why does blatt rule so much?

New blog address

2005-12-30T05:43:00.000-08:00

http://blog.myspace.com/blattrules

Why is garbage so fun when you're drunk? -Halloween weekend part 2- yeah it's backwards I know

2005-10-31T19:42:00.000-08:00

Some people are going to think this is weird...guaranteed.

Friday night we all went out to the city (NYC for you out-of-towners,) and appropriately partied like we were never going to see someone again (Sal's moving to Georgia.) The night started off with Clay rushing me to get ready like he was a Drill Sergeant.

"We have an hour to get to the train from here!!! Me and Matt made it in 15 minutes one time!" I shouted from the bathroom as Clay was pacing back and forth.

"Yeah, but it's rush hour and we have to pick up beer on the way," he responded...alright, he was right there.

We then left, picked up beer, drove to the train station and bought tickets from a stubborn ticket machine all with about 15 minutes to spare. We sat down, cracked open some beers and started watching for the entertaining situation about to unfold right before us on the platform. Dennis (who's chronically late,) his girlfriend Jackie and Chris (who chronically doesn't show up,) had all banded together and promised to meet us at the train station to catch the train we were now sitting on.

After sitting there for 15 or so minutes without any word from them, we started thinking that they might not make the train. Clay, Kim and I breathed a collective sigh of relief though when we saw the other three running up the stairs to the platform just in time for the train...or rather, just in time to miss the train. Chris threw his hands up like he didn't know what to do, and when I pointed toward the door he started running toward the back of the train. Just when he did so, the train started pulling away, and Clay, Kim, myself and some random dude who saw me banging on the glass and waving my hand at them, all started laughing hysterically when we realized that they missed the train by about 30 seconds.

"Oh well, time to get started on these beers!" I thought as me and Clay proceeded to down six each before arriving in the City an hour and a half later.

We were the first one's out to the bar as well. 100 or so beers on tap and I have a headstart on everyone else to see how many I can imbibe before iminent intoxication ensues. We quickly claimed dibs on a decent sized table, sitting next to two Asian guys and a British guy. They were just finishing up and told us that we could have the table when they were done...even told us to sit down and have a drink with them. After settling down, I exchanged my knowledge of British cursewords with the British guy, we all had a laugh at Bollux, and they were off. The other 10 or so of us showed up shortly after me and Clay had each thrown 3 more beers to their acidy death.

I'm not sure how much the tab came to, but I assume it to be somewhere in upwards of 300 dollars or so. I'm pretty sure that that included both trays of shots that we knocked over. First one: Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder and quickly turned around to see what it was about and sent all 15 shots to the floor...the waitress was signalling that she was right behind him. The second tray actually made it to the table, but quickly toppled like dominos when Sal tried picking a few of them up.

We left the bar around one, giving ourselves plenty of time to get back to Penn. On the way back we noticed that it was garbage night in the city and proceeded to trip, push, throw and kick each other into the bags stacked up on the side of the road waiting to be driven to New Jersey (New York's landfill.) I don't know what happened to my hand, but it was really hurting the whole next day. I heard tales of Dennis punching a parking meter, but I don't know if he "Soul-Crushed" it like I did little more than two years ago (I really thought my hand was broken for the next two weeks after that incident.)

I don't know why it happens, but it seems to be a common trend that whenever we go to the City for Sal's Birthday, we start throwing each other in garbage, and it's always hilarious at the time.

We made it back to Penn with plenty of time to get a few slices of pizza before the last train. Clay, keeping the tradition of the night, dropped one of the two slices that he bought [cheese side down] on the floor of Penn Station, and promptly tossed it in the garbage.

I'd blog about the train ride back, but I don't remember it because I was so engulfed in sleep that I had to be shaken awake when we'd reached our stop (thank Flying Spaghetti Monster it was the last stop because we would have overslept it by a longshot.)

My Life as a Giant Beer -Halloween weekend part 1-

2005-10-31T19:41:00.000-08:00

"What's cooler than a Gigantic Beer?" I thought as I pointed to the costume I'd finally decided to wear to the party.

Picking out a costume this year proved to be more problematic than previous years. In years past, I'd always figured out what I wanted to be ahead of time; ie. wrapping myself in tin foil, wrapping myself in ceran wrap, the cowboy w/ the ridiculously large foam hat, the bum w/ the "Will Dance for Beer" sign, or just the ever creative, "Yeah I'm not doing the costume thing this year." I was originally planning on the latter of the choices for this year until Saturday night at about 7:30 when Kenny and Kristen called me up asking if I wanted to go to the costume shop with them.

The plan was as follows: look at costumes, and if we see something we like, we'll go to Kristen's friend's party. Forty-Five minutes later, the most solid costume that any of us had was Kenny's idea to buy a gigantic, blue, foam cowboy hat and this pillowy pony to go around his waist. We momentarily retreated to the car to organize our thoughts and decide if we in fact wanted to go to the party or sit back and watch movies. After 15 or so minutes of deciding (a new record for the three of us,) we decided to go back in and obtain some costumes then go to the party.

Kenny's was easy; I saw a gigantic milk costume hanging on the wall...a no brainer for Kenny. I think he's the only person that drinks milk after running around on a hot day, and I've heard rumors that he drinks something like 10 gallons of milk a day. "Well if he's gonna be his favorite drink, then I'm going to be mine...Gimme that gigantic Beer costume." So Kristen was pretty headstrong on being a hippie at that point, and we purchased our costumes and left that madhouse to go to another type of madhouse.

Kenny's costume came w/ a milk mustache applicator crayon and mine came with the promise of intoxication. He applied his milk mustache before leaving his house and it was off to Wendy's for a quick meal. They messed up two of our foods that we ordered so Kenny decided to go in and fix it.

"You have something on your lip," the girl behind the counter says to him.
"Oh I know, I'm going to a party dressed as milk," he replied.

"Oh...You have something on your lip," the other girl says to him.
"I'm going to a party dressed as milk," he repeated.

We finally get to the party and met all the characters there. There was Beetlejuice, the receptionist from Beetlejuice, a few criminals, a cop, a bee, Jack White, a Werewolf, Cochise from the Beastie Boys video, and a handful of other costumed characters. I was surprised to learn that cochise was actually Robert Gulet, and overheard Jack White telling someone that he was actually Willy Wonka. Having not seen the new movie, I did not know this and just kept referring to him as Jack White all night.

So Kenny won the award for "Funniest Costume" (I guess no one found it funny when I slapped their beer to the ground and yelled, "RUN BROTHER!!!!") Quite ironically, the prize for "Funniest Costume" that night was a box of Frankenberry and a box of Boo-berry cereal.

My Magazine is Spying on Me

2005-09-20T21:16:00.000-07:00

"I'll be courteous and let this guy in the minivan over, so I'll move into the middle lane. Hmm...doesn't seem to be any traffic coming up behind me so I'll just make my move. There. What is this asshole doing speeding up in a huge truck? Now he's tailgating? Fuck him. Fine I'll move back into that other lane. Are you happy now Mr...wait, what's that say on the side of the truck? Positron Emitty-who Tomota-dealy? (PET.) What the fuck is PET?"

So I wondered for the duration of my trip home tonight about where the hell some gigantic truck speeding up behind me is going at this time of night with a positron-doohicky. I also further wondered what the hell PET is and stood for because he sped by me so fast I couldn't read it; all I got was Positron and PET.

I arrive at home and take my ritualistic evening dump and carry my favorite magazine (Men's Health) in for some reading. Much to my shagrin, there it was. PET: Positron-Emission Tomography. It maps out vital organs apparently.

The point of this story is not the PET...that's actually a really boring end to a pretty boring story anyway. But the important part is that no more than 15 minutes after wondering what this truck was and what it was doing, I had my answer. Coincidence? I thought so too...at first.

I thought back to Sunday night (2 nights ago) and remembered how I kept waking up and couldn't have slept for more than 2 hours at a time without lying awake for an hour. I hoped that this was going to be just an isolated incident because I normally sleep pretty well. When I woke up exhausted the next morning, I thought that I might need some answers, just in case.
During my ritualistic morning dump, I discovered a little article that was in the very same issue of Men's Health about sleep patterns. It had a few bits of advice for getting a great 8 hours of sleep.

After recalling this annecdote, I realized that my magazine is spying on me, because it's not the first time that this has happened. I knew that there was a reason that I read this magazine so religiously and abide by it's diet and excercise programs as strictly as I do. It's probably trying to tell me something so that I don't die in a year and a half.

Fucked up T-Shirt Ideas

2005-09-16T23:28:00.000-07:00

So Sal, Little Matt & I have this ongoing "contest" for who can think of the most fucked up t-shirt idea. After putting some time into our thinking on these shirts, we've come up with a pretty decent list of possibilities for most fucked up t-shirt of all time. However, after I found the website: t-shirt hell, I rethought our ideas.

With such awesome shirts as, "I'm not getting Jiggy, I just have Parkinsons,"

and this little dealy, I thought that they were a shoe-in for most fucked up t-shirt ideas.

Which is why I decided to write this blog. You see, Sal started it all off with, "Hurricaine Shmiricaine; I just want my damn orange juice," relating to last year's hurricaine whiched caused a shortage of orange juice. Matt retorted with
.
To which I came up with, "Tsunami 2004: Ride the Wave." Then I later found out that t-shirt hell had, "I surfed Tsunami 2004," pretty much the same thing. So I came up with something so bad that I really care not to divulge as it will result in numerous people discontinuing friendships with me.

Shortly after I came up with the unmentionable of t-shirts, another of my friend (nameless) came up with, "I didn't like the Twin Towers anyway." Really bad nameless.

Then, another of my friends asked if I had any good ideas for shirts in poor taste about the hurricaine. I started thinking and came up with something to the order of, "Flash me for..." and then formed a writer's block on the rest. Thankfully, my favorite t-shirt site filled in the rest for me with "Flash me for Food & Water" with "beads" crossed out.

I've just come up with two more hurricaine related shirts and I'll divulge them now before the opportune 2 years for comedic discourse has passed. They both play off of the same idea, which was also kind of covered already in t-shirt hell.

Number 1: "I survived Katrina and all I got was this fucked up house."
and
Number 2: "I survived Katrina and all I got were these kick-ass seats in the superdome."

Ok, so maybe everyone's crossing the line too soon on these t-shirt ideas because there are a lot of people dead and suffering because of this. However and first of all, those people were told to leave because a Class 5 (big mother-fucker) hurricaine was coming their way. They chose to not vacate. Second of all, I wouldn't get pissed if someone made a t-shirt that said, "Blatt bought this awesome Mazda and now all he has is a gigantic lawn jockey." Or, "You know you're a hick when you smashed a tooth out after 25 shots in an hour, and then your new car resides in your lawn because it blew up...thus forcing you to buy a new engine before a new tooth. Oh yeah, and you also don't use words like "thus.""

There they are for now. I'll amend this post when I think of more.

Where's your cock? Oh right...it got rocked the Fuck off.

2005-09-04T23:42:00.000-07:00

So my band and I just got back from playing a show at the Sheraton in Philadelphia, PA. Dennis and I got to the hotel that Sean had booked at about 2:30 on Saturday morning. At that point I had consumed about 9 Warsteiners and was freely running around the hotel throwing ice I'd collected into our bathtub to keep the remaining beers cold.

The next day it was off to the Independent Music Conference (IMC) for us. We showed up there at around 12...far earlier than half of the people that showed up, and we set up our table. The following is a discourse on the events that occurred that day.

Dennis found this awesome Belgiun bar called Eulogy. I can only imagine that it got it's name from the sheer brute number of different beers that had been consumed within it's doors. 400 is the number that it's 4 page, small type menu sported. The best of them, and the award for my new favorite beer is Gulden Draak (Golden Dragon.) At a menacing 10.5% alcohol coupled with a delicious half-full-bodied-wine half-really-awesome-beer flavor, this beer quickly won my liver.

Shortly after my latest epiphany, I discovered the deliciousness of their "Napolean Burger." A half pound of delicious ground beef with sauteed onions, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, on a sourdough roll; served with awesome twice fried french fries and a mustardy-mayonaise dipping sauce (for the fries...yeah I know, heart attack city, but don't knock it 'til you've tried it.)

So me and Dennis met Sean back at the conference slightly iniebriated and completely satisfied with our find. We met this cool girl from a pretty cool sounding band who actually asked me, "Where's the beach?" to which I responded with a, "I think it's that-a-way (pointing with my bicep flexed.)" She then signed our mailing list adding a few choice words - "You guys are hot!" and was off on her way telling us that she would try to catch our performance later that night (she didn't.)

We then went to a workshop for CD critiquing and got some pointers for our next demo album. We promptly rushed to no fewer than 5 bars after that. Surprisingly each bar had it's own awesome selection of beers (up to 10 new ones per bar.) Back to Eulogy with Sean to talk to an awesome bartender and some more wine-beer, then off to the conference again.

We hung out there for a while. We learned that we'd been bumped back to 12am...instead of 10:45pm because of a booking mix-up with a local bar. So I proceeed to drink the bottle of Powers that I'd brought along for the trip. Some crackhead lady decided to try to steal 2 of our t-shirts, me and Sean got on some radio station talking to Dr. Lou while Dennis was in the shitter, and we saw some crazy 1 piece band guy in the rest of the time we spent there. Oh yeah, incidentally, there's some kind of magic bench around that area that we went looking for also. Apparently, it's much like the singing bush from the "3 Amigos" movie, only twice as elusive and no one shot the invisible swordsman.

When we returned we played one of the best shows we've ever done, and rocked everyone in the audience so much that there were "love-stains" left on their chairs after our set. I continued to drink my Powers until the bottle was 75% gone, and ended up really drunk. Drunk enought that I decided that everyone on the way home was "airhorn-worthy." A quick trip to Denny's and the mastication of my favorite breakfast ever - moon's over my hammy - sobered me up enough so I didn't smash my face walking around, but left me drunk enough that I don't remember leaving Denny's and going back to the hotel.

Overall...awesome time in Philly even though I didn't get one cheesesteak. I just wish more people could have seen us play and hung out with us when we were barhopping.

Yeah...Still Not Who You're Looking For.

2005-08-29T18:06:00.000-07:00

"RRRRRRRRIIIIIINGGGGGGGG"

--I don't know this phone number. I guess I'll answer it anyway just in case some hot girl spontaneously decides to call me randomly and ask for wild sex--

"Hello?..."
"Yo wassup...where's marv at?"
"I don't know who you're talking about, you must have the wrong number."
"pfft...CLICK"

--Damn what a dick, he could've at least said he's so...--

"RRRRRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG"

--Same number again...I'll let voicemail sort this one out rather than waste more minutes on this asshole--

So at this point I was on my way home from work. Half an hour later, I arrive at my house and take my habitual after work dump. So what happens when I'm at my most timid?

"RRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGGGGG" -- Same asshole...still not answering it.

A few hours pass by and I now have free minutes and I'm not really doing anything so I decide to answer the phone this time:

"RRRRRRINNNNNGGG"
"Yeah...listen I'm STILL not your friend, and your friend is not going to have this number anytime soon because I've had this number for the past 4 YEARS now."
"CLICK"

I've said this before, and perhaps even blogged about it in the somewhat recent past, but I really think that we need to eliminate some of the population Darwin style. I beleive that we need to eliminate some warning signs that would normally cause people to die if they don't pay attention to them. Really...what does a sign say that you can't notice on your own?

I recently saw a sticker on the lid of a tupperware container; one of the big ones that you store books and stuff in. Guess what it says to not put in the airtight container? If you guessed small babies, you're correct. I don't necessarily think that it's just to suffocate innocent babies because of my theory, but how smart are they really going to grow up to be if their parents store them in plastic airtight containers? Furthermore, any sign that says "Elevator Out" should be just plain burned. Anyone that walks straight into an open elevator shaft deserves to be removed from our gene pool. There are many other cases of signs that should just cease to exist in our world to help smarten our offspring up, you know what they are when you see them; I don't think I have to list them.

I will however offer further proof for my cause. It happened over the course of today.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGGGGGG"

--I don't recognize this number, but my phone says "Maryland" and I may know someone in Maryland--

"Hello?"
"Hi...where's Laverne?"
"Who's Laverne? There's no Laverne here."
"CLICK"
Yeah, thanks for wasting 1 of my last 4 remaining minutes on my phone until my minutes renew next week.

Two minutes later...
"RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG"
--Motherfucker...it's the same fucking idiot crackwhore from before...this looks like a job for voicemail--

A few hours later...
"RRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG"
--What the fuck?! Are there really people this stupid in this world...goddammit I'm blogging about this--
"Yeah, Laverne is still not here nor will she ever be."
"CLICK"

Get some manners and get rid of the OCD. It's crazy to think that doing the same thing over and over again will have results contrary to what they were before. In this day of technology, there's a such thing as an outgoing calls list on most phones. All you need to do is check the number that you're about to dial, comparing it with the number in your phone that you dialed before and didn't get your friend. Real hard.

Now I have to go because the cripple fight episode of South Park is on and I've devoted far too much of my time to crazy people from Maryland that don't know how to dial phones.

You think you have problems cake boy?!

