Another One Bites The Dust....

Hey, remember last January when I, along with a gazillion other mopes, made some New Years Resolutions?

Specifically, I promised everyone that i would put up more posts this year than last year.

Well, it appears that i, along with those gazillion of mopes out there, have once again broken another resolution.

So, i ended up coming up slighly short this year in terms of my goal, but at least i made a good run of it and came close.  This morning I was tempted to put up 20, 1-word posts just to be a prick, but then i remembered that i am most definitely NOT a prick, no matter what everyone else says.

Plus, i am headed out to a big New Years bash in about 2 hours, and even though i havent gotten dressed yet or even applied my eyeliner, i STILL took the time to sit my ass down and put up one last post for good ol' 2012.

Anyway, here's hoping that you all have an awesome 2013.  You are the bestest, most loyal blogohphiles a boy like me could hope to have.  If you were here right now, i'd sashay on up to you and plant a big ol' wet one right on your kisser.  Plus, i might even slip you a little tongue.

And after being home from work for the past 2 1/2 weeks, i'll hopefully get the year off to a good start next week and get back to a regular posting schedule.

Because, and i PROMISE this time, i'm gonna post more NEXT year than THIS year.....

Do Something Good Today....

Go hug your kids.....

Just a little bit of love to take away some of the bad this weekend....

Absolutely sick this weekend.  I cannot watch any more news of this horror.....

What the Hell, Nick Cage?

If you're like me, you think Nick Cage is about a razor's edge away from being completely bat-shit crazy.

But again, if you're like me, you feel compelled to keep watching his crappy movies.....

And for the last time, if you're like me, you think that the Japanese have lost their marbles when it comes to television and the wacky shit they put on the air over there.

Anyway, take those three items, stir 'em up all together in a big heapin' Pot Of Crazy, and what do you get?

A Japanese commercial starring Nick Cage, selling........

selling........

..... well, FUCK if i know, honestly. 

I mean, I've seen some weird shit before on TV, and i know that the Japanese go ape-shit for putting big American celebrities in wacky television spots, but i DO think that this one might take the cake.

And in case you haven't noticed, I've been on kind of a kick lately with watching a lot of wacky television commercials, and i just stumbled on this gem.

Plus, if i'm being honest with you (and why would I stop being honest with you all NOW, after all the embarrassing shit i've spilled on here over the years), doing posts like these are REAAAAALLY easy.  I don't have to think much at all, or put in any real effort.

.... Just like when I'm at work.

... or in bed!

Your First........

No, I’m not talking about THAT first……

That’s a rude and insensitive question. We don’t degrade ourselves with such potty talk around here. This is all highbrow shit.

No, I’m talking about the first album you ever owned.

C’mon, think back. Surely you remember the first album that you ever went out to a store to purchase.
And the first young fuck who tells me that albums weren’t sold anymore when they were first buying music so they bought CD’s will get a donkey punch right in the hoo-ha from yours truly.

Regardless, for the purposes of our discussion, your first CD will work, too. I just want to know what the first bit of music you ever owned was.

The reason I’m bringing this up is because I was hanging out with some friends the other day and we were discussing this very topic, and much to my horror, I was forced to dig up from my subconscious that the first album I ever owned was this….

Yes, that’s right.

Funkytown, performed by Lipps, Inc, was the first album I ever owned. I used to sit in my basement, with my old turntable, and play this record just so I could hear those motivationally inspiring words “Won’t you take me to…. FUNKY-TOWWWWWN!”, over and over and over again.

Yes, I know. Quite embarrassing. I’m man enough to admit that I owned this steaming pile of horse hucky.

But I DO have a defense:

1) It was purchased for me as a birthday gift from a friend, so I did not buy it for myself, which should count for SOMETHING. The fact that he bought it for me because I loved the song and would sing it all day probably negates any positive light I could spin on this fact.

2) In 1980, the disco crazy was still pretty much in full swing. Ok, maybe it was on the decline a bit, but there were still a lot of people doing The Hustle out there.

3) This album was my first musical acquisition, it’s true, but the second album I ever owned was Queen’s “The Game”, and then I followed THAT up with my third album, Ozzy Ozzborne’s “Diary Of A Madman”, so I should at least get some street cred back for those other two.

Anyway, that’s my defense. While I am indeed embarrassed that the fine folks of Lipps Inc were the ones that popped my musical cherry, I DO have to admit that when I hear this song, even to this day, it brings a smile to my face because it brings me back to my parents basement, and that old warbly turntable, and to a 11 year old Slyde who didn’t yet know a damn thing about anything, even if I thought I did.

So, step right up and embarrass yourself with me....... who was YOUR first?

The Cars

My neighbors are fucking killing me.

There are 2 homes directly across the street from me.  They belong to two sisters, and their respective families.

