - Do you guys know what a Blow Job is?
Young Ryan - It's when a girl sucks on a boy's penis. Duh!

Cut to later in the day, as Young Steven returns home from camp and immediately tells his mother that he now knows what a blow job is, and who he learned it from. Mother Eileen darts to the phone and dials the number for the home across the street. Mother Fran answers on the other end.

Mother Eileen - What the hell is going on at YOUR house?

aaaaaand SCENE!!

Do you guys need an intermission? I can wait. Go get yourself a cool beverage. Perhaps a tall cool glass of Orange Drink before we go on. It's damn refreshing.

PART 3 -Interior - The home of Young Ryan- Front Porch

Young Ryan, Young Steven and Young Bernadette sit in various places on the porch. I have no clue what was going on, or what started this brief, albeit legendary, conversation, so lets just say a giant comet had just narrowly missed crashing into the earth, and Ronald Reagan had just agreed to a Greco-roman wrestling match with the Ayatollah Khomeni. An eerie calm had set in across the Earth.

Young Ryan - I have a penis.
Young Bernadette - I have a vagina.
Young Steven - I have pajamas.

aaaand SCENE.

There could be no word more perfect in that sentence than pajamas.

I hope you've learned three things from these three brief tales. The first is that while I was very well educated in sex at a young age, my knowledge over the years has barely increased. In fact, I still don't quite understand the whole handcuffs deal. I dated a girl a few years ago who said she wanted me to use handcuffs on her, so I put her hands behind her back, slapped the cuffs onto her wrists, threw her down face first on the hood of a car and recited her Miranda Rights. You see my point.

The second thing is that I will use every opportunity I can to include a picture of "Macho Man" Ranch Savage in a post.

The third thing you should have learned is that I am really bored today.

*EDIT* I've learned a fourth thing. Blogger still sucks motherfucking ass whenever I add pictures.