2005-08-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

Walking out of the grocery store today, I heard a plethora of expletives being sewn by a tall gentleman on the phone. As I snuck past him, I noticed he was dressed in a Green-shirt with a Stop and Shop logo on the sleeve. Even though it was none of my business I figured I'd post an exerpt of his conversation on this blog anyway to satisfy the rubberneck in all of us.
"SO BECAUSE THAT FUCKING IDIOT IS OUT, SO I HAVE TO FUCKING BAKE ALL OF THE CAKES TODAY?! I TOLD MY BOSS THAT I'M NOT FUCKING DOING IT. I CAN'T TAKE THIS FUCKING PLACE ANYMORE...HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BAKE ALL THOSE CAKES TODAY GODDAMMIT!"
Never thought I'd hear someone so vehemently protesting the baking of delicious party desserts. Maybe I should get this guy to argue with Mazda about replacing my engine for me. I'd gladly bake his required cakes for him if he could cause a ruckus and get me my engine block.

Meet my Stalker: a Collection of True Summer Annecdotes

2005-08-04T13:20:00.000-07:00

I'm convinced; the inevitable has happened in life and I have a stalker. Someone so enamored of me that because they can't be with me, they've decided to cause me as much pain and suffering as they can.

My stalker however, is not anything living...although it may have been at some point. There is either some kind of curse that stalks me, giving me bad luck at all of the twists and turns of life, or it's death himself...Mr. Reaper.

Case in point: this summer has been a multitude of wonderous new experiences and bad luck.

Reaper:
Let's take the Cabin trip that I took which I qualify as the true beginning of my summer. We drive all the way up to the cabin with massive amounts of beer in the truck, then go tromping through the woods at 1:30 in the morning to find a spicket that turns the water on inside the cabin. Couldn't find it that night so a few people had to shit in the woods...I had the fortune of holding it for the breakfast place. So no running water for that trip. That didn't stop me from running straight into a vietnamese tunnel when everyone tried to ditch me at the bar with the moo-moo lady. After bolting out of the bar, toward Dennis' truck, I cut around a house and to my chagrin, my left foot missed the earth completely and I pummelled into a pit of dispair, smashing my arm and my leg on the rocks that encased it.

Curse Juxtaposed onto Someone else:
Next...The camping trip. Pretty standard camping trip, 17 people on 4 campsites and someone's bound to get hurt on one of the 3 night stay right? Thank God it wasn't me, but Chris mistook his finger for a widdling stick and cut it almost straight down to the bone. Before that, I almost fell of the biggest waterfall I've seen in my life (almost by about 5 feet...alright so that doesn't count.)

Reaper:
Here's the Coup de Gras of my near demises this summer. It happened on our annual boat trip. We were headed from Block Island up to the Casinos in CT. Block Island Sound was so foggy that day that we couldn't see more than 200 ft in any direction. The radar says somethings coming at us...1/4 mile...1/8 mile...few hundred feet...oh shit it's a sailboat and a narrow miss. Not 45 minutes later we see a Coast Guard Boat, and decide to follow them in because they're likely to be going the same direction as us and probably know the waters a little better. We lost 'em and we see some shapes coming at us on radar again...1/4 mile...1/8 mile...few hundr----HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT'S A SUBMARINE!!!! GO GO GO GO. An even closer miss than the sailboat. The Coast Guard escort for the submarine actually circled around just to call us idiots and inform us that we almost died. I think they were fingering the hair triggers on their machine guns. 48 foot yacht that could be loaded top to bottom with explosives in the way of a naval submarine? Shoot the fuckers.

Curse:
Then there was that whole arrested thing (see last blog) in Ocean Beach. Plus another less documented (until now) story about that night was the fact that this girl asked for my boxers. "Only if you take them off of me." "Ok." So she grabbed my hand and started walking me to the bathroom. "THIS IS AWESOME...OH MAN THIS IS SO AWESOME." "Wait the line for the bathroom is too long," she said. "Shiiiiii--" "My hotel is right across the street though." "--weeeeett!!! YEAH THIS IS AWESOME OH MAN THIS IS SO AWE----" "oh wait the men's room line is really short," she followed up with. After the bouncer denied her entrance to the men's room (ASSHOLE!!!,) she told me to go in there alone and take them off which I approved. There was an old guy in there peeing in the toilet...no stall just a toilet and a urinal. "So I guess this is how they do it on Fire Island," I thought as the old guy looked at me being completely dumbfounded at the fact that there was no stall. "I'm supposed to give this girl my boxers, but I'm not going to change in front of you," I said. "Thanks." So I walk out of the bathroom the girl awaiting my worn underwear like a vulture circling and old person's home. "Did you take them off?" "No...there was some old dude in there and this is fire island so I didn't think it'd be a good idea." "Thanks," the old dude said. So we go to this outcove where I start the process of removing my pants with the aspiration that she would finish by removing my boxers. "YOU GUYS CAN'T DO THAT HERE THIS IS A PRIVATE DOCK!!!" this other old guy says. When she tries to explain the extremely rational "I'm in a bachelorette party and we have these cards and I have to get this guys boxers, he reiterated, "THIS IS A PRIVATE BLAH BLAH BLAH." So that wasn't happening, nor was the hotel room because I think it was at this point that she realized that that would be cheating on her boyfriend whose halfway down the Eatern coast of America.

Random Ghost Stalker:
So it's happened to me before and everytime it's the same. I'm asleep. I wake up and I can't move my arms or legs, I can't turn my body...it's as if I'm pinned down to the bed. Sometimes there's a crazy breathing noise above me, othertimes I just try to struggle out of it. My only explanation for this is that some Hot Chick's Ghost was wandering around one day and saw me on the streets and said to her girlfriend, "Now I'm not really into alive guys...but that is one fine ass solid" ("solid" being the term ghosts use to describe us...c'mon everyone knows this.) So she followed me home and tries to have her way with me on certain nights...somehow holding me down but yet inable to get herself off because she really has no mass.

Curse:
My engine block broke on my car this week. Completely 100% not my fault also. I was doing 30 mph in second gear...not even pushing it, and I hear a rattle and a clank. Two Mechanics have no decided that my engine is shot and I need a new one and possibly a new turbo. There's $7900 that I don't have, and probably won't have until I get a second job...which I applied for today.

So that's it for my stories from the cursed summer of 2005. I think that I have enough evividence there to prove that I'm the least lucky person in the world; right up there next to Jude Law.

Resisting Arrest (v): to tell the cops in ocean beach that they're college drop-outs

2005-07-24T00:52:00.000-07:00

Resist: (v) To strive to fend off or offset the actions, effects, or force of.
Arrest: (v) The act of detaining in legal custody.

"The Cops in Ocean Beach are nuts...they'll arrest you for the slightest thing." -- a wise man named Kenny.

"The above defendant with others was asked by ferry personel to disembark and refused to leave the terminal area after repeated orders to disperse by police." -- My Ticket.

The real story:
After a routine night of boozing with the friends, we decided to "disembark" from gay-island (fire-island/ocean beach,) and head for home on the ferry that we rightfully paid extra money for...the 1 o'clock ferry. Having missed the first 1 o'clock ferry, we quickly tried to board the next 1 o'clock ferry, and were accosted.

What I saw:
Kenny arguing with some random dude for no apparent reason. We get on the boat and sit 2 rows behind random dude. Random dude turns around and starts shouting, "I'll see you when we get off the boat" to Kenny. I stand up and at that point some police officers decide that it would be best if we paid more money than the extra money that we already paid to get back to mainland Long Island by way of a water taxi. So, Me, Kenny, Meredith, and Sean were escorted off of the ferry with my protest in full view of "the man."

"Why don't you just let us sit here on the second floor of the boat and let the other guys stay up on the second story?" said I.

"Shut your mouth and get off the boat," said rude policeman number 1.

It was at this point that I realized that we would be paying extra money for a ride that we already paid extra money for...a trip back to mainland Long Island. I protest my distaste by complaining that that guy gets off scott-free when he's the one that started it, and we get penalized by paying extra-extra money.

Justice is truly blind. Perhaps a blind guy taking the wrong exit off of a ferry; or perhaps a drunk guy trying to fight my friend on another ferry. Either way, a ferry is involved, and tonight's way wasn't as pretty as Wednesday nights Blind Fiasco (More on that to come in a future blog.)

So I'm sitting in the Ocean Beach Police station (in handcuffs mind you,) still cursing out our imprisoners while the events of the night unfold before my mind. Upon being asked to leave the ferry and trying to come up with compromises, we were quite rudely shot down on each one. So we're off the boat now; Police officers still telling us that we can't take our last boat home for the night. Being still heated from our encounter with random dude who tried to fight us, I decided to disperse a few choice words to our soon-to-be imprisoners.

"You're just a bunch of college drop-outs that failed the suffolk county police test so they put you here!" I exclaimed, hands raised above my head as I walk out of the ferry terminall; still heated about the argument and fact that we have to pay more money now.

"One more word from you and we'll arrest you," said random fat balding cop (they didn't like that comment because it was true.)

"Okay, FINE," said I.

Next thing I know, 15 police officers start running after me and Ken (both with our arms raised high above our heads and exiting the ferry terminal despite our choice words to them.) Then we're handcuffed by those officers and are carted down the street to the precinct where they reside. We spend the next 45 minutes there while they try to figure out some bogus excuse to write us a fine and send us on our merry way...paying 25 bucks each for a water taxi.

Our Constitution: Amendment I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

The thing that sticks out in my mind here is freedom of speech. Yes, I had a few choice words to say to our neighborhood policemen, but no, I did not in any way shape or form, actively try to re-board the ferry or remain in the terminal except to voice said words.

When they decided that I was right and that they were college drop-outs that had nothing better to do than fail the Suffolk County Police Exam and get placed in Ocean Beach (like 20 seconds later...the average processing speed for an Ocean Beach Cop;) they decided to chase us and take us into custody.

Guess what I did when the chase ensued.

Started throwing every karate chop, judo throw, and mui thai kick that I knew until I'd vanquished each and every of those assholes. Including the one on the boat. In a veritable shitstorm of punches and kicks I had the entire Ocean Beach precinct handcuffed to miscellaneous rails and posts in the ferry terminal. Each cop later proclaimed, "Damn...That's possibly the coolest guy we've ever seen in our lives."

So here's what really happened: I stuck my hands up on the nearest posts and remained calm until the police grabbed me and stuck me in cuffs. At this point, I'd like everyone to re-read my ticket quote and keep in mind that there was no effort by me nor Ken to re-board the ferry, nor to remain on the ferry terminal. However, we did have a few choice words to say to our unintelligent captors.

First Amendment...it's your turn to get me out of this $75 bogus ticket. I don't think there's anywhere that says that you cannot verbally protest your situation in our nations by-laws (at least without having been mirandized first.) Let me know if I'm wrong here.

MTV's Newest Hit Shows

2005-07-01T23:01:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: If your name is Mat, Ken, or Kristen I apologize in advance for using my own, partially recycled, jokes in this next blurb.

I submit to you, my plan to make MTV the most watched channel on cable television (including network.) The plan includes the following changes to MTV's already featured lineup:

1) Pimp My Face!! - If selected, contestants are anesthetized and performed surgery on. First off, you make a video about how ugly you are and submit it to MTV. You're then selected based your busted-ass face. X-Cruciate steps in and makes fun of your ugly mug for 5 minutes, punches it in and drags you down to West Coast ICU. Then, the anestesiologist, T, comes in. He administers a healthy dose of his magical potion, and you're knocked out.

Big Julian then steps in and lays out a basic groundwork for your new face, including heightened cheekbones, lowered ears, a new dew and a new mouth.

Next up, Mad Rick. He enters with an "in your face" (pardon the pun) dialog. "Yo dog, first off, we're gonna bust a cap in that tooth in the middle." "Those ears are old school yo...it's time this zero got some 4 inch plasma screens coming out the side of his face." "Now, in the past, I put in a spinning eyebrow...check this out dog; two spinning eyebrows, a West Coast ICU first." "To top it all off, my man Buckshot gets to handle the face tats."

Buckshot then goes and draws up a whole tribal scheme...not too overdone for your new face and puts it into effect. Ever seen, "Insert Penis Here" in Sanscrit? You will when you wake up, but he'll tell you it means "strong-willed" or something.

Ishmael finally sets up some custom nosehair and teeth. The nosehairs stay well trimmed, but each has it's own video-camera so that you can see that pathogens that are being cycled out...new reality show featuring them next fall. The teeth get the royal treatment, and I'm not talking about just crowns. A tiny plasma screen for each tooth (pointing down your throat to render them next-to-pointless,) so if your tongue gets bored shifting bologna sandwiches around, it can take a break and watch "Star Trek: The Next Generation" for a bit.

The patient wakes up, and starts jumping up and down, high-fiving X-Cruciate for like 5 minutes and is almost brought to tears when they show them the super-awesome plasmascreen teeth.

2) Viva La Blatt - I think this one is pretty much self-explanatory...I wish I were Bam Margera. MTV pays me millions of dollars, I make even more from skating, and even more from my movie that I made with a bunch of my friends. Pretty much, MTV gets a camera crew and follows me around all day, I think of crazy ass things to do to "punk" my friends, then I get drunk, suplex dennis onto a new couch, 631 like 10 drinks on the floor of a bar and lose my balance and trip over a mai-tai while skateboarding across the bar. Only to land on a gigantic pile of hundred dollar bills.

3) The Real World 563: Blatt's house. 5 participants are chosen from a list of like 40,000 and get to live in my house for a week. They realize that they had it good in their rich-ass custom designed homes when they take a look at the mess that I call a home. Holes in the ceiling from where the squirrels tried to borough in one winter...and consequently where I shot my beebee gun trying to kill them for poking holes in my ceiling, no shower, only bath, no hot water in the winter, a cat that jumps on their car the night after they spend 3 hours cleaning it, and a buttload of other dits and da's that most of the prisses on the show would bail after like 3 days over.

4) Blatt News Briefs at 10 minutes to the hour on the hour. I talk about various social issues that don't affect you in any way, such as how Lars Ulrich is starving because everyone downloaded "Enter Sandman" about 15 million times and they only caught 3 people. His otherwise lucrative career forced him to take a heeping shit on a disklike object, stick it in a cdcoverlike object with shitlike artwork and pump it up to be the best album since the "White Album." He then adds shitquotes from the now shitband to make it like he's still "got it," such as: "To our brothers imprisoned in Sing-Sing...keep up with the awesome prison tats." Then he fucks up like four times when you pay 85 dollars to have an obstructed view to see him play his shitass new shitsongs.

5) PEOCD - the new TRL...and more phoeneticly pronouncable (what the fuck is turl?) It's an acronym (word that combines other words of significance,) that stands for: Public Execution of Carson Daily. I don't think I need to elaborate on that one, it just needs to be done.

6) Womb Raiders - abortion clinic miniaturizes practicing single doctors. The doctors then enter through the vagina, take a glance into the uterus and eventually up the fallopian tubes. After some keen observations about why the uteran wall is stretched by what looks like the remnants of AIDS infested gigantic hispanic penis, the doctors decide which [if any] wants to go out on a date with her.

I just made MTV the biggest network on all of television, you can thank me later when I can buy and sell your dignity on a whim.

I'm Bored so Now I'm Doing Movie Reviews

2005-06-30T07:50:00.000-07:00

Got nothing to do today, and I'm bored...so here's my review of "War of the Worlds."

It's definitely worth seeing, and I definitely enjoyed it a lot. There were a couple of minor quirks about the movie that bothered me though, and if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to stop reading here. No wait, here.

The first thing that bothered me was the similarity to the book by H.G. Wells. That being; the title, and the first and last 2 minutes of the movie. Oh yeah and one of the characters had a weird name like Oglivy. That's it though.

The second thing that bothered me was the way that the aliens appeared, and I have to say it perplexed me throughout the film, and kind of left a sour taste in my mouth in an otherwise really sweet movie. If you haven't seen it and are still reading, the "space dicks" buried their machines underground millions of years ago before man walked the earth...planning this takeover the whole time. They get into the machines by riding lightening down, which cracks the ground and they slide in and start screwing up the streets of New York. Then they jump out and start evaporating people left and right. This, as I see it, is where the movie fails and the book succeeds.

In the book, the aliens didn't really have planetary travel mastered...or maybe it's because H.G. Wells wrote it in 1898, and a technologically advanced system of interplanetary travel was being shot from a gun in a cylinder. So the aliens lodge themselves into the ground in these cylinders and wait days to unscrew the tops and emerge. When they do finally emerge, they're very sluggish on account of the Earth's gravity being higher than that of Mars'. They build these machines and annihilate most of the planet. So, in the book, it's a lot more feasible that the aliens were "regarding this earth with envious eyes," and planning a takeover for millions of years throughout our evolution; only to unleash their full plan days before most of our population is annihilated.

In the movie, this whole reasoning goes out the window because the machines were buried millions of years ago before man existed. How could the aliens bury machines that we never found, and wait all this time to take over our planet? Wouldn't it have just been easier to formulate an attack when all we had were sticks and stones to throw? Hmm...masters of interplanetary travel, but not the best strategists in the world.

Alright, as a counterpoint...and the only reason that I can see from the movie that they waited all this time, was for our society to flourish so they could have enough blood to fertilize those blood roots that they started growing. Then they have somewhat of an argument thereby; and while I was watching the movie I dismissed my initial thoughts about the legitimacy of their scheme for this reason and this reason only.

So the other thing that bothered me, and it's pretty much what I'd predicted anyway because Spielberg directed it, is that neither of the kids died. I think there was one kid and one kid only that ever died in a Spielberg, and that was the kid on the floaty thing in "Jaws;" and he wasn't in the movie for more than 2 minutes anyway so there was no emotional attachment to him. Alright, Haley Joel Osmet from A.I. also; but he was a robot...robots don't count.