House # 1 is occupied by one sister, her husband, their 2 kids, their tenant, and her boyfriend.

Each one of them has their own car.  And just to top it off, the husband has a second car…  A sweet looking vintage Mustang that he has restored.

House # 2 is occupied by the other sister, her husband, their 3 kids, and THEIR tenant.

Each one of them has THEIR own damn car, too.  Plus, Husband # 2 owns a delivery business, so he often has 2 small trucks that he parks in his driveway.

Now, I’m not a math whizz, and lord knows that I don’t have enough fingers for me to do some PROPER counting, but the last time I checked, that was 15 FUCKING CARS that are parked directly across the street from me!

And, since none of us has the last name of ‘Rockefeller’, you would be correct in assuming that neither of them have a driveway NEARLY large enough to accommodate this travelling road show.

So, they fill up their driveways, and then the runoff cars are parked up and down the length of the block.  When their kids have friends over (which is often), they merrily continue the cavalcade with THEIR damn cars up and down the block, on either their side of the street, or lined up in front of my house.

I’m not the kind of person who really gives a shit what people do with their own stuff, but when you park your fucking cars directly across from my damn driveway, it gets my goat.  I have to make a fucking 6 point turn just to get out of my driveway so I can go get a fucking Slurpee.

And I NEED my damn Slurpee.

It’s driving me crazy. 

I swear, one day I am going to just lose it and peel out of my driveway doing 50 in reverse and plow into the lot of them.

That’ll show ‘em!

What The .... ?

Look, the 60’s were slightly ahead of my time, but I’ve watched enough TV to know that all you Baby Boomers out there did tons of drugs and other fucked up stuff during that time, so maybe this is just a case of you not being quite in your right mind when you were asked to come up with a commercial for a new children’s doll.

The doll, named Baby Laughs A Lot, might have SEEMED good on paper.  I mean, EVERYBODY likes to laugh, right?

So why then, when I watch the commercial below, do I want to poo my pants with sheer fucking terror?

It’s bad enough that the toy itself is just creepy as shit with that evil laugh, but those damn girls whiplashing their head at me to stare into my soul make me want to piss myself and yell for my mommy.

Is it just me?  You be the judge.

I’m A Pepper!

Didn’t I JUST make up some lame excuse for not posting in over a week? 

OK, well here’s another:  Last week was Thanksgiving here in the good ol’ U.S., and I ended up taking the whole week off from work.  And if I’m home, I’m almost NEVER blogging.  My free time is usually filled up with orgies and fetish conventions.

Anyway….

You are all watching American Horror Story, right?

If you aren’t, then you’re really doing yourself a disservice.  While I felt that last season started off good and creepy, it quickly tumbled downhill into the silly and unbelievable.

THIS season, however……. Holy Schniekies!

This season, sub-named “Asylum”, has been outstanding!  From the opening credits, right on through to the end, I have been thoroughly creeped out and entertained each week.

One of the most unnerving characters on the show is Pepper, lovingly called “Pepper the Pinhead”.  I honestly can’t see where the nickname came from.

After seeing a few episodes with Pepper, I had no doubt in my mind that the producers had actually cast someone with some kind of impairment in the role.  They did something similar last season by casting a girl with Down Syndrome as one of the leads.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Earlsie emailed me a week ago to show me that Pepper, whose real name is Naomi Grossman, is actually NOT disabled.  She just goes thru 3 hours of prosthetics each week to transform into Pepper!  

Naomi ACTUALLY looks like this:

How crazy is that? 

I have to admit that now I’m quite conflicted, because every time that I now see Pepper on screen, I can’t help but think that there is a chick under all that who I wouldn’t mind banging. 

It’s leaving me all conflicted and feeling dirty.  It’s kinda the same feeling I’d imaging I’d get if one day I thought my grandma was hot.

We’ve all been THERE, right guys?

Just me, then?  Ok. 

Anyway, the point I am trying to make here is that the makeup people on AHS deserve a fucking Emmy for what they are doing on that show. 

Seriously, George Lucas should bend over and take one of those fake pinhead scalps right up the ass because Pepper’s makeup looks ten thousand times more authentic than the bazillion dollars Lucas spent on those dopey-looking characters in the Star Wars sequels.

The Truth Hurts

Her: What do you think of this outfit on me?

Him: It’s great.

Her: You’re not even looking at me!

Him: I already know what you look like.

Her: Seriously, how do I look? I want to wear this to work today.

Him: You really want to know?

Her: Yes! That’s why I asked you.

Him: I don’t like it.

Her: What? Why? What’s wrong with it?

Him: Nothing is ‘WRONG’ with it. I just don’t like it.

Her: It figures YOU don’t like it. You don’t like anything except clothes that make me look like a hooker.