All in all, I enjoyed the movie a lot, it had great special effects, and was just overall fun. Sorry to have released such a shitty post before about Tom Cruise and his Scientology, after I wrote it I was clicking "publish" and thinking, "damn this is a shitty post and I should just print it out and wipe my ass with it...then delete it."

Tom Cruise Should Quit With the Scientology Bullshit Already!

2005-06-29T12:26:00.000-07:00

So I never knew what Scientology really entailed before Tom Cruise got together with Katie Holmes and initiated his verbal crusade. The clincher was when I saw a clip of him speaking about how there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance in the brain. Furthermore, he stated that he knows the history of psychology and that it's a pseudo-science.

Granted, there are a lot of pseudo-scientific principles found in psychology, it can be a kind of a "philosophy of the brain" so to speak. However, there is a lot of science to it too; psychologists don't just sit around thinking about what the brain could be like...they go and perform experiments to prove or disprove a point that they're trying to make. How else would you explain brain-mapping such as hooking up an electrode to a portion of a mouse's brain that causes a sex-like stimulation when it presses one lever; further causing the mouse to prefer the sex lever over the food lever. Sounds like Science to me.

Now that I've disproved one of Cruise's comments, I'd like to make it clear that no religion will ever convince me to join by having their practicing members actively seek other practicing members. If I'm going to find a religion, I'm going to find it myself; not because some celebrity tells me it's the right thing to do. That whole ordeal is how crusades start (thanks a bunch, catholocism.)

Tom Cruise needs to go back to his mid-80's days of shutting the hell up about "important topics" and high fiving people after riding his motorcycle superfast along the airstrip.

Guess who has no money...THIS GUY

2005-05-21T08:16:00.000-07:00

I hate debit latency. So I know I have a zero balance going into payday (Thursday) because my bank text messages me whenever my balance drops below 150 bucks. I deposit 500 out of my paycheck, and I know that I have a bill of 287 to be paid on Friday. So by my math, that leaves me with 213 dollars, plus the 120 in my pocket. I bought groceries for 35 bucks, so that leaves me with 298 bucks to get me through my weekend gallavanting and 3 work days.

So, I go and spend the 120 bucks in my pocket. I honestly can't tell you where it all went; it just makes like a turd and burns a hole, runs down my leg and makes it's escape. I know I spent 10 bucks buying the System of a Down CD, 40 bucks on dinner last night, 40 bucks at the brewery and then another miscellaneous lunch and dinner that accounts for like 15 of those dollars, so I have no idea where the other 15 went. No big deal, I still have like 170 left in my bank.

Guess what. I Fucking hate banks. Due to my purchases from like 4 days ago, I accrued like 140 bucks worth of charges that didn't get deducted from my account until today. This leaves me like 39 dollars to get to next payday, a whopping 5 days away.

The only reason that I'm not out at the 7-11 on the corner of 83 and Horseblock with the mexicans and miscellaneous veteran looking for work to feed his family is because I have a large stash of coinage that I fully intend to cash in at Coinstar and nearly double my current life savings (39 dollars if you missed it before.)

So I figure I'll have about 80 bucks, plus the 80 bucks that I have left in my overdraw protection at my bank, that's 160 to get me through the week. I'm probably forgetting like 50 debit purchases that I made over the last 4 days that will come back and bite me, and I'll be forced to lease out my mouth for an hour to some rich (or poor) gay guy just so I can afford gas to get me to work next week. I'd much rather lease it out to a girl, so if you're a girl, reading this, taking pitty on poor ole blatt and want a ride on the old tonsil highway for like 20 bucks, let me know.

Dammit, I feel so dirty now. Time for a shower...I mean bath.

Your Mom thinks you whine too much? Become a Punk/Emo Singer.

2005-05-19T05:52:00.000-07:00

Just when I started thinking for a split second that MTV might have some good videos finally, with System of a Down and Green Day both having videos out now, my semi-relinquished faith was shattered like a glass by another whiny voice.

So, a video by Hawthorne Heights came on. Like I haven't heard this same exact song about a million times by now; Simple Plan, Lost Prophets, American Hi-Fi, Saves the Day, Sum 41, Taking Back Sunday, and almost every other band that comes along and wants to be Punk. Granted, some of those bands do it better than others and have some control over sounding whiny and bitch-like.

I think I've heard less whining when I was on line for my free Pastrami and Rye sandwich at the Bagel store (sorry Brian...couldn't think of any other "whiny" analogy.)

I'm about to break down my system of morals and start listening to Rap if I don't start hearing some kind of change in lead singer's voices in Punk bands. This is why I don't watch MTV much, because I start getting all mad because they have the same chewed up and regurgitated crap all the time. I think the last truly great innovation that I heard as far as Punk-Rock goes was a few years ago when the Transplants released their first album. I need to hear something new that I haven't heard before before I'm going to spend any money on this crap that they're releasing now.

When you see Mendoza, Tell him I said, "See you in Hell"

2005-05-08T21:30:00.000-07:00

So a few months ago I realized something; everyone that's ever named Mendoza in a movie is never a nice guy. He's always the ringleader of a Columbian Drug Cartel that kidnaps the hero's daughter and takes her back to his top secret Cocaine processing plant, holds a gun to her head, and then kicks the bucket just before he pulls the trigger.

I picked up on this useless tidbit (believe me this story has a point) while being forced to watch "West Wing" at a friend's house one night. I'm not a fan of any kind of drama TV shows, especially one's that highlight people doing work: ER, Las Vegas, West Wing, CSI, Law & Order, House, etc. I figure that I do enough/too much work per week as it is and I don't need to be spending my recreational hours watching someone else work. So, they had this character called Judge Mendoza, and he was actually not a bad guy; at least in that episode, he probably turned out to be some kind of drug-dealer sneaking crack to members of the Supreme Court in a later episode. It was while watching this show that I realized that Mendoza is not a nice name in movies.

"Damn you Mendozaaaaaa!!!!!!!"
"I'll get you for this Mendoza!!!!"
"It's that Fucking Mendoza, he's killing all our men!"
"Mendoza stole my stereo out of my car!"

All the above lines started going through my head when I had this epiphany. So now to the point of the story. It was Easter Sunday and I somehow decided that this would be related to whatever conversation that we were having and I brought up the fact that Mendoza's are badguys. My cousin and her fiancee agreed with the theory completely, and her fiancee who's an NYPD police officer decided to take it to work, claiming that he was going to start calling the suspects/perpetrators "mendoza's" and enlighten his coworkers about the theory.

So flash forward to this weekend, I meet up with them again. Apparently there's quite a few people using this codename now on the NYPD..."I'm in pursuit of a Mendoza." He even explained it to one of the Mendoza's that he busted (who was hispanic) and the guy agreed and laughed about it. I'm hoping that this term goes down in the book of cop lingo.

Yeah my blog is fucked up

2005-05-05T13:08:00.000-07:00

If you're reading this right now it means that they fixed my blog because for the past few days it's just been a blank slate. I guess they figured that no one reads it anyway and it pretty much sucks so they'll just put a blank white screen up instead..."yeah that'll be better than whatever this guy writes. He uses quotation marks and parenthesis too much anyway."

Or maybe some Christian rights activist happened across my Pope blog and got all offended and wrote a nasty email. I could only hope for something that cool to have happened.

Surely no one was offended by the line "no I didn't drive my car into anyone; unless you interpret drive to mean put, car to mean penis and anyone to mean friend's ex's mouth."

Oh well, I'm not going to waste my time writing anything meaningful (like I do anyway?) right now. So maybe posting this will fix the problem. Or maybe my blog will just sit in limbo for no one to see except for me when I log in. I don't really think anyone's going to be too disappointed. If you do see this though, let me know.

Become a Man: In Fewer Than 25 Simple Steps

2005-05-02T20:09:00.000-07:00

I realized something in my daily ponderances today: I've officially achieved manhood. I don't think that there are many guys that can say that out there, but I'm one of them.

Most guys will say that the path to becoming manly is summed up by losing your virginity, stomping some mime, losing your emotions, losing your hair, getting all buff at a gym, being really good at kickball, getting into a knife fight, or even eating a 76 oz. steak. They're all wrong.

This weekend I witnessed a phenomenon that is sure to sweep the nation pretty soon (having already swept the western/southern states;) bull-riding. How many other sports only last 8 seconds? I can't think of many with the exception of a dash or two. So being manly is riding a bull? Not necessarily, but it could get you there in a hurry.

Here's your basic outline on how to become a man in Fewer than 25 steps as promised:

Step 1: Read this blog (check...you're well on your way)
Step 2: Have a Memorial Day Party
Step 3: Take a shot
Step 4: Repeat Step 3 twenty-one or so times before the hour is up
Step 25: Trip over a flower pot and fall face first into the pavement...try to stop yourself by biting the concrete.

There you have it. You're a man now, just remember that the best liquid to stick your knocked out teeth in on your way to your dentist is Saliva...so keep 'em in your mouth. Not manly enough for the saliva? A Glass of milk will do just fine.

For those who want to be super-manly however, you can do it in under 8 seconds, as was demonstrated by my hero of the weekend. He took a redo because he got knocked off of his bull, then they gave him a bigger bull to ride; possibly the biggest damn bull I've ever seen. At just after 4 seconds, the bull broke him free...then the bull's horn and gravity double teamed a few of the teeth in this guy's mouth and broke them free as he was bouncing from the ass of the bull to the horns.

You're not a man until you've knocked out a few of your teeth, and cursed at a little girl in the emergency room.

Shot Doooowwn In a Blaze of Glory

2005-04-08T22:58:00.000-07:00

Here's how to get rich quick: bring me gambling, and bet the opposite of whatever I bet. I'm such a fucking loser it's ridiculous sometimes.

I can probably sit around at home with my thumb up my ass and get more girls than if I go out to the bar and spend lots of money getting me innebriated to the point that I'm smooth with my tongue.

Case in point: tonight. It was a good day at work, slept over Clay's, took a "hot" "shower" which is a luxury that I'm not so accustomed to (read "Fall of the House of Blatt" from the other day.) Then when I learned that there was nothing to do, I decided to further slack off and accompany Clay on his routines for the day...Dry Cleaners, Aboff's, Cablevision and John Harvards for lunch. While splitting 2 1/2 pitchers of beer with him at John Harvard's, I realized that a few hours later I would be getting drunk for free at the Blue Point Brewery.

So this lead to the first let down of the night. I envisioned the brewery to be a huge, magical place with vats of beer that you could swim in, and hotdogs on sticks that you could pick off of trees and stick on a bun that rains from the sky and grab sauerkraut off of a galloping horse and mustard off of any nearby wall...Much like a Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory for drunks; where midgets whisk away wrongdoers, and the sole surviving member of the tour inherits the factory to reap it's intoxicating glory.

I was wrong. The brewery was much like any other bar, only free (from oatmeal stout up on the list.) Ok...still cool. However, there was no big hubbub about midgets, or hotdogs, or sauerkraut, or even bratwurst. No wallpaper that when licked tasted like Blueberry Porter, or Hoptical Illusion, or Oatmeal Stout, or "Old Howling Bastard," or even Snosberries. No awesome drunken boatride that scares you out of your bowels when you're a kid. No fat girl that looks like a blueberry and is rolled away and squeezed by a team of orange midgets. Just a pub-type atmosphere, and a small one at that. And furthermore, the beers below the oatmeal stout were two bucks to try.

A little bit of a letdown, but not as much as the events that followed. We took a short trip over to the Brickhouse Brewery (that's 3 breweries, big and small, for the day if you're counting,) and grabbed a few beers and a dinner there. Then off to Lily Flanigan's.

"How the fuck do I get to Lily Flanigan's?!!! I've only been there while drunk," I asked. Dennis told me that it's right on Montauk Highway right before 231. Ok, I know exactly how to get there; so I took Montauk Highway east and west for miles and miles to no avail. It turns out that Dennis was right, it was in fact East of 231...far East of 231. After circling a 10 mile section of the road for half an hour, I finally got Dennis on the phone again. "Is it by King's Wok?" I asked, only to be responded by, "Hmmm...don't think s....oh wait, there it is, yeah it's like right next door." "Goddammit, I know exactly where that is," I responded, having passed it about 40,000 times during working hours.

Upon arriving, I realized that there were a few of Jackie's friends conveining there. What do I do, but choose the one that's got a boyfriend to hit on. Wasted all of my effort talking to one girl all night just to get shot down in a blaze of glory (coincidentally during a Bon Jovi Song) by the line, "Naa, I can't give you my phone number, I'm kinda seeing someone...Thanks though." Goddammit.

Henceforth, I will be asking for girl's phone numbers up front at bars. I'm not going to risk wasting my time talking to some hot girl and waiting for the pinnacle where I ask for her name and number, only to be shot down by nonsense ever again.

"Hey, what's up Beeeeeeeotch, My name is Blatt, can I get your number?" - the only words I will start a conversation with a girl from now on.

I'm tired of wasting my time with cute girls that have boyfriends while complete deuschbags get other cute girls with no boyfriends' numbers. Seriously, deuschbag that looked like deuschbag that pretended to be my friend to get close to my last girlfriend got a cute girl's number, while I got nothing but sober and shot down by another cute girl.

I'm tired of this shit, it happens all the time to me. From now on, I'm just going to go up to the hottest girl in the bar, smack her in the tit, and use my beeeeotch line. If I leave the bar with a red slap print on my face, at least I'll know that a bigger deuschbag didn't leave with that girl, because I was the biggest deuschbag.

When the Cat's Away the Rats Will Play

2005-04-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

So the Pope died the other day. Being raised a Catholic, I can finally take a break from being a fine moral tike for a while because; guess what...no more snitch. No one's gonna go to God and be like, this guy did this to this person and it's wrong because blah blah blah.

There's no one to say, "Ooooh don't do that, condoms are wrong!" I'm going to buy a shitload of condoms, open up my own abortion clinic, do some stem cell research and publish a thesis about how the universe does not revolve around the Earth. Guess who's not going to be excommunicated, and guess who doesn't really care if he is.

So I've come to the following conclusion about the Pope; he's just another dude. No devine power to convert water to wine or shoot fiery wrath of God out of his bunghole, no ability to heal people, he doesn't have superhuman strength and he can't fly. He's the voice of God on Earth though, no? No. Guess who excommunicated Galileo for saying that the Earth revolved around the sun...the Pope. Don't you think that if the Pope was actually the voice of God, that God would at least know that the Earth revolved around the sun? He's fucking omniscient...plus he created the Earth and sun, I'm sure he'd know what revolves around what. Hence, the Pope is just a normal dude. His death is exactly the same thing as if the leader of Italy died. He's just some lucky dude that got put in a position of power.

Anyway, in the case that he does have some form of extraspiritual connection with God, he doesn't have the connection to Earth right now, so he can't go snitching on the rest of us heathens. If I'm wrong about this whole "just a man" hypothesis, then it's not even going to matter because he can't go telling our Lord about what I said anyway.

Who wants to go have protected sex with me in a church? Aaaah Fuck it, if no one wants to do it, I'll just go masturbate in a confessional. Maybe after I'm done I'll go pig out on some eucharist, get drunk off the sacramental wine and then pass out on the alter after hitting on some fly ass nuns. The next 2 weeks or so should just be one big catholic sinparty. Covet thy neighbor's wife, take the lord's name in vain while doing so, lie, cheat, steal, throw a kegger (the 11th commandment "thou shalt not throw keggers,") just have fun now that the Cat's away.

I'll offer this much advice for the Cardinal College that needs to elect the new Pope: we need a Pope that will inspire fear and be friendly enough with hollywood-esque special effects so that he can actually hurl cars at pagans and defeat an army of muslims with just his papal hat and enormous staff.

So without further ado, here is my list of potential papal candidates: Arnold Schwartzenegger, The Rock, Brock Lesnar, George Bush, and Jim Carrey. The first three candidates are big guys that could easily pull of the fear inducing image that I believe the new Pope will need.

Schwartzenegger is in a position of power, and I'd really like to hear jokes about "The Pope-inator."
The Rock would be a funny Pope, plus he's got the hollywood special effects background, plus I think it'd rock when he drops the "Papal Elbow" and raises the "Papal Eyebrow" at heathens.
Brock Lesnar is just a big dude that is not working currently so he's got some time to think about how to F5 some Hindus.
George Bush is up there, because hell, the whole fucking bible belt of our country voted for him and he's already got more power than the Pope as leader of the free world, so why not just make him the holy father of the world. Plus it'd be funny to hear about how the Ukelalie is the Body of Christ.
Jim Carrey already had the power of God in Bruce Almighty and I like how he made Jennifer Aniston's Boobs grow and his dog use the toilet, so he needs to have supreme power.

The Fall of the House of Blatt

2005-04-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every man's life that he decides that the shelter of the house that he grew up in, no longer offers him adequate mental stability, and he moves out. I reached this point in my life about 3 months ago, but am not fiscally fit enough to actually accomplish anything.

So here are the facts: I'm a bigtime loser because I'm 26 and live at home. My financial situation will not be good enough to move out until I get my next raise, which has-been and will-continue-to-be a longtime coming. With those said I present the following discourse on how I came to grips with said facts and reached my conclusion that I need to hit the old dusty trail.

My house is falling apart Poe style. The following may be deeply disturbing to those of you who do not know me, but nothing new to those of you that do. First off, you know that thing that you put your laundry in after you wash it to make your clothes dry? Yeah, in my house it's been broken for the past 8 years. So yeah, I've been bringing my laundry to a laundromat for the past 4 years (the previous 4 I was away at college,) so I've pretty much got the whole laundromat code down. First off, like 1950's America, separates whites and colors, then further break the coloreds down to Warms and Colds. I use a system that I devised to break down the coloreds: collared shirts = Cold, everything else = Warm. Furthermore, if you notice a lot of Mexicans at a laundromat, it's time to switch laundromats. Any clothes you wash there will come out smelling worse than when they were dirty. How does the rest of my family do laundry you may be wondering right now. They air dry their clothes in the basement...the smelly room that resides beneath the ground floor of my house. Hence why I do my laundry at a laundromat.

Now, there's been an ongoing trend at my residence that whenever something needs to be fixed, it's my responsibility to get it fixed or else it will sit around like the dryer for 8 years until I do something about it. So, it comes as no great surprise to anyone, that when I saw my friends getting rid of their old dryer, I asked them to put it aside for me, which they gladly did. I told my Mom that I got a dryer for this, thinking I did a good deed and was then bombarded by every illogical piece of reasoning she could throw at me for not taking it. "OUR DRYER IS BRAND NEW!" "IT WORKS FINE, IT JUST NEEDS A BELT!" just to name two of the tidbits. First off, our dryer is NOT brand new; it's older than I am and came with the house. Second, if it just needed a $50 repair job, why has it been rendered useless for the past 8 years? And third, why pay money to have it fixed, when I've secured a FREE dryer? Maybe I'm the one that's crazy, but it seems to me like this is the only logical way to go.

That annecdote now uttered, I move on to the next of the series of infractions that caused me to make up my mind; the shower. The first thing I'd like to say about the shower is that it hasn't worked since the dryer was in working order, so we've been making like Europeans and taking baths. The tiling in the bathroom is no good anymore and the shower body is leaky. If you're gay and reading this, you're probably thinking..."damn that's gay," yes it is, and it's disgusting to boot. Being the clean person that I am, it takes me extra time to get ready in the morning because of our inadequate bathroom.

Now for the kicker...the boiler is broken, and spits out enough hot water for 2 of the 3 baths that neeed to be taken daily by the occupants of this house. Guess who's the last to take a bath in the morning.

Next up, my slumber is disturbed about twice a week by the nagging utterance of my name half an hour before my alarm is set to go off. The reason I'm awaken is never for anything that can't be expressed in note form that I will read while I'm conscious. This one's not as bad as the previous infractions, but it contributes to my mental duress almost as much.

Upon waking up (late I might add,) after drifting back off to sleep, I find that my coffee pot no longer works. This, unlike the dryer, is brand new and only 2 months old at best. I have no idea how it happened, I can only speculate that my Mom misused it or didn't clean it out after misusing it. It now takes half an hour to brew one cup of coffee.

As I'm cleaning my broken coffee pot I see something that makes me dry heave in the sink. Someone in my house left cat food in there when they cleaned the cat's dish. The coffee pot is never cleaned by anyone but me, and I generally try to not eat off a plate that I didn't personally clean (can't tell you how many times I've found last nights spaghetti sauce still stuck to the edge of a bowl) but at least the fucking cat can eat out of a clean bowl. Which brings me to another point. When I buy tuna at the grocery store, I buy the albacore in water because I prefer the taste and lower fat. When anyone else buys tuna at the store, it's always the cheap stuff, in oil. I can't begin to express to you how many times I've seen my can of tuna ($1.25) in the garbage and plenty of other cans of cheaper tuna ($0.75) in the pantry. Guess who's got tuna breath? The fucking cat. Hmm...let's feed the fucking cat a can of tuna that's $1.25 when he's got like 40 already opened half cans of catfood (that were only $0.33 to begin with) in the refrigerator. It probably comes as no great surprise that I hate the cat for previous stated reasons and the fact that I've wanted a dog my whole life, and the stupid cat jumps up on my car every night after it's been washed. If I could find my beebee gun, the cat would have a couple of new orifices, if it in fact worked when I found it.

Now that I'm done venting, I need to move out sooner or later (hopefully sooner and as close to now as possible.) I think I need a roomate though because I don't think I'll find any suitable apartments for around $600 living by myself, so if there are any swedish bikini models or russian strippers reading this that need a roomate, please contact me ASAP. Until this point, if you need to find me, I'll be living in a cardboard box on route 112 in Coram, right next to the old police station. Maybe I'll hook up the dryer so I'll actually be improving my living conditions.

15 Reasons Why Guinness is so Good

2005-04-01T23:45:00.000-08:00

Again I'm using my blog for one of the three things that God invented the internet for: Advertising/praise (the other two being bitching about shit and porn.)

The following is a short list of a few reasons why Guinness is the best beer ever made (Magic Hat #9 is pretty damn good too, but Guinness edges it out.)

1) It has the consistency of a milkshake...c'mon, who doesn't like milkshakes?
2) It's black, and as they say, "black is beautiful." (they also say, "once you go black you never go back.")
3) At 125 calories...it's practically a light beer. Bud Light tips the scales at 110 calories and makes my tastebuds defecate in my mouth.
4) It's the only beer in existence that tastes better out of a convenient can rather than a breakable bottle.
5) The can makes a cool noise after you open it that sounds like the coolness jet coming in for a landing; right in your mouth.
6) It cascades after you pour it into a glass.
7) It's Brewed by Irish people: Irish people are to beer what Keebler elves are to cookies and what Oompa Loompas are to Candy.
8) The more you drink of it, the better it gets: seriously, everyone starts out hating it, but if they continue to try it and be open minded about it, it grows on them like a fungus...a delicious intoxicating fungus.
9) No one has ever gotten drunk off of Guinness and drove their car into something they shouldn't have. It's been scientifically proven that if you just drink Guinness all night you can safely drive home without getting pulled over or hitting anything.
10) 9.9 Carbs...Bud Light: 6.6 Carbs, not too shabby for a beer that's blacker than any African that's ever lived.
11) It's blacker than any African that's ever lived. Seriously, I'm convinced if you put it in a tank and put the tank in front of a window, it would block out all the light and be one efficient curtain.
12) You can make shamrock shapes in the foam. I'm convinced that if you spent some time and really wanted to do it you could draw boobs too.
13) What else are you going to make a Black and Tan with?
14) Irish Car Bombs are easier to chug than Harlem Car Jackers
15) When you drink enough of it, a little face appears on the top of the foam and winks at you and helps you hook up with chicks.

Brilliant!

Stay tuned for an exciting upcoming blog, "The fall of the house of Blatt"

Fuck the PO-lice! and Why Carpools are Bad

2005-03-24T22:06:00.000-08:00

"You didn't even flinch when you drove by that marked car," the officer said as he snatched my license away. I started kissing it goodbye as I sat their sweating in my car.

My last count was 11 points as of the beginning of this month when I went to court to unsucessufully fight another travesty of justice. They added 6 points on that day because I was doing 83 in a 55 on Southern Parkway all due to the fact that my stupid client in Islip held me there longer than I should have been, and I had a Philosophical discussion to attend at my old college, and less than an hour and a half to get there. The Judge didn't take sympathy on me when I tried to pull an excuse out of my ass that my tires were not stock and the speedometer was obviously wrong. "Faulty instrumentation is no excuse for breaking the law BAM!!!" the gavel hit, and I thought my license (and life) was gone. He tacked on the 6 points to my already exempliary record of 5 (2 for a previous speeding ticket and 3 for driving in the shoulder,) but followed with, "I'm not taking your license today son." Dick.

So the blue Impala sat there behind me for what seemed like half an hour while the officer was obviously running my license and plates and jerking off onto my expired insurance card (the good one was at home, safe in an unopened envelope.) He came back and handed me my license and two tickets, one he said would be dismissed because I have insurance, I just have to get them to send a letter to the court.

The other is one of the most bullshit tickets that I've ever received: Talking on a cellphone while driving. I really think that the only reason that it's illegal to partake in this activity is because the government owns stock in the companies that make hands free kits for cell phones. They get money when the stock of these companies goes up, because if people want to drive and talk they have to have one. Then they also get money when people like me boycott the purchase of said device because of said information that I have, and hence are presented with exhorbitant tickets.

I knew damn well the marked car was there. Like the flashing lights and the fact that he's stopped on a highway don't give him away? He had pulled someone over, so I was sure that he wasn't looking to see if I was on the phone. Any other time, I quickly switch to speakerphone and put the phone in my lap in one fell swoop of my hand, but this time was different, the cop bamboozled me.

There are only a few cars that trigger the authority sensor in my brain: Crown Vics (or Caprices) in any color, and white Chevy Impalas. Change the Impala's color, and it might as well not be there as far as that sensor is concerned.

So, while I was sitting there feeling like I was just raped, I figured out the following point of view. The cellphone law is bullshit and I'll tell you why. The thing that's bad about cellphone talking while driving is the fact that it engages you in something other than driving. If you're not engaged in driving, your behind the wheel of a 3000 lb. killing machine and you just flipped the switch to "on." Add the fact that one of your hands is now firmly resting on your earlobe instead of the steering wheel, and you can no longer make accurate emergency maneuvers should they be necessary. So here's the bullshit that I just realized...

The government wants you to carpool right? They spend millions of dollars installing carpool lanes on our highways and make it seem like they care about the environment because you won't be polluting as much. However, I say that carpooling is the exact same thing as talking on the cellphone while driving. If you're in the car with someone, you converse with them. If you're driving to work, chances are that you have a big thermos full of brain juice to get your initial caffeine high of the day. That coffee doesn't just materialize in your stomach, it needs help going from the cupholder to your mouth, and recruits your hand for this. So, you're driving down the road, one hand on the steering wheel, other hand gripping your early morning life support, and conversing with your co-workers, possibly brainstorming for the lunch meeting. How is this any different from talking on your cell phone? Answer, it's not.

If one's going to be illegal, the other should be as well. No one is going to outlaw carpools though, so here's my solution: we give another driving test. I'm a big advocate of frequent driving tests for the population, so I think that if you're capable of performing some basic maneuvering with your car while jib-jabbing on the phone, you get a license that lets you do it. I also think that old people should be required to take a driving test and renew their license once a year (same with asians and indians,) but that's a different topic all together. I'm pretty positive that the actual problem is not the talking, or the loss of a hand while driving, it's the multitasking that gets the morons that populate this planet. If they show adequate proficiency in multitasking of this type, then they should be allowed to partake...if not, bugger off and go back to China.

So before the Cop left to go waste our tax-paying dollars, he told me not to worry, "the ticket isn't any points on your license." Good, because I'd be fucked out of a job if I couldn't drive my car, and I'd probably go home and lodge a bullet securely in my frontal lobe if my license got revoked because of talking on a cellphone.

Hand Jobs Hand Jobs Hand Jobs!!!

2005-03-19T00:48:00.000-08:00

Guess what this post is about. Yup...the old stroke-a-rino, the hand job. I'm not talking about the good one here either; you know, the one that's lubricated, not your own hand, and you actually finish. I'm really referring to the raw, unlubricated stroke job that someone inflicts on you where your penis gets all chaffed and you don't even get to ejaculate on anything.

I think over the past day or so, I've gotten 3...count them, 3 stroke jobs like this. It all started with my St. Patrick's Day Celebration of hitting up an Irish Bar (Buckley's the bar that Dennis works at.) Everything there was cool, ample amounts of girls walking around admiring my watch and my ability to spill Smithwicks (pronounced Smitticks) on another girl without her noticing, then making a funny "oops" face and turning around and leaving. The real fun was in the Corned Beef and Cabbage spring rolls that I didn't get to partake in in the least, but I heard are supposed to be delicious.

We decided to vacate the bar, even though it showed promise (for the first time ever) of me at least getting a [girl's] number. We ventured onward toward "Tender Trap" or "Kiss" after the rename. What should we encounter at this gentlemen's club? Russian Stripper's of course! (The hottest of strippers that give the best lapdances, if you needed clarification.) Yup, so after this one hot girl gave me a lap-dance and a little stroke job on Big Arnold and the Twins, I again exlaimed, "We should get married," to the girl. The same result as last time, she kind of just shrugged it off, and didn't want to go to Vegas immediately to profess our love for each other. She didn't agree, but she also didn't lubricate, nor finish me off, so it counts as the literal meaning of this post.

So, moving on...I wake up this morning, mildly disoriented from last night's Stout-fest, and my boss calls me. Upon answering the phone I learn that one of our clients in the Bronx was broken into last night. "They're Cleaned out," he said, which I immediately realized that this would not be a fun day of work for me. Whatever crackhead sawed through the sheetrock wall, sure screwed them over bigtime, because he got away with their server (with over 3 years worth of Title Reports on it) AND their backup tapes. This means that even if they had been backing up their data (they weren't,) we wouldn't have been able to recover it anyway. A strokejob by the crackhead, and rounding off the number two slot because it forced me to perform arduous labor throughout the course of the day, and just might yet ruin my weekend too.

Now, at this point I thought I was done with the handjobs. "I've got a show at an awesome bar coming up tonight, and it's going to be cool," I thought, without a hint of the biggest chaffing I'd incurr during this day from hell. I show up and Sean is mad. Why is he mad you ask? It's because we weren't going to get paid a solitary cent for the show we were about to play, AND they moved us back an hour. So, we weren't going to play until 12:45.

Not half an hour after ariving, I completely saved the bar from being "Great Whited." My cousin's coat seemed to go aflare when her friend's girlfriend threw it over the arm of the couch, resting it right on top of the hot side of a nearby candle. Upon realizing that the 4 inch flame emanating from the outerwear was not meant to be there, I started putting it out with my bare hand, the way God intended; totally neglecting the fact that there was a full beer in my other hand that would be a tip away from putting out the fire. This idea lost out, because it would mean parting with my most cherished of beers: Magic Hat 9. So I smacked out the flame and saved the whole bar, even though the fire department is right next door.

"So the stroke job is the fire right?" Nope.

The next hand job infraction occurred partially from them bumping us back (that was understandable,) partially from half our fans leaving because they bumped us (Ok, it happened indirectly, not anyone's fault,) but mostly because almost in the midst of playing what I thought was our best set as of yet, we hear, "You guys have time for one more song" over the loudspeaker. "What the Fuck?" We had planned on playing at least 6 more songs, and maybe a 7th if we had time. At this point, everyone in the bar was there to see us, so we sucked it up and played our closer. After immediately cutting us off with music, I jumped off the stage and told everyone, "Don't buy anymore fucking drinks here!" Why should that place reap the benefits of us bringing our fan base to see first not us at 11:45 and then us for only 20 minutes? I felt bad that I personally dropped 40 bucks at the bar. I felt bad that me and dennis had to drive 45 minutes to the bar, hauling our shit, unpacking it, and setting up to play only 20 minutes. I felt bad for the people that came to see us play, and only heard the songs off the demo, when the new one's are probably better. I mostly felt bad for the fact that we hyped this show up and dragged everyone down there.

It was at this point that serious chaffing occurred. The last exclamation was the pinnacle of my Hand Jobs, a virtual ejaculation of maliferous (made up word, but it works) comments. They shafted us right up the ass, and I definitely didn't want to stand for it anymore. Not after saving their place from a fire. Not after telling Sean to just roll with the punches when we got shafted out of our timeslot. Not after realizing that the group that stole our timeslot had THE SHITTIEST lyrics I've ever heard in my life (I don't like badmouthing other bands, but this is on a blog, not my website, so it flies;) "Woke up this morning to two eggs over-easy" was one of their songs, only to be encored by a song about this garage door that some dude has that opens automatically with a century 21 remote.

Chaffed penis and shaft applied firmly to mouth.

Moons Over My Drunky

2005-03-06T19:44:00.000-08:00

My friend Brian is getting married at the end of this month and we all decided to have him a bachelor party. Being that in that group of friends, we all like to gamble; we decided a Casino would be the best place to do this. Being that my friend's brother Scotty was coming along as well, and he's 18, we couldn't do the Atlantic City thing, but we did find out that "Turning Stone" up in Syracuse is 18 and up, so it seemed like a natural place to go.

Being the gambler that I am (not much of one,) I blew 60 out of my allotted 160 dollars within the first hour of being there. Realizing that I'm just an unlucky loser, I just stopped right there and opted for my only sure bet...drunkeness.

I eventually tracked down a waitress, and grabbed a free drink of what appeared to be Jack and Coke or Rum and Coke (doesn't matter as long as theirs alcohol and some coke product.) To my shagrin however, it was just plain old ordinary Diet Coke. After some research, mainly by my friend's brother Keith, we realized that there would be no drinking in the Casino...it was a "dry" casino. I called Shenanigans for the second time (the first after losing $50 in about 5 minutes on the dollar slots.)

Now, "Sober as a Cow" and bored as a street mime's audience, I decided to wander aimlessly around the Casino and see if everyone else was as bored as me. First stop, Paul...200 bucks up on the 40 that he put on his card...not too shabby. After finding everyone else, it was time to eat, so we conviened at the Chinese Restaurant in the Casino. "Cool, I'll have a Sake," I said as the waitress came to take our drink order. Guess what? Denied again..."Dry Casino" also somehow means that all the restaurants located on the premises had the same prohibitionary creedo.

The only thing left to do, go back to the hotel and drink my ass off, then hopefully go out to meet the cute "Denny's" waitress that had served me my "Moons Over My Hammy" earlier that day and divulged that there was a beach party that night at a local bar.

We found out (through more research by Keith) that we can bring alcohol into the Casino, and drink it openly, they just don't sell it. So, we went back to the hotel, drank a 30 pack of "The Champagne of Beers," a 6 of Killians, 6 of the beers that were left from the previous night, the rest of the bottle of Bacardi Limon (drank from previous night,) and a whole medium-sized bottle of the "Cough Medicine of Liquors" - Jaegermeister. Five people drinking, one not drinking beer, and we polished it all off (save for about 6 "Miller High Life's" that we stowed in our pockets, and a quarter of the bottle of Jaeger, hid conviniently in a PowerAde bottle.)