Him: What can I say? I know what I like.

Her: Will you please be serious? I need to leave for work soon!

Him: What else do you want me to say? I don’t like it. I think it makes you look frumpy.

Her: Frumpy? This is NOT a frumpy outfit! You wouldn’t know a frumpy outfit if one walked up and smacked you in the ass…..

Him: Anyone who wears THAT outfit wouldn’t be able to smack me in the ass.

Her: Why not?

Him: Because the type of person who wears outfits like that would break their hip if they tried to smack me since they’d be about 95 years old.

Her: You’re an asshole.

Him: Maybe, but at least I don’t dress like I’m about to do the fucking Charleston.

Her: Nice.

Him: Thanks!

Her: Well, I’m going to change, anyway.

Him: What? Why? You said you liked that outfit!

Her: No, not really.

Him: Then why the hell did you ask me if I liked it?

Her: I just wanted to know your opinion.

Him: Thanks for wasting 10 minutes of my life, Bea Arthur.

Her: You’re welcome, jackass.

Oh, Sandy!

I do believe that this may very well be the longest I have ever gone without putting up a post.

And for once, I have an excuse besides just pure ‘laziness’.

No, I wasn’t lazy….. I was just living back in the stone ages for a while.

And once you can get past not having ANYTHING to do, going to bed at 8PM since you are sitting in darkness and bored shitless, and wearing 2 sweaters and gloves to bed because you are colder than a fucking ice cube, it really wasn’t all that bad….

Yes, of course I’m talking about hurricane Sandy.  That cold-hearted bitch did a real number on me and my neighbors here on Long Island.

We lost power about 7:30pm Monday. 

The first day or two without power is kind of an adventure.  You can sit around by candlelight, tell stories, and play boardgames.  It’s kinda like going camping and taking your house with you.

Then, it all starts to get to you.  By day 4 I felt like I wanted to kill anyone who asked me “So, is your power back on yet?”

The WORST was Tuesday night, a mere 24 hours after the storm, when our power came back on at 10:30PM.  We were already in bed (because, what the hell ELSE could I be doing in the dark at that time?), when all the house lights suddenly came back on.  We couldn’t believe our good fortune.  We all ran out in the street where all our neighbors had already flocked, whooping it up and banging pots in celebration.

4 minutes later the lights went back off.  That was probably the cruelest joke that’s ever been set upon me.

I tried about 100 times to buy a generator, but you’d have a better chance on getting a fucking unicorn last week than one of those machines.  I tried everything.  I was getting up at 4AM to sit on a line already 100 people long at Home Depot, only to be told that there was no delivery that day, and to try again tomorrow.

The worst part of it was that Mini-Me turned 10 last week, and although he didn’t carry on about it, the look on his face as he spent his first day in double-digits in the dark, disappointed and shivering with nothing to do, just about broke me down.

Anyway, whatever the hell doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, and all that shit.

Honestly, I consider myself very lucky.  No major house damage, and we still have all our fingers and toes.  I know many, MANY people who lost everything last week.  My heart breaks when I take a walk just a few blocks away and see the devastation people are dealing with.

Hell, you guys probably know more about the wreckage of New York and New Jersey than I do right now.  I haven’t seen a TV in 8 days…….

Fucking Aliens could have invaded and it would be news to me……

Chazz Palminteri Was Right

Like most Americans, I learn all my life lessons through movies.

And I don’t think there have been many movies that have taught me more things than A Bronx Tale.

You’ve all seen this fine film, haven’t you?  Of course you have.  If not, go rent it now.  Go ahead… I’ll wait.

All done?  Splendid.

A Bronx Tale tells the story of a young man growing up in New York in the 60’s, and how his life and morals are shaped by the teachings of his father, and a local mafia boss who takes him under his wing.

I fucking LOVE this movie.  It’s just so rich with talent, and Chazz Palminteri steals the show as mafia boss/surrogate father Sonny LoSpecchio.

One of the reasons this movie is such a gem for me is because of all the great pearls of wisdom Sonny imparts to young teen Calogero during the course of the film.  He teaches him life lessons about all manner of things…. First loves, vengeance, redemption.

He also teaches us about the costs of losing unworthy people in your life.

In one scene, Sonny glimpses young Calogero chasing down some loser in the street.  When asked why he was doing so, Calogero angrily says that the guy owes him $20 and the kid has been ducking him to avoid paying up.  Sonny looks at Calogero and tells him to let the guy go.  For the cheap cost of $20, Calagero has learned that the other kid is untrustworthy, and not a good friend.  For 20 dollars, he has essentially bought that person off and ensured himself that the kid will never bother him or ask him for money again.  Calogero begins to see the situation in a different light and agrees that he just cut an unwanted person from his life for the low cost of 20 bucks.