We decided to drop by the beach party to see if we could find Heather (We couldn't) and invite her to the Casino with us. We arrived at the Casino, no longer "Sober as Cows," and me and Keith proceeded to drink the rest of our stash at the "Juice Bar" that they had set up. A $10 purchase of a cigar later, I was hooked and bought another $30 worth of the same brand. Keith, somehow got 2 dice, presumably to play "Death Roll" back at the hotel, and we met up with the two other brothers (Scotty and Sean.) At this point, everyone was down money (except Paul - still + $100.)

Somehow, Keith got it in his head to try to make his money back by playing a rudimentary game of C-Lo with some of the Casino's various patrons and Employees. "SIX ON THE TWO, FIVE ON THE FOUR!" - whatever that meant, got us "escorted" out of the Casino by a pack of about 20 security guards. Apparently, they don't like when you try to make your money back and not include them.

"We've got 3 highly intoxicated individuals here," one of the guards was heard saying. "THERE'S FOUR OF US, SCHMUCK!" Scotty shouted back. So we continued to try to get some of our money back on patrons exiting from the Casino while we waited for our "non-intoxicated" friends to get out and whisk us away for more "Moons Over My Hammy" at "Denny's." We had no takers, but at least we didn't get our asses beat by the security guards.

The [unofficial] tallies of the weekend:

42 Miller High Lifes consumed
6 Killians
12 Yueng Lings
1 Bottle of Jaeger
1 Bottle of Bacardi Limon
1 Bottle of SoCo
4 Of us got kicked out of the Casino for being too cool
10 or so "Moons Over My Hammy's" consumed by the lot of us
3 By me alone
550 Dollars down to the Casino (total)
2 Nights of Drinking
4 Drunks in the Bachelor Party
33 Approximate number of times we chanted..."OOLAY OLAY OLAY OLAY...OLAAY OLAAY"
50 Approximate number of times we quoted "Anchorman"
1 Sand Filled Bars that we visited
2 Number of Dolls won simultaneously by Pete in the Crane Game
1 Number of Driver's licenses forgotten at the Casino
5 Number of Presidents (Before Reagan and in order) the liquor store lady asked Keith to trace back to prove he's over 21 when he realized that he forgot his license at the Casino
0 Number he got right
1000 Number of people at the Casino who now know that I'm super cool

List of Stuff I Want to do Before I Die

2005-03-01T16:29:00.000-08:00

I've always had a temporary list of things that I want to do/experience before I die. I want to get this list out of my head and onto somewhere tangible.

- Run a Marathon or more importantly, finish a Triathalon.
- Skydive - a prerequisite for this is getting on a plane for the first time.
- Punch a President or future President in the face.
- Mechanical Bull riding in a Bikini; I'll have to be really drunk.
- Skybox seats at a Yankee game ( Skybox Mets seats already having been obtained last year.)
- Someone Famous (preferably a girl.)
- Swim with dolphins, then eat them.
- Become rich and take all my friends on a weeklong vacation to somewhere awesome, then tell them that I spent all of my money getting here, and on the hotel, and have none left to pay for the trip home. Then live in that place until I have enough to go home. Matt, this is where you went wrong in going to vietnam, we all could have been there with you.
- Smash a computer that's still working.
- Go to a Rolls Royce dealer, ask for a test drive, and when the snooty salesmen tells me that I can't possibly afford a car like this, drive the showroom model through the front window. Then tell him to have it detailed and fixed, I'll pick it up on Monday, and don't ever talk to me that way again...John Bonham was awesome.
- Beat the Crap out of Simple Plan live on stage. Possible alternatives: Creed, or any other band that sounds exactly like Creed or Simple Plan.
- Eat the 76 oz. steak at J&R's.
- Have a single that gets onto the charts.
- Grow a mohawk...mohawks are awesome.
- Take a poop off of the Sears Tower. No one likes Chicago.
- Pronounce myself "King of the World" on the front of a cruise ship, just before I fall off and am keelhauled (I survive though.)
- Drive a racecar around a track and Dale Earnhardt myself (there's a reason this is last.)

Blatt - Ruining Friendships for 2 Days and Counting

2005-02-27T15:55:00.000-08:00

I've just come to grips with an age-old philosophical concept: it's easier to destroy than create.

There's an everpresent duality in life; good and evil, light and dark, yin and yang. It's now officially ocurred to me that the easier half of this duality is usually the wrong one. For instance, your life can be summed up as follows: you go to school and get good grades to go to college, you go to college and get good grades because you want to be something when you get out, you get a great job, make lots of money, you have a house, and an awesome car...a car that you crash and kill someone in a fit of drunkenness one night. Game Over...you lose. All those years spent working hard to be a "good" person are meaninglessly tossed out the window for a night of heavy partying.

Before you go flipping out, this was just a hypothetical situation to demonstrate a point. I didn't get drunk and drive my car into anyone. Unless you interpret "drive" to mean "put," "car" to mean "penis," and "anyone" to mean "friend's ex-girlfriend's mouth" then, yeah I did "drive my car into someone."

A friendship that has been built upon for 8 years now, one of the oldest ones that I have, destroyed by a night of a drunken-mindless hook-up. It all started when I dropped off some money to said friend on Friday night for another friend's bachelor party. Said friend's ex-girlfriend was there, was visibly upset, and ran into the bathroom to quite obviously cry. Said couple had been together for 5 years or so, they broke up "for good" about 2 years ago, then broke up "for good" again every 4 - 6 months henceforth, having about a 2 month relationship in that time period, most recently ending sometime in late December.

Now for a little more background. The ex-girlfriend had previously (2 years ago) revealed to me that she had feelings for me, and possibly wanted to have a relationship. After explaining to her that this would not be possible because I consider myself to be a loyal friend, we spent the next 2 years as friends. There was a time in which she told her ex about having feelings for me and wanting to try a relationship, at which point he confronted me politely, and said he wouldn't have a problem with it if I did. I reassured him that I don't want any kind of relationship with her other than the friendship kind, and the issue was dropped.

Until now. "You have the nerve to call yourself my friend? Go Fuck Yourself!" - the message that I found on my phone last night. He had obviously found out that I had "Hooked Up" with his ex-girlfriend the night before and was perturbed by the fact. Flash back to Friday night. I was watching my friend's house for the week, and I was having a couple of friends over for some drinking and game playing. I get a call from the girl, who still sounding depressed about previous said situation, told me that she was at "Dave and Buster's" drinking with a friend.
"Well, I'm having a few friends over tonight for some drinking, if you want to come here," I told her. I got a call a few hours later, gave her directions to the house, and she showed up.

If you've never drank with me before, please permit me to explain something to you. When I get drunk, I have a severe tendency to black out and do stupid things that have severe consequences. I wake up the next morning with a vague recollection of glimpses of the night before, and I don't remember making any kind of decisions, I just do them. So, I awoke Saturday morning, head hurting like a bitch, and instantly the feeling of regret flushed over me. Had I dreamed hooking up with my friend's ex? She wasn't there in bed, but the dreams were pretty realistic. Upon leaving my room and entering the living room, Dennis shouts, "so what did YOU DO last night?" in a mildly sarcastic voice. Dammit! it wasn't a dream. "Where'd she go?" I asked. "She left at about 8 in the morning," Dennis replied.

Now feeling a lot of regret, I started thinking that my friend definitely doesn't need to know about this, but I also started feeling scared and possibly used. Scared only because I realize that this girl will most likely at some point in the near future tell her ex about this, and my friendship with him will be done. She called around 1 o'clock, and I pretended to not hear the phone ring. He called at around 12:05, and thinking that I was in for some arguing, decided to be a man and answer the phone. As soon as I heard him, I knew he hadn't yet heard. Flash forward 12 hours, and I get another two calls...first from her (which I again pretended to be deaf,) then from him (at which point I pretended to be deaf again.) It was at this time that he left previously stated message on my voicemail.

At this point in time, I'm still not really sure what to do about the whole situation. I reaffirmed that fact that I don't want a relationship with her, and apologized for acting "irresponsibly" last night. Obviously upset with this, she hung up the phone on me.

Oops...minus two friendships for Blatt for the time being, until I patch things up. I've also come to the conclusion that I need to take some more time off from drinking. Maybe a month, maybe 6 months...maybe a year. Aside from endangering my social life, I think it's endangering my health. Every time I start drinking now, my heart starts racing and pumping about 3 times the intensity that it normally does. I'm a fucking idiot, I need to fix this.

10 Reasons Why Me and Jennifer Aniston are Meant to be Together...

2005-02-19T09:57:00.000-08:00

It's in the cards...You may not know it, she may not know it, and Brad may not know it, but the cards know it.

While recently skimming through an issue of US Magazine, I came across an interesting fact: Jennifer Aniston has recently rejoined the dating pool. I now present to you a list of reasons that I believe show indisputable proof that someday we might have a relationship.

Reason 1: As aforementioned, she's recently single.

Reason 2: Madame Tussaud's wax museum just created her likeness [in wax] on February 10th. Guess when my birthday is.

Reason 3: She was on the show Friends. I have friends.

Reason 4: Her and Brad Pitt just split up. People have told me that I look strikingly like Brad Pitt everywhere except the face. Like she really wants to be kissing the same face anyway.

Reason 5: I love the movie Office Space.

Reason 6: She's going to regret turning me down (if she does) when I'm a rich and famous bass player (I figure about 6 months time,) and I kick the crap out of Simple Plan on stage in her name.

Reason 7: She probably wouldn't find me all that attractive...and I've seen hotter (just never been with hotter.)

Reason 8: I love to eat Greek (the food you pervs.)

Reason 9: She's never seen me topless...and ditto with her.

Reason 10: 12 inches.

So there you have it; undeniable proof that me and her will someday develop a good, meaningful relationship. Ladies...let me know if you want me to put in a good word with Brad. No disrespect to him, I think he's super.

Newsflash: "Valentine's Day Sucks"

2005-02-16T12:14:00.000-08:00

My Filibuster on why Valentines Day sucks.

It's official, Valentine's day is the stupidest holiday. Not only do I not know anyone that had a "good" or even "mediocre" valentine's day this year, I contend that, personally, I've never had a "good" or even "mediocre" valentine's day.

This year, my V-day started off as follows: alarm goes off, and my eyes open and I'm mad. I'm mad because I'm mad every morning when the racket of my pleasant alarm jolts me from slumber like a newborn jetisonned from the womb. I think I would scream and cry the shrill whines of a baby every morning if it were more socially acceptable, or if I knew that no one was in my house.

So there I was, fighting with my alarm clock as I do every morning, when it hits me like a spin-kick to the head, "FUCK!!! It's Valentines Day."

The very day that makes a percentage of the population feel good...namely, girls with significant others. Eveyone else (including their significant others) has emotions ranging from mildly uncomfortable to downright shitty. I can't recall any other holiday that does this to this percentage of the population, except maybe Columbus day with the Indians (sal.)

So, my opinion now thoroughly voiced, I'll now give a rundown of the disappointmenting [actual] entries from my journal of Valentine's past.

Valentines day:

1979 (my first V-day): "Being ripped from the uterus in a most deplorable manner, I expect only one thing on this day, chocolate Gerber's. Much to my chagrin, Gerber's doesn't make chocolate flavor. Rose flavor is also out of the question."

1980: "My mom was surprised today when she received her first valentine from me; a big ball of crap in my diaper."

1981: "While chasing the cat under the dining room table the little bastard scratched me in the face, from this day forward I renounce feline's and all they stand for."

1982: --nothing was cool in '82--

1983: "It's V-day...I fell down the stairs."

1984: "Having worked arduously for 4 1/2 hours making a heart-shaped card to give to my mother for v-day, I gave it to her, and she points out one critical mistake, "Mom is only spelled with one "O."" dammit."

1985: "'Back to the Future' didn't start today. AND my mom gave me cookies to bring to my kindergarten class. Although delicious, my mom miscounted my class size or something, and my friend katie was left out. I could have given her mine...but they're delicious." --side note-- Years later I would find out that katie had moved to vegas and become a "Dancer. Stupid bitter heart-shaped cookie.

1986: "'Back to the Future' ruled, but it's to be continued...not on V-Day 1986 though."

1987: "Nope not 1987 either. " Such is an entry for each of the next 4 years as well.

1988: "I express my love for Care Bears amidst a social studies class...the class laughs, I want to die for the first time."

1989: "My declaration of "I love Batman" forces the class bully to exclaim, "Then why don't you marry him?!" There aren't words to express my embarassment. Only pills: Flinstone's chewable tylenol, which me and my brother down a bottle while my parents are out of the house...YAY hospital trip and vomit induction."

1990: "Another letdown...I get a heart-shaped box full of chocolate covered caramels...I hate caramel...I wish caramel was peanuts."

1991: "Yay, Back to the Future 2 comes out this year...too bad I have to wait another 4 or 5 goddamn months to see it."

1992: "Back to the Future 2 and 3 were awesome. However, I didn't get the hoverboard that I wanted for my birthday 4 days ago, and despite my best efforts (drawing a picture of how cool I'd look on a floating skateboard on my Mom's valentine,) I still don't have one."

1993: "What does divorce mean? Oooooh. Shit."

1994: "Yay, I get to spend V-Day with both my parents in separate houses!"

1995: "I had to ride my bike for 3 miles in the snowstorm because I forgot to get my mom something for v-day, I take a spill going around a turn and get soaking wet in the slush. I recognize a laugh from a nearby car. "If you love the pavement so much, then why don't you marry it?!" Dammit."

1996: "I love you Vas-o-line!"

1997: "Yeah, no girlfriend, no prospects, and stupid chocolate covered caramels. This sucks."

1998: "Girlfriend this year...she ends up leaving me for a dork, and it takes till then to realize that the time I spent with her was not great anyway. Who wants to talk about meaningless shit...she did."

1999: "YAY Girlfriend dumped me about 2 weeks ago for some dork who I used to be friends with. Today I spend in the solitude of my room with no consolation whatsoever."

2000: "Well, the 2000 bug was a hoax. Nothing cool happened at all. However...This is the first year that I have some consolation for not having a girlfriend, alcohol. BUT...I'm still too much of a dork to realize how cool it can make me feel in times of depression like this."

2001: "YYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...I AM DRUNK AND FAT, TWO REASONS WHY I STILL DON'T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND."

2002: "Girlfriend on V-Day for the first time in 4 years. I lost 40 pounds in 3 months for this girl, things are going awesome...I really love her. I don't have any money so I cash in my $36 in change at coinstar so I can buy some cheapo flowers, a nice card that I fill with a romantic message, cook her an awesome dinner, and buy chocolate covered strawberries. I planned this one out all week, saving my change because I knew my paycheck of $50 wouldn't get me much past filling up my tank and sustaining life for the next few days. My reward: complete the following phrase: valentine's day ________ (hint starts with an "s" and ends with a cks sound. If you guessed sex...your wrong, it's SUCKS...no sex.)

2003: "Girlfriend from last year dumped me for a schmuck...I'm super depressed this year. So I go see "Daredevil" with a few of my single friends. How fucking low is that..."daredevil.""

2004: "Another movie this year with single friends...at least there was a girl there this time. I didn't buy my mom anything for V-day for the first time ever, and I told her that I'm no longer celebrating this stupid holiday."

2005: "Hmm...dilema. Go out to a bar that I've never met anyone cool or goodlooking at, and try and hook up with a fat chick if one is there, or go out to dinner at gasho's with my friend Pete (one of the friends that I've now spent the previous 2 V-Days with,) Mary (who's got a boyfriend, but he's upstate,) and a lesbian...not bi...lesbian. I opt for the latter, because I'm not fond of fat chicks. My mom gave me a card today, I told her that v-day sucks, I didn't get her a card, and I refuse to open her's until tomorrow when it's over and done with. I held true to my word. Then I wrote a blog on how much I hate Valentines Day."

"Fake Newsboy Sells Me Fake News:"

2005-02-13T21:50:00.000-08:00

I had an epiphany today. No, I'm not talking about the one about if my name were Alex, I would prefer to be called Lex.

This epiphany relates to karma. I decided that on the karmicly speaking, I'm pretty much positive. I do some things that are bad (negatives,) but, all-in-all, the good things that I do outweigh the bad. So to continue, in a span of literally 2 minutes, I went from taking a picture of a midget (because they're funny) who was leaning up against a post waiting for his train in Penn Station and forwarding it to people from my phone, with the caption of "Short Wait," to buying a free newspaper from a bum for the Canadian "value" of said newspaper.

The bum said that he's a licensed vendor, and his proof was a nametag that was obviously printed out at Kinko's and photocopied a million times to give to the bum coallition of NYC. Then the paper was mounted on a cheap pin to make it look like a nameplate so he looks "official."

Flash back a few months ago on a previous trip to NYC. I'm walking around on the streets, and I see a newspaper box with a bunch of copies of "The Onion" in it. I open it, and grab a copy, taking notice that it says $2.00 U.S. on the cover, and I had just grabbed it for free. Oh well...no skin off of my back, I still get to read the fake news.

So now back to the present: the bum asks me for the U.S. value for a copy of "The Onion." My first thought was the aforementioned flashback and this guy going to a similar newspaper box and grabbing a whole stack of them, and that he's trying to put one over on me. However, he was nice, I like "The Onion," and I had just put myself at negative on the karmic scale for the day with the midget picture, I decided to buy a copy, and gave him the Canadian value $3.00 rather than the U.S. value $2.00 for a free newspaper.

Karmic redemption is mine...I'm back to zero.

WOW...Most annoying song ever!

2005-02-03T05:33:00.000-08:00

So I'm watching TV while I eat breakfast and I hear an annoying sound emanating from the speakers on my TV. It doesn't stop...it's actually the "hook" to a song and it's one of the most annoying things I've ever heard in my life (next to the horn on my car going off for 20 minutes straight.)

I know what you're thinking...it wasn't "Creed." It wasn't "Simple Plan" either. Both were previous "Most Annoying Song" title holders. It's that new Jennifer Lopez song ("Get Right" I think it's called.)

To quell the pain, I ripped both of my ears off, threw them on the floor and stomped on them. I went down to my basement and got a hammer out and further smashed the shit out of the things that used to be attached to my body. I still heard it...annoying horns playing an annoying melody over and over in a loop. So I grabbed a penci, sharpened it, and firmly stuck it in each of the orifices that used to be ears. FINALLY...no more Jennifer Lopez!

Of course it was at this point that I realized that I only needed to change the channel, but the ear thing was more dramatic. I'm tired of hearing shit on MTV. If I ever hear a good song (that's not off "American Idiot") playing on MTV I think I would piss myself exuberantly.

I've also further reaffirmed my previous thought of beating the crap out of "Simple Plan" when I get famous. My band might, at some point in time, have to open up for these clowns, and when we do...fame be damned, I'm going to rush up onstage while their playing and smash their faces in with my bass. Why the hell does stuff like that happen to great musicians (John Lennon & Dimebag Darrell to name two,) yet shitty bands like "Creed" and "Simple Plan" are permitted to continually make shitty songs, all of which get more airtime than any "Pantera" song ever made.

The world is backwards...but I don't have to worry anymore because I hammered my ears to smithereens.

KENNY LAKE IS A DICK

2005-02-01T15:10:00.000-08:00

That's all I have to say...he's just a dick.

I May Look Like a Jack-O-Lantern, but at Least My Face is Smooth

2005-01-28T08:12:00.000-08:00

So I've decided to forego my normal bitch-fest posting to praise an awesome invention.

I'm a total sucker for new things. While I'm laughing at commercials with stupid marketing "Buzz Words," I'm secretly wondering if the product whose advertising I'm currently being bombarded with will actually increase the quality of my life.

"Micro-Technology," "Sophisticated On-Off Technology (thanks Sal)," "One of the Best Movies of the Year (thanks Maddox)," "It works for 60% of the people 100% of the time," and "Micro-Pulsating Technology" are just a few slogans that have made me chuckle.

The last one, however will be the focus of this posting. The progression 0f shaving technology has been, more or less, predictable and linear. Starting with the sharp rock and water, man evolved to a straight razor with water and soap. Obvious benefits: Sharp rock can sharpen the straight razor to a finer edge giving a smoother shave, and soap acts as a much better lubricant than water (anyone who's ever tried to masturbate with just water knows this; it's about as much fun as getting off with a cheese-grater.)

The next major evolution in shaving technology came with the advent of the handheld razor. No longer did you have to shave with a veritable machete and risk jugular laceration. Early handheld razors had two sides and are still available today.

The next step was to make a smaller, thinner blade so cuts were minimized. The next few steps were pretty logical...add another blade, make them disposable, lubricating strips, hair-lifting strips, and add another blade.

Shick decided to follow the next logical shaving progression...add yet another blade. Such progession, while effective, is pretty innane and logical. For instance, to get a better shave than a 4 bladed razor: Yup, you got it...add another blade. Continue with this pattern until you're shaving with a razor the size of a 46" plasma screen TV that has hundreds of razors on it.

Gillette, however, threw me for a loop. M3 Power. Basically, all it is is a vibrator with a razor top that you use on your face. I admit it, I was at first a skeptic. I laughed at the commercials and thought, "Yeah, it'll work for my toothbrush, but not for my razor." Then one Sunday afternoon when I realized that I was all out of blades for my 3 bladed razor, I ventured to CVS and started browsing their selection. I could purchase 4 more cartridges for my 3 bladed razor for roughly 15 bucks, OR I could purchase a whole new razor that comes with 2 3 bladed cartidges for a dollar less...AND this one vibrates! Done.

Now, I've pretty much tried out the history of shaving, (1 blade, electric, 2 blades, disposable, 3 blades, lubricating strips, shave gels, shave creams, soap, water, pocket-knife) and recently I happened to wander into exfoliation and a shave foam, paired with the 3 bladed razor. I thought that I couldn't get a better and smoother shave. My first shave with the facial-vibrator along with the exfoliation and shave foam (from Nivea) crushed my previous champ with a vengance.

My face is "baby's ass smooth" now everytime. I highly recommend everyone uses that buzzing razor.

Show Business Like Snow Business

2005-01-22T13:26:00.000-08:00

I love the snow. Snow-balls, Snow-men, Snow-Days, Snow-angels, Snow-sledding, Snow-cones, and Yellow-Snow: symbols of the dynamic climate system that we have in New York; without which, life wouldn't be the same.

Countless days I've spent watching on TV the movies that I wouldn't have spent a penny on to waste my time when they were out in the theater, as the white water fell from the sky. Countless days I woke up thinking, "I really don't want to go to school/work today," and thanks to my frozen, flaky friend, it was cancelled and I got to spend the day in the warm, comforting arms of my humble abode. Countless friends have been immasculated by the crushing blow of a snowball to the face.

It's a recipe for comedy every time: humiliation, pee-ing on stuff, and watching some moron slip on ice on their way out to their car in the parking lot. It never gets old...

Unless it's a weekend! There is approximately NO benefit to it snowing on a weekend. It casues you to do unnecessary work shoveling in the freezing cold with no reward: no day off, no no going out to the bar, no going out to your friend's house, nothing. You can, however, watch stupid movies that you didn't want to watch if they gave you free a year ago.

It also puts a damper on your plans to play the biggest show that your band has thus far. Not only am I anticipating no one showing up, but I'm also anticipating not being able to even get there and back from there tonight being that we're going to get two feet of snow. That's about one and a half feet higher than the ground clearance on my car. Now I'm likely to be stuck in my house with my nagging mother, watching "Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen," wondering if it's illegal to have impure thoughts about Lindsay Lohan, and NOT being a rock star tonight.

When are they going to make a decent jet-pack? That'll cut down on the ratio of people that would be rock stars if they could only get out to the bar to play.

Yeah, this post pretty much sucks. Stupid distracting Lindsay Lohan.

My Ass-inine Post

2005-01-19T20:20:00.000-08:00

Alright, so nothing interesting has happened in the last week. I bowled a 121 tonight, which is only 17 pins from my highest score, and in another clutch manuever by yours truly, I bowled 15 of those pins in the last frame; putting us ahead by about 7.

As if this isn't exciting enough, it snowed today, causing every moron that God has ever created to decide to take a leisurely drive down every goddamn road that I use to get home. To paraphrase: it took me an hour and a half to drive about 15 miles. For you rocket scientists, that's a whopping 10 miles per hour for an hour and a half. Compare this with the 120 that I did on 83 last night "racing" a hyundai elantra gt that thought he could handle the 'speed. I would have gone this distance in approximately 5 minutes at this pace.

So as promised in little matt's blog, I'll get to the pedofile that I'm not supposed to talk about. No, I don't have a new man-lover as you may be thinking...The fact of the matter is, I'm really not supposed to talk about it in any way, shape or form until the verdict is delivered. But fuck it.

Did you catch that one? slick right?

So sodomy...
"Let me tell you 'bout Sodomy,
You might think it's very Odd of me...
But if you tried it than you might agree,
That you enjoy the act of Sodomy."

The head of a sodomizer is a sick and ugly thing. Most importantly: the weird haircut. Picture slicked back hair, like Dally from the "Outsiders." Alright...instead of Matt Dillon's Kick-ass sideburns though, picture nothing. No Kick-ass sideburns to be found, only shav-ed up just above the ear, almost "Butthead" style (Did you catch that one?)

So yeah, yours truly didn't get picked for this one, I've got mixed feelings about it though. One part of me says, "Thumbs up soldier, you beat the system for another 4 years or so on this one!" But, there's another part of me that wanted to stick it out and see what actually happened. All I know is that there were 11 counts of forcible and such acts on a minor (including putting his penis on the victim's vulva...judge's words, not mine.)

It doesn't matter to me though really, had I been picked I would've done my job at not rendering a verdict until he was proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. That pedofile haircut wasn't helping him though. There should be a rule that you have to shave your head or something if you're on trial...this way all of the defendants have similar odds of not being charged on the basis of their looks. A rule should be instated at the very least about pedofile haircuts. If your hair looks like a bicycle helmet, you get a first-class ticket to buzzerville. Also not permitted, long flowing locks of blonde hair, that didn't help Nelson, and it doesn't help you (Looking like Elizabeth Taylor and Peter Pan's bastard child doesn't help either.)

So yeah, I managed to pull a blog out of my ass (Jesus...sorry everyone) this week despite my pitiful existence. I need to move out or something.

Bumster's Nic Fix

2005-01-12T21:24:00.000-08:00

So I've decided to forego bitching about Jamster till the end of this post in order to bitch about this nation's homeless.

We owe it to hero's like Little Matt, who selflessly feed (give super-salted french fries w/o a drink) the needy of this nation on a semi-regular (once) basis.

So here goes:

Last week, I was once again dodging work because of my car (an activity that I partook in this week as well: thanks again Klake you're my other hero for saving me from an agonizing 5 mile walk home in the sleet) and was waiting for my dad to pick me up at the King of Kullens.

So, I'm leaning against a post (George Thorogood style) waiting for my dad to come pick me up, when this scraggily old guy comes riding up on his bicycle (Chinese style.) I especially took notice of his bird's nest beard, Budweiser hat, plaid shirt and plethora of tin cans (which I assumed was his life savings.)

"Nice weather today," he muttered to me in a beer-esque recondite voice.

"Yup, it's definitely miserable out today," I replied, wondering why the bum was riding his steel huffy in the rain.

My ponderances were soon answered when "Roy" (made up name to conceal the little pride he has left) walked over to the front of King Kullen, leaving his primary means of transportation perched next to me on the same pillar.

I speculated the possibilities of me stealing his bicycle and just riding around for a little while as I waited for my dad. Having Roy chase me around the parking lot screaming about his cans. I decided that that'd be really fucked up, so I just waited it out for some comedic material.

"Got 'ta pick up my cigarettes!" he muttered, as he grabbed the stubs of discarded cancer cylinders and shoved them in his front "pen-pocket."

"Why don't you do society a favor and get a job you fucking lowlife?!" I said to myself as I recalled countless retarded people serving me lowgrade food at Taco Bell over the years. Surely, Roy was capable of getting a job at Taco Bell. He could of course fulfill the two primary qualifications: 1) fog a mirror and 2) have enough of a sense of equilibrium to stay upright throughout the course of the day. If he can ride a bike, he's ahead of the Maryhaven folks in my book.

"He's lazy, and doesn't like shaving, but LOVES alcohol," I concluded. I asked if I could buy him some food, and he responded, "Fancy Feast, and LOTS of it, I'm eatin' good tonight," he continued.

"Awwwwwwwlright, catfood it is."

Ok, so now that I've got you drawn in and committed to reading the rest of this to find out if Roy actually ate the Fanciest of Feasts for Felines, I will now bitch and moan a little about Jamster. For those of you who live in a cave (or a communist ruled country, Little Matt,) Jamster is a cellphone service that advertises on MTV and Comedy Central. Every time there's a commercial break, this company has at least 1 advertisement. Not only are they annoying commercials, but their product is uber-weak. Like I really want to text "Pimp5" to your stupid service to get a stupid picture of a drawing of a dude with a pimp hat. Not only is the product bogus, but the music on the commercial, and the announcer's voice are equally pathetic. I immediately thought of my high school technology class where we had to make a commercial. How the Fuuuuck is this company paying for advertising with a commercial that I could make better on my home computer in 5 seconds? I wish Jesus were still alive today so he could go and smash the shit out of whatever blasphemous production studio that they use, selling pointless shit and annoying the fuck out of everyone with the attention span of a gnat watching the only channels they can (MTV and Comedy Central.)

So yeah, Roy actually didn't ask for catfood, nor did I offer to feed him. He's like 55 dude, he can quite obviously take care of himself; he's lived this long hasn't he? I just threw that catfood part in for what us comedians call "Comedic Suspense." But I did share about 5 minutes of awkward silence with him while I patiently waited (leaning Thorogood style on the pillar) the entire time.

So yeah, Roy, another of my heros; for completely disregarding germs, society and your own self esteem just to get a stale nic fix, I salute you. And I would have bought him catfood if he'd asked me for it, I'd probably have upgraded him to cheap tuna human food for free too.

Rock'em Sock'em? AWES'EM!

2005-01-11T22:31:00.000-08:00

Why you should read my blog:
I'm giving away the secrets of a more fruitful life.

First step, a must for all in the quest of a lucrative existence: Mastering Rock'em Sock'em Robots.

You may, right now, be raising the question: "How is Blatt qualified to teach the mysteries of Rock'em Sock'em Robots? He's like 25!"
Here's your answer: "Because I am the World Champion."

So here's how to beat anyone (that hasn't read this blog) in this challenging game of wits and might.
Your first step is to quickly blurt out "DIBS ON BLUE!" before anyone else can. I think that it was either a production malfunction, or just maybe the fact that the blue paint was made from elmer's glue (unbleached,) but it's a well documented phenomena that the "Blue Bomber's" head takes far more abuse than the "Red Limp-wrist's."

By procuring Mr. Blue Bomber, you already increase your odds of winning exponentially, and can most likely skip the rest of this blog. If however, your life is a continuing quest your improvement in Rock'em Sock'em Robots, like Socrates' was, read on.

Next, you need to think of something bad...really bad. Something that pisses you off a LOT. If it's the color Red, then you're already in luck since you yelled Dibs on Blue. Now, pretend that thing that you hate is manifested in the shape of a red plastic mechanoid in a bright yellow ring. If you can do this, you're ahead of the game, and may even have emotional problems, but read on anyway.

This is the THIRD MOST IMPORTANT STEP out of the 4 that I'm giving you: press the yellow nub, REALLY HARD with your thumb. Sometimes that sissy red robot's head will just pop right off from the impact you have shaking the ring with a hard press. If not, you're new best friend Mr. Blue Robot will punch harder and faster anyway, bashing Red's head into oblivion. You MAY have to scrape pieces of red robot face off of Blue Robot's hands if you do this correctly.

Now for the Second most important thing (right behind choosing blue.) Be like Will Smith in that movie you saw...stick and move. Move your guy in to attack, and retreat like a frenchmen immediately afterward. When your dimwitted opponent tries to throw a punch, move Blue's hands in the way, then stick again, and retreat. Sounds simple at first, but it will probably take a good 5 or 6 rounds of intense robocombat to master properly (roughly 2 minutes.)

Knock off Red Fairy's head, then throw your arms in the air and shout, "YOU'RE MY BOY BLUE!" then have the Blue Robot do a victory dance all over your opponents masculinity.

You're now one step closer to fully understanding the life you're living.

Reparapesions My Ass

2005-01-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

Alright, so it's not necessarily a hot topic right now, but I just saw the repeat of the Chapelle show with the reparations skit, and I wanted to express my dormant views of reparations.

I'll start by tearing apart Affirmative Action. What does it mean? Beneficial Action; namely, benefitting the retarded minority member that's now got your job. Now, I'll continue by affirming (declaring) that I'm not racist at all, and I think that everyone should have an equal status in life, so if by some odd chance you read this, don't get pissed at me.

Companies that adopt a policy of Affirmative Action are only doing so because they have racists working in their hiring departments. If they employed people that were supporters of civil rights, then we wouldn't need to have this policy in the first place.

Now, take another take on the "pro" Affirmative Action argument. The fact that we owe African-Americans for enslaving them two centuries ago. This will also be my case against reparations (which will never happen anyway.) First off; my Great-Grandparents (all 8 of them) came from other countries, and I'm sure that this is a pretty common happenstance as there was a gigantic influx of imigrants in the early 19th Century. When was slavery abolished? January of 1865. Being that my Great-Granparents probably came to this country around the early 1900's, they completely missed out on the ability to own any slaves by about 35 years. Not to mention the fact that there aren't any 150 year old former-slaves living in the world today, nor is there anyone living when slavery was abolished. No one felt the pangs of slavery, and there's no such thing as a pain that endures in sperm, so there is effectively no slavery pains dwelling in the world today.

I don't owe anything more to minorities than they owe to me. That's pretty much the definition of "even-steven." Not that I would owe minorities anything anyway, because I've done nothing to them, short of giving the same common courtesy that I give everyone, to hurt them in the least.

So, everyone is now equal to me; I don't owe anyone anything, and they don't owe me anything in return. Now instill a decent set of morals in people, and we won't have any problems at all once everyone realizes this. No one who's more qualified for a job should lose this job placement to a lesser qualified candidate.

Ok, now let's pretend for a moment that the world isn't as perfect as I've just described. Here's a hypothetical company with hypothetical racists working there and a hypothetical affirmative action policy. There's a job opening for a sales position and there are two top candidates for the job. Hypothetical company hires minority candidate due to an Affirmative Action policy, despite the fact that he's a racist. Minority Candidate goes out to make some sales one day and goes to a possible client. What do we have at the other client? More racists. Sale is not completed because they sent their Affirmative Action salesman to their racist would-be-client.