I’m always reminded of that scene whenever I lend a friend some money.

In May, I went to Jamaica and a co-worker here, who was born in Jamaica, asked me to pick him up an expensive bottle of rum that you can only get there.

I did as he asked, and when I returned I gave him the bottle and told him how much I paid for it.  He thanked me and told me that he would pay me back at the end of the week, after pay day.

Two weeks went by and I never got a cent.  Every time he passed me in the halls, he again apologized and said he would be paying me soon.

After a month, he stopped me in the cafeteria and handed me some money.  It was half of what the bottle cost me.  He told me that he would get me the other half at the end of the week……

…. That was in July.  I still have received jack shit.

And as much as that might typically make my Sicilian blood boil, whenever I see him now and notice how he quickly turns the corner to avoid meeting my eyes, I am always pleasantly reminded of A Bronx Tale and that, for a relatively cheap cost, this fuckwad has been excised from my life.

I STILL want to donkey-punch him in the nuts, though……

On Being Impulsive

I have a big problem.

And before you say, “Of course you do.  It must be a huge burden on you to find underwear big enough to contain your massive weenie”, let me stop you right there.

While it is true that finding clothing that’s durable enough to house my monstrous wee-wee is a constant challenge for me, that is NOT what I wanted to talk about today.

No, my issue is that I am ridiculously impulsive.

Really, REALLY impulsive. 

And while some might think it fun and refreshing to tip toe through life without giving much thought to some of the curves that life throws at you, it can really lead to some stupid decisions sometimes.

I’m not sure why I am like this.  Most times, if I have an important decision to make, it just seems that the weight of it all, and the work it would take to come to an informed decision, is too much to bear, so I just throw it all to the wind and say “fuck it…. let’s go with Option A”.

And I’m either REALLY good at making snap decisions, or I’m REALLY lucky.  Since the number of things I’m glad that I’ve done on pure impulse pretty heavily outweighs the things I’ve regretted…..

…. Except of course for the time I banged that stewardess that I had just met.  THAT ended badly.  I don’t know what came over me.  I just saw that cute, tight little outfit and I knew exactly what I wanted.

What was his name again?  Glen something…… Oh well…. Nevermind.  It’s not important now.

Anyway, while I try to give myself SOME restraint when it comes to being impulsive about life decisions, I am totally apeshit crazy when it comes to making impulsive purchases.

It’s really bad.  I NEVER do any real research before I buy something.  I just see something that I like, and then I run out like a 4 year old to the store, screaming “I WANT!  GIMME DAT!” until some happy clerk puts it in my hands.  Time after time, I buy shit without the slightest bit of thought.

I never really realized how bad I was with impulsive buying, until I took a good look at myself after I bought my last car.

All I knew is that I wanted a convertible.  I took a Sunday drive to a local car dealer, and saw one that I liked.  But the car was in red, and I knew that I wanted it in black.  When I spoke with the salesman, he told me that he had one in black in one of his other dealerships.

My only “normal” decision after that was to ask him what color the interior was on the black car.  He told me it was beige.

Then I told him that “I’ll take it.”

After the salesman picked his jaw off the floor, he asked me if I wanted to drive out to the other lot to check the car out.  I said no.  He then asked me if I wanted to at least test drive the red one he had there, and I again said no thanks.  Then I walked in to sign the paperwork.  The next day they had the car driven out to me, where I just hopped in, took the top down,  and drove off.

It’s not lost on me that THAT IS FUCKING WEIRD.  It’s just that I don’t like being bogged down with little things like DETAILS or REALITY if it could possibly stand between me and something I want.

Maybe it comes from me being and only child?  Then again, I know plenty of other only-children who aren’t bat shit crazy, so maybe I was just dropped on my head or something……

No THAT can’t be it.  If I had been dropped on my head, I’d have some kind of residual mark or scar. 

And my face is fucking flawless……..

Worst. Endorsement. Ever.

No, this is NOT a post about Jamie Lee Curtis hawking some crappy yogurt that makes you poo-poo all over yourself (although that, in itself, is pretty fucking funny, too).

Maybe this post isn't so much about a bad endorsement, as it is about bad product placement.

Scratch that.  Not "bad" product placement.  Make that "The worst product placement ever!"

You be the judge.

For most olympiads, getting a company to sponser them is a HUGE boon.  It gives them  money to train and live, and the sponsor gains valuable exposure.

"But in the case of British Gas' sponsorship of bronze medal-winning UK diver Tom Daley, the company could have benefited from checking out their company's placement on his swimsuit."

Gee, ya think?

Check it out for yourself......

 Is that not just AWESOME!

The young Ad Man who came up with plastering an advertisement for GAS on a person's ANUS has been fired, right?  That would at least reaffirm my faith that the world still spins on its axis...........