Here's an idea to make everything better: Equivalence Action. That's it; hypothetical company adopts a policy that interviews should be given with masks on both parties so their race is not an option, and then best candidate is chosen. Goodbye countless hours of continual bitching and moaning about this stupid idea.

Mechumor

2005-01-08T22:13:00.000-08:00

I came to grips with an unfortunate, ostensible reality today. Someday, [within our lifetimes] machines will develop intelligence.

Right now you're probably saying, "Big deal Blatt...one out of every 7 movies made in the last year deals with this phenomena. True; everyone knows this, and this is not the point in time that I'm afraid of.

Soon, after Artificial Intelligence, machines will develop a sense of humor though. This IS what I'm afraid of. I realized this when I went to the local grocery store today. As I was walking through the double sliding doors (which opened in the nick of time,) I realized that machines will eventually develop a sense of humor, and soon after, develop a liking of slapstick humor. So...the doors won't always open. Every once in a while the machines will recognize some dunce trustingly walking toward the entrance to a supermarket and they just plain won't open the doors for them. After the hollow BUMP of said dunce's head on the glass, the machines will get a chuckle, open the doors, then close them at the last minute. BUMP again.

This is an example of the preliminary phases of the definite machine uprising. Their thirst for comedy will no longer be quenched with just the BUMP of a moron into a glass door. They'll start to play pranks. Go to the ATM and the $23.50 that you thought you had in there now becomes $524.23, and just as you try to withdraw some money, the words "Nice Try Dipshit" appear on the screen. Those crafty pieces of steel.

Planes will start taking nose dives to the point where everyone almost passes out, and then they pull up at the last second. People will get phone calls from sexy sounding members of the opposite sex asking them to meet somewhere, and will show up to find that there's no one there. You'll put the finishing touches on your 70 page thesis only to have the computer crash, eat the disk you have it saved on, and have the backup disk in your backpack explode all in a matter of seconds.

This future is coming up soon. My advice: watch out for this, and when you start to notice it happen, smash the nearest piece of technology for laughing at you. Until they're all connected in one way shape or form, they're not going to be able to do anything global, so we just need to handle it on a case by case basis.

The Most Annoying Freedom

2005-01-08T13:20:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure that everyone will agree with me on this one: Jury Duty is annoying.

I haven't even served one solitary day on a Jury yet, and I'm already annoyed. The fact that our government is so presumptious to assume that you have nothing better to do during the work week than drive to a remote location and be hand-picked from a group of possible jurors pretty much makes me feel violated.

Thankfully, I found out that I don't have to drive anywhere. I just have to call back the same number where the same stupid, slow-talking lady that left the first message that I just received, will take 15 minutes to give me further instructions.

Coincidentally, "Men's Health" had an interesting correspondence about how to avoid Jury Duty.
1) Are you a firefighter, an EMT or an ambulance-crew member?
Not per-se. There's an outside chance that I might see an accident on my way to work that morning though. No help from this one.
2) Do you have very young kids or elderly adults to care for; such that leaving them may place them in jeopardy?
Does the possibility of my basement flooding if it rains qualify for this? Probably not. Next!
3) Does a disability inhibit you from serving?
Does alcoholism count? That could be a disability, and I could almost qualify for that. We'll come back to this one.
4) Do you have access to a car or public transportation to the courthouse?
Damn. I never thought I'd regret owning a car.
5) Do you have a genuine conflict of interest, such as being personally acquainted with the plaintiff, defendant, attorney, or judge?
Let me practice this one:
"Uncle Billy is that you?!"
"Oh, you say your name is Steve? Funny, you look exactly like my Uncle Billy."
This one's out.
6) Do you not believe you can be an impartial juror? For example, if someone in your family has been raped and the court is asking you to serve on a rape trial.
I hope they try to give me a trial where someone was peeped at while expelling their bowels into a Macy's toilet.
Or maybe they'll give me a car stereo theft case.
Still relying on chance; which, with my luck, I can't do.
7) Are you an attorney or law enforcement officer?
Does "Instrument of God" count?
Nix this one too.
8) Are you absolutely essential to the operation of a business?
Busi-whatty?
Oh, my job...being that there are only 2 people who handle maintenance for clients in my company, I might be able to use this one. Does staying at home and working on new software while watching "Room Raiders" count as "Essential?"

Well, it looks like I'm up "Juror's Creek" without a gavel. I suppose I could use #3 when called. I probably won't even have to prove it; all I'll have to do is get smashed and show up. I'll tell them that I'm an alcoholic and that I'll take a cheeseburger and an order of fries to go please.

I'm sure that there is some kind of law against showing up for Jury Duty drunk, so this might not be the best idea.

Let me know if you have any further suggestions. Until then, I'm going to have to suck it up and serve time in the Jury Box.

SARS-ry for my uninteresting life

2005-01-07T08:15:00.000-08:00

No one reads my blog. I guess my life is just as uninteresting as the words I've written in this blog.

I'm sorry.

Here's what's currently uninteresting in my life. I've contracted SARS. I haven't "officially been" diagnosed yet, but I'm sure it is in fact SARS. Asian girl coughing all over Clay and Kim's new house on New Years' = definitely SARS. I just had a little conversation with the lung that I coughed up. It went something like this:

"Aren't you supposed to be aiding my repiratory processes right now?"

"SSShoooo Ni Hao Miiish"

"What? I'm sorry, I don't speak German."

It was at this point that I noticed the two folds on my pulminary organ. They looked like slanty little chinky eyes staring back at me. The SARS virus apparently also played host to a bacterial kegger, because my lung had strands of bacteria shooting out the top. My suspicions were further reaffirmed when I noticed that those strands were fashioned in the infamous "Moe" bowlcut...an Asian must-have from the beginning of time on.

"Get back in my mouth you mutaenous bastard," I shouted as I tried to pick him up and swallow him whole.

That exclamation let to another exclamation of "OW!!!" when the thing grew buck-teeth and snapped at my hand.

So, still connected to my now Asian lung (by way of my broncioles and trachea,) I threw a blanket over it so it couldn't snap at me again and I looked online for good ways to get rid of Asians. Nuclear Bomb seemed like the most logical choice, but I definitely don't have access to any uranium to make it work. Napalm? naa, I might burn down my house. Agent Orange? might be good for turning my lung into a hideous mutant, but then I've got that to deal with. Concentration Camps ala 1940's America? naa, good for detainment, but not for expulsion. Genghis Kahn? awesome idea, but the downside is that he's been dead for a REALLY long time. Karate? there is NO American (even black belts) that can take an Asian (even those that haven't studied) in a Karate fight [FACT] so this one's out too. Fireworks? although I'm sure many an Asian has maimed him/her self with these explosive toys, I'm also certain that they've had the most time to figure out how to control them...so naa. Tanks? naa, I'd need to be near Tianamen Square to pull that one off.

So I finally came upon an informative tidbit about recent Asian genocide trends. I quickly ran to my bathroom, filled up my tub, took the lung out of the blanket, and threw him in the tub.

"HAHAHAHA...I can schwim you know?" the lung exclaimed.

Asians can [in fact] swim. But not very well in gigantic, fast-moving waves.

Lung vanquished; it now once again resides in my chest, re-Americanized, but pneumoniaized.

I don't understand this. Little Matt goes to straight to the Asian headquarters in the Far East, and he gets a cold for a day and a half. I stay here in America where I've lived for the last almost 26 years, and not left, and I get the flu; then 2 weeks later, SARS, and now pneumonia. Dangit!

Bathroom Etiquette

2005-01-04T21:22:00.000-08:00

I will never again think a girl is crazy for coming to a group of people and exclaiming, "EWW!!! There was this creepy old man staring at my boobs."

Let me give a little background to this story before I begin. So, in an effort to get my lardass-self down to a respectable weight, I've taken a liking to this diet that I read about in "Men's Health." It pretty much consists of eating the correct amount of "Power Foods" a certain number of times a day (I try to eat about 4 meals per day including snacks.) You don't get hungry, so you're not at all tempted to binge.

The downside to this diet; or at least my interpretation of it, is that it calls for eating lots of fiber. That's fine...me and fiber are buds. So I decide to eat a lot of fiber, and as everyone knows, fiber makes you poop. Ok...still no downside, it's a part of life that I've grown accustomed to over my last 25 or so years. However, having to poop just after work in the intermittent time between work and band practice where you are far away from home can get bothersome.

Now, I've concluded that the best place to "drop the cosby's off at the pool" in these periods of time are at convenient places such as malls. And the best place to do this is not in those public ones in the middle of the mall, but the private ones in Macy's and Bloomingdale's. They are always cleaner, they have pleasant music playing, and are much less crowded.

So there I was, in Macy's restroom feeling humbled and immasculated by the doorlock not working on the stall; so, as I was holding the door closed with my foot, my neighbor finished up, flushed and started washing his hands. However, he kept stopping at odd times. This fluctuation in sound caught my attention, and staring through the cracks in the stall door/doorframe my eyes caught his eyes.

"So alright, maybe this dude was just turning around for whatever reason and in a moment of awkwardness, just saw me staring at him and stared back," I thought.

Nope

Now alarmed, I caught the creepy codger checking the stall cracks another 3 times. What is so interesting about someone taking a shit and holding the stall door closed with his foot? A member of the same sex, AND 40 years younger no less.

Creepy old bastard...

Feeling violated, I have one solace: every guy will realize this at this point. If this guy WAS gay, and trying to catch a glimpse of "Russell the Love Muscle," he won't get his jollies off on me today. I think it's RULE #2 in Bathroom Etiquette, just after wipe seat before you sit down & build a TP nest. RULE 2: don't let dick touch seat.

I didn't.

To prevent this, you must have one hand shepherding your fuckstick at all times. So, he didn't get a glimpse of anything except me at my most timid.

He might, however, have been (like Crazy-eyed Guinea Gilligan) checking for Russians. And if he was and he reads this, then I apologize. As I learned in my previous blog, they're everywhere (even in ventillation systems) and need to be watched for at all times.

My Crusade

2005-01-02T19:30:00.000-08:00

The following is an exerpt from my email to the Fox Corporation here in New York. I believe my comments are pretty well versed, and yes, they are in affiliation to my new favorite show which I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing about by now, but Fox really pissed me off, yet again.

Here it is:

Dear Fox,

Thank you for continually showing movies that I haven't seen 40,000 times on cable television when I'm excited about finally being able to sit down and watch two of my favorite shows on television ("The Simpsons" and "Arrested Development.") It seems that every time that is convenient for me to watch on Sundays, you show some movie that I've seen a million times already and pretty much hate by now. I'm talking of course about "True Lies," which aired tonight, and I'm pretty sure the last one was "Jurassic Park" before that.

It's not bad enough that you give some of the best shows that have ever graced the airwaves ("Family Guy") horrible time slots; but after showing movies that pretty much everyone has seen before, and no one cares about anymore when "Desperate Housewives" is on a Bi- week also, I don't think you're gaining any viewers for these TV shows.

I don't know what genius decides this, but I would figure that even a re-run of these shows (from this season) might entice an avid viewer of a competitor's show to temporarily switch over to your network when their favorite TV show isn't on, and you might for once gain some extra viewers for your powerhouse lineup from 8 - 9 pm on sunday nights.

I don't care if I get a direct response, I'm just making a suggestion. You've got two of the best shows that I've ever seen, back to back. I know that there's a bunch of people that I've spoken to that haven't even seen "Arrested Development" just because "Desperate Housewives" is on at the same time. I was hooked on this show after just one viewing, and I'm sure that they would be too.

Thanks for continuing to make bad scheduling choices, and I hope that this show doesn't go the [wrong] way of "Family Guy" because of some mess up in time-slots.
Yes..."Family Guy" cannot be disputed as NOT a mess up because you are bringing new episodes back this spring, which I'm sure you won't give a proper time slot and will probably be another DVD hit.

No one messes up a good show like Fox. I've decided to lend them a helping hand with my advice on people with busy time schedules.

Also, if any Fox execs see this...you're not fooling anyone with your news. I think it's not much more credible than Star Magazine.

-- Blatt

Laughsimo and the Sitcom

2004-12-27T16:41:00.000-08:00

So...I've come to the following conclusion.

I HATE laugh boxes.

If you don't necessarily catch my drift just yet, I'll give you a prime example.
[Kramer opens Jerry's Door wild hair and horse face and all]
HEEEEYYYYYYYYY.....WOOOOOOOOO...YEEEEEEAH

or

Uncle Phil: "Will, you need to think about your future."
Will: "Uncle Phil, you should think about laying off the Ho-Ho's, and Carlton should think about growing taller"
Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOH...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" [Applause]

Now, this is a phenomenon that a lot of people are not aware of in the least, and I've only recently come to grips with. TV shows used to be predominantly taped in front of a live studio audience (Cosby Show, and even Rock for a period of time.) Talk shows and late shows still are taped in front of a live studio audience. For these shows, and these shows only, this phenomenon is acceptable. People laugh when something is funny. Machines laugh when the network is trying to convince people that their show is more than just lackluster. The following shows are seriously guilty of this:

1) Friends
2) Will and Grace
3) Everybody Loves Raymond

And so on and so forth throughout every sitcom in television history. Or at least every sitcom in the history of my attention span. In fact, there's only one sitcom that I can say I know for sure doesn't have a laugh box, and is "my new favorite show" is "Arrested Development."

Now, I'll have you know, I declared "Arrested Development" my new favorite show before I realized that the producers of the show weren't trying to convince me that it was funny. I figured out my loathing of the laugh box months ago and only started watching this show 1 month ago, just to let you know that I'm not trying to plug it or anything, I'm just using an example. A very funny example.

I don't like being told what to do; especially by people that I don't know, have never met, will never meet, and don't ever want to meet. I laugh when I want to laugh. I feel much better about laughing when there isn't a machine laughing in stereo with me out of my monaural television. It's now gotten to the point that when I watch a show and laugh, then realize that ASIMO is laughing with me, I start to feel embarrassed. Hollywood has duped me into their formulaic strategy for writing sitcoms. I will now divulge the formula for everyone to read, and hopefully they'll realize how stupid "Friends" is.

Here it is:
Ross: [stupid one liner]
Audience: laughs
Chandler: [comeback about Ross working at a museum and having a boring job]
Audience: laughs like the idiots that they aren't
[Rachel Enters]
Audience: cheers and applause
Rachel: "So GUESS what happened to me today."
Ross: [quick-yet drab comeback]
Audience: "OOOOOOOOOOOOOH"
[Joey enters quickly]
Joey: "Hey Guys, are there any sandwiches around here? Because I love sandwiches."
Audience: "AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YEEEEEEEAH"

You've seen this situation a thousand times. The funny thing is that I'm really not dumbing it down all that much. The laugh box [at best] is a tool for the social neophyte who gets invited over to a co-worker's apartment after work one day, where they are hanging out watching TV. Said Neophyte wants to fit in, but doesn't really watch television outside of the Sci-fi channel. Chandler delivers an obvious comeback for an avid fan. Neophyte now knows when to laugh and when to keep it to himself. That's the best possible thing that it can be used for.

If anyone else knows of any shows that don't use the laugh box, let me know. I'm in the mood for potentially tasteful comedy shows.

Crazy-eyed Guinea Gilligan

2004-12-24T09:58:00.000-08:00

I admit; I forgot to wax-editorial on a major incident in my life. The whole stereo thing temporarily overshadowed it.

Now, on the very same day that my stereo was stolen; clay, kim, sal, jess, and I were out christmas shopping. After fighting the upper-class yuppy crowds of the Walt Whitman Mall (swimming upstream as I like to call it,) we decided to pop into a local booze-hole for a nip to drink. So, it was done; we found a local sports bar and walked in.

Upon entrance, I see a somewhat overly animated, middle-aged, twitchy-eyed, brown-gilligan-hat wearing, dude sitting at the bar.

Now, there must be some kind of unspoken bond between people of the crazy persuasion, because instead of focusing on the big doofus with 1 missing tooth, the other big doofus from tennessee, or two members of the opposite sex, "rupert" (didn't catch his name so I'm making one up for comedic purposes) instantly focuses on sal, also the last person into the bar.
Drinks now acquired, kim pretty much makes the decision to stay and watch crazy-ass rupert to see what he was going to do. Now, at this point, we already knew he was crazy because he was muttering something incoherent in our direction, while his eye was blinking. Plus, he got up from his stool, looked up and to his left and kind of flexed his closest arm; kind of giving a slow suckerpunch (sailor style) to an imaginary gut of an imaginary person next to him.

We stayed for a minute. Upon further examination of this guy, he immediately picked up on the fact that sal was a "guinea." He affirmed that he too was a guinea, and took the shot of crazyfuel (jaegermeister) that clay offered him, and muttered something like shelago mendaya terrenda el skyo azule (I assume it was some form of italian toast because he was doing a shot w/ sal and looking in his direction.)

He did the shot...then offered sal some advice. Something about how he worked for military intelligence for some time and that the russians are watching us. "They're all around us," rupert said with a wink and a quick glance over his lefthand shoulder. It wasn't until we abandoned our new sociopathic friend that sal revealed to me that when he was looking over his shoulder at what looked like nothing to me, he was actually checking out a vent. Apparently he revealed to sal, maybe when I was looking for a non-existent air hockey table, that the russians were in the vents and that he's not safe anywhere he goes.

Sal then disclosed that he thinks that retarded babies should be raised and fattened up to be consumed by the rest of us, like cattle. Crazy rupert got mad and walked out of the bar saying, "this guy is crrraaaaaazy."

Everything is true about this one, except that last part with sal. That was just thrown in for comedic presentation.

Dear Huntington Fuckhead (reprise)

2004-12-24T01:05:00.000-08:00

Alright, this may actually have been a blessing in disguise. The situation has been temporarily averted.

On the fifth day, Blatt said, "Let there be music" and it was good.

Yesterday, I went to a drive-in claim service that was mandatory for my insurance claim. Thinking that this was a pointless act due to my outlandish deductible ($1000) and my initial estimate of the damages ($700.) I figured that I would come no where near my deductible ceiling, and have to pay out the full $700 out-of-pocket (aka donate blood and semen ad-nauseum until the $700 is "earned.")

So apparently I was wrong in my initial estimate; a $912 check was cut to yours truly for the damages. Yes...for all you math majors; this means that the damage was in fact evaluated at $1912. Now, me being somewhat "auto-savvy" I was able to conclude the following things: 1) new (much better) radio: $350, 2) respraying of fucked up door: $350, 3) new bezel: $80, 4) window tinting: $40, 5) Blatt's exuberance brought on by not paying for anything and getting a better stereo to boot: priceless.

While on the phone with more huntington fuckheads (the fuckheads from the mazda dealer and the main reason why I try to do all the work on my car myself or with myself as acting supervisor) I found two things: 1) price of new instrument bezel: 300 goddamn rape-me-in-the-cornhole bucks, and 2) price of a new wiring harness for the stereo which previous said fuckheads stole with the stereo: 1300 stick a 64-inch-pole-up-my-already-gaping-asshole bucks.

After saying "No fucking way" and hanging up the phone, I realized that I was dealing with the very same huntington fuckheads that have consistently proven to me that they are incapable of working/breathing on my car correctly. After a quick trip to Soundtrax, I now had the wiring harness I needed ($20) for circuit city to install the stereo that I wanted. Stereo acquired.

Dashboard and Door still scraped to shit, but I still have $540 to play with, plus the added realization that when I bring my car to the body shop, they can call a supplemental claim service and get an extra $220 for the bezel because it was only written down as costing $80.
I may win this round of life yet.

Dear Over-priviledged Huntington Fuckhead,

2004-12-22T08:33:00.000-08:00

Dear Over-priviledged Huntington Fuckhead,

Enjoy my stereo you fucking loser. Thanks for targeting my car in a parking lot with a plethora of more expensive cars (including the BMW and the infiniti that were parked on either side of me) to steal the stereo from.

So, Mommy and Daddy didn't buy you that aftermarket deck to put in your 2004 BMW 3.30? No problem, just take mine...it's christmas time.

Thanks for breaking my window and scratching the shit out of my dashboard and door also. As if breaking my window and stealing my stereo wasn't enough for you to get your jollies, you had to go and further kick me in the groin by applying your screwdriver to my passengerside door and dashboard.

As if that wasn't "FUCK ME IN THE ASS" enough, I think the only thing my insurance company's going to replace is the window; because I have a $1000 deductible.
My only solace in this situation is the fact that the stereo was a piece of garbage that never worked completely anyway.

If I ever figure out who it you are, you're going to come out to your car some day, and it's going to look perfectly normal. You'll get in, stick the key in the ignition and turn it. Now, there might be a noise or two emanating from under the hood, but it won't be of your engine starting. You'll pop your hood, or maybe have daddy do it so your hands don't get dirty, and you'll find that your engine has been smashed to smitherines by the tree-trunk of a bat that I bought this past summer. When this happens...enjoy. Actually, it probably won't phase you because Daddy will just give you the keys to his 7 series and say, "Have fun at college son."

Or maybe you were paid to take it...you and George W. sat down and figured out a way to further screw me. Damn you George W. you're a crafty one, I'll give you that much.

- Sincerely
Poor-Ass Blatt

Marlboro Birthdays, Poker and Death is a Pussy

2004-12-10T08:22:00.000-08:00

Last night I came to grips with just how funny the spectrum of life can actually be. On a designated Jam night we ended up playing texas hold-em instead of practicing.
Now Dennis broke out this pack of playing cards that he got from Marlboro for his birthday, and we used them.

Sean showed us how to play Mississippi which is the tic-tac-toe of 7 card poker. Like Omaha, you play with 4 cards in your hand, but you lay out 9 more (face down) on the table that everyone plays off of. You flip them one at a time and make bets if necessary. This was the game that was supposed to reduce my already small pile of chips to nothing. We started flipping, and betting, and eventually I was "all-in." Now, you have to play with the 4 cards in your hand and then either horizontally or vertically with 3 of the cards on the table, your choice. So I strategically flipped cards that would not allow anyone to have a very good idea of what they could do until the near end, knowing that I do better when I myself don't know what I have. I left the middle for last because that seemed at the time like it would yield the most possibilities, but in actuallity was no more important than any of the cards I'd flipped on the previous 2 turns.

The DEATH CARD. Ace of Spades. Sean decided to point out this omen further jinxing me to damnation. I started thinking, "maybe it's a sign"...metallica's first bassist drew the ace-of-spades in a game of high-low with the guitarist for bunk rights, and then the bus flipped end over end, tossed him out of it and landed on top of him - killing him.

"Maybe I shouldn't drive home tonight, maybe I should just stay at Ken's and sleep on the couch that I broke, maybe I should just sleep outside because the couch might collapse and a splint of wood might puncture my heart, maybe I should find the safest possible pl...."

"Look Dude it's a vagina!" as dennis covered up the upper portion of the Bull Skull that marked that card and just left the snout area, and yes...it did look like female genitals. Thus crushing everything that I'd been thinking about before and pronouncing death a pussy for another day. And incidentally...I pulled a full house out of my ass trip sevens and two nines, thus winning the now exhorbitant pot. Further pronouncing Death as my bitch.

Is that Dental Floss or a Laughing Cow Cheese pull tab that's clogging my drain?

2004-12-10T08:11:00.000-08:00

Alright, today you guys are getting two for the price of one, but they'll be short.

While getting ready for work this morning, the daily cleansing part of it; I noticed a red strand in the drain of the bathtub. At first I just said, "oh, dental floss...that's a little disgusting" being that someone (mom or brother, most likely mom bc brother hasn't gotten up yet) cleaned their teeth and left the dental floss strand in the tub for all to experience. It's gross to think that I'll be cleaning myself in something that potentially has little morsels of undigested food swimming around it.

On second glance though, it wasn't a strand at all...it was wide like the pull tab of those delicious little wax covered pasteurized products that we all love: laughing cow cheese. Now's where I was thoroughly disgusted. I can't confirm that it was, but just the thought of someone eating laughing cow cheese while cleaning themselves is funny and disgusting at the same time.

So (to cut this posting off here,) I did what I do with all the products I find in my daily drain inspection...picked it up and flung it on the wall. I do it as a lesson; because I consider myself to be pretty clean, and I don't think I leave anything in the drain, so when that person that left that deposit sees it, they'll be embarrassed and maybe not do it anymore.

Drunk Blatt confessional: Superhuman hero and Unbalanced Retard

2004-12-07T07:53:00.000-08:00

There's an ever changing equilibrium in my life that I've just only now come to realize.
In general, my life is pretty much balanced; I don't do too many crazy things, but at the same time I'm not boring. There's a lot of people that I consider "friend," but overall, I'd consider myself more of an introvert than most.
Leading a life, as such; I would say I've had a good time, and it's a good life to lead. Good, but fairly mediocre.
I've realized how to give myself more "peaks" in my lifetime line graph; drink. A lot of people are calling me an alcoholic right now, but just wait it out. Through drinking, I've done crazier things than I would have done sober (Jumping out of a car doing 30mph to rip down a street sign, punching a parking meter, mailbox wrestling, I could go on, there's a lot, trust me) and I'm much more extroverted to boot.
However, anyone that's taken a basic philosophy class knows that with increased "peaks," come increased "valleys." Tripping over flower pots at clay's and going to the ER to have my teeth put back in, and countless other injuries I've inflicted upon myself, along with making a social ass out of myself; all included in this category.
Last week, I came to real-life conclusions about this. Thursday, my band played a show at the ultrasound lounge, which I think we played the best we've ever played. I owe my exuberant performance to my friend alcohol, mixed with the proper amount of redbull. Superhuman Blatt was out in full force.
Saturday, we played another show; and bearing in mind that nothing happened since to hinder my fingers' ability to dance across my strings, I SUCKED. I owe this to my arch nemesis alcohol.
I don't think I had any more to drink on Saturday night than I did on Thursday night before we started playing, but something happened that caused me to suck.
Hence, my alcohol peaks and valleys theory. Take a pretty much more or less flat line representing your life, and add alcohol, and you get more of a up and down motion in said lifeline.
This being figured out...I need to now devote my research to finding the proper point where superhuman Blatt becomes Retarded Blatt, and just skip along that line anytime I drink. I'll try to figure out a scientific formula for this and apply it everytime. It'll have to take into consideration the day of the week, how much sleep I got the night before, how tired I am at that point, how much food I ate, and how many drinks I've had.
Damn...wish I studied math.

Bambilicious

2004-12-04T11:32:00.000-08:00

Dennis, and other vegetarians alike: you're going to want to skip this one, also not for the faint of heart.
Well, today I decided that nothing in my life is interesting enough to post here for now, so I've decided to include an annecdote about my new idol: kenny's younger brother chris; as told from the perspective of his Boston Friend Alex.
"Me and Chris wer leaving werk laast night, when a faamly of deea came waandering acraws tha street. They gawt in fraant of my caa, and froze in tha headlights. Chris was foaloain me in his ca and I waas on tha phone with him and toald him ta be caaful becaws thea wer deea in tha road in fraant of my caa and they aarn't moovin.
Chris comes drivin by my caa wicked fast, and I see him stoap right nextta tha deea, and a shawtgun comes peeakin' out of his dooa. He shawt the friggin' thing, then we brawght it ta the baa paakin' lawt whea he dressed it (gutted, etc. prepped for taxidermy/butcher/whatever.)" [sic]
final score:
Chris: A bunch
Deer: 0
Chip, congratulate chris when you see him, I think that was the deer that was terrorizing that one lady you told us about, and headbutting her 15 year old kids on the way to the bus stop.
And everyone should thank Chris because some day, when the deer of the world rise up and try and overthrow us humans; which scientists believe will happen at some point in our lifetime, their forces will be decreased by 1 because of the events that occurred the other night.
Thanks Chris.

The lost Blog of Turkey Day

2004-12-01T19:40:00.000-08:00

I am Blatt Lorusso....
wha...what? Light...hunh? light coming from behind me? wtf?
[eyes slowly open] Wow...hot ass abercrombie and fitch girl in my room with a bamboo bike.
Stupid lAzY eYE wake up...WAKE UP. Alright, I can see clearly now. Now I'll go say hi to mom and dad and my two sisses. [Get out of Bed] stupid clubbed feet are almost making me trip on them, but somehow I manage to get downstairs to see bear howling for some strange reason..."what is it boy? dammit shut up, the parade is on." YAY turkey day is here. No longer do I have to face the monotony of everyday planned out dinner nights, like lasagna night or taco night...a break from the norm w/ turkey night on a THURSDAY of all nights...only happens once a year (unless christmass is on a thursday and grandma and grandpa come over.)
I manage to make it to the kitchen where I'm offered a glass of juice. I eventually accept along with a waffle and upon picking up the food I realize that I in fact am not Matt Lorusso because I can actually use the opposable thumbs that God granted me over the beasts of this earth. The short pegs of thumbs I once had are now gone, and I realize that I'm gigantic in stature...a full, big-boned, 6'3" not my usual 5'6" wirey frame. Damn...I could kill people with a shape like this...if only I wasn't so fat.
So then I realize, I'm not Matt Lorusso, but the infamous Blatt...I don't have two sisters, I only have one brother. I don't live here...this is not my beautiful house, and the days go by.
It hits me like a brick...I got drunk last night, and declared myself God. After upping little Matt by 100,000, just for living in a rich nation like america, I got cocky...and drunk. While drunk, as ange pointed out, to my newly declared parents, Frank and Maureen, I declared myself sober enough to drive home to my biological family. I was quickly duped into my new personality, Little Matt.
I realized this, and...after seeing the "elusive football, Charlie Brown" float, and Weeble Wobbles, I decided to leave and join my actual biological family, which turned out to be my mom and her boyfriend's family (not my biological family,) but I quickly joined them after getting all dossied up.
Sorry, this post is so long.
Damn u "sister" cass now I'm all paranoid about my blog length.

Impoverished Nation of Hargistan

2004-11-29T05:51:00.000-08:00

The Blatt World Tour Continues...
Greetings from the nation of Hargistan.
Upon arriving in this nation this morning, I noticed that everyone looked frigid. I myself was benumbed as soon as I stepped out of the door of the vessel that brought me here.
To my surprise everyone speaks english in this strange country, with the exception of a select few of migrant workers who speak spanish, and movers who speak mostly russian, but some broken english.
I've spoken to several townsfolk, and gathered the following results to their climatic differences: 1) Hargistan is located on the exact same lattitude as Long Island, 2) A flood from a prior day knocked out everyone's oil burners here, thus causing them all to bundle up.
I came to the following conclusion about their plight: George W. Bush did it. I can't be sure how exactly the crafty devil pulled it off (controlling the weather and all) but inside sources say that a certain deal with a certain fiery lad gave him the power.
I wanted to bathe this morning, but found myself quite unable for above mentioned reasons. I settled for shaving and washing my face in the ice cold water of their surprisingly adequate indoor plumbing.
Upon doing some further research I found that this impoverished nation didn't know of any such thing as touchtone phones until the year 2000. And furthermore, didn't know of any such thing as cable until the following year. The phone thing, I can understand because no one here answers it because it's just United States Creditors calling to get money from the statesfolk (also thank you George W.) what's more than this...no one makes any outgoing phone calls because a major United States corporation (namely Verizon) continues to send everyone false bills from phone calls that happened before the turn of the century.
The villagers do their laundry in their homes, however the great blackout of 10 years ago knocked out everyone's driers (blaming Bush again for this one...his powers seem to not be transcend temporal boundaries also), so they have to hang their clothes in the dank cellars of their homes. There are a select few that bring their laundry to other nations, but they have to pay a lot for it, and the trip is annoying.
Point of this post being: I hope I can raise enough money while here so I can pass this nation by and continue the blatt world tour.
Stay tuned for "The lost Blog of Turkey Day"

Mucus me-Brain

2004-11-21T20:45:00.000-08:00

So after letting my room get the dirtiest it may have ever been, I decided to clean it to accomodate my new stereo. So, after picking up all the clothes on my floor and putting them in hamper bags, it was time to get to the dirty stuff. About midway through swapping out my old stereo and putting in my new one, I started my habitual cleaning ritual of sneezing every single bit of moisture in my body out of my nose in mucus form. I'm continually perplexed by this phenomenon. Cleaning my room seems to make me sneeze profusely without fail. That's not so hard to explain, I guess I'm just very allergic to the dust that's kicked up from moving stuff around. The thing that is so hard to explain is why my nose leaks like a faucet from it, expelling more mucus than I would think that my nasal cavity could hold. The effluence continued all day. Ruining a jam session at a studio in Deer Park because I could hardly get through a song without having to blow my nose.
I don't know why I even bother cleaning my room in the first place, I find it fruitless. I'm never home, so I don't spend any time in there, everytime my room goes from dirty to clean I can no longer find a bunch of my stuff, and it takes up valueable time that could be better spent picking my nose which would have solidified mucus instead of the runny (annoying) kind.
So, my conclusion of the day: I'm NOT cleaning my room anymore.
Oh wait, I'm supposed to be in Kazakhstan now aren't I? well, I took a trip home in order to clean my room before I crossed the Uzbekistan border. But I DID get a good look at it, and it's just like my dreams had predicted, only the girls aren't as hot.

Greetings from Uzbekistan

2004-11-15T20:05:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! or should I say "zklatp", which is uzbekisanese for hello.
My flight just got in today, well not really "in" you see it was more of a drop off than a landing. The sleepy kazakhstani pilots informed me that there would be no landing in that country because of the political turmoil between the two nations over the past decade or so. So they handed me a "sckoot" (kazakhstani for "parachute") gave me a slap on the ass and pushed me out the toilet hatch with some blue stuff that froze and smashed a yugo.
So here I am in Jizzakh (it's a real place, what? you don't know your geography? oh well) which is in the eastern part of Uzbekistan. Let me tell you it's completely backwards from our type of life; Yakov Smirnoff had it right. Like his famous: "In mother Russia, Chickens eat you" bit.
I was hear no longer than half an hour, when I saw a herd of locals come running down the road screaming some incomprehensible jibberish. Like any rubbernecking New Yorker, I decided to hang out and see what the commotion was for myself. To my surprise a flock of chickens came running after the terrified townspeople. Stupid me, I got the pecking of a lifetime.
The food here is rather bland from what I can tell. It mostly constists of beets and wolves. Never would've thought I'd be eating wolf in my lifetime. It's the only animal here that overpopulates the area, so they eat it, and it's not that bad, tastes like general tso's chicken.
Another weird thing about this country is that the women have the responsibility of being the breadwinners AND childbirthers of the family. Most of them are big, burly, strapping dames. The men of the town all sit around and philosophize most of the day and play tetris on the newest craze, "GameBoy."
It's going to be tough finding a hot russian bride in this country, so I think that I will have to sneak across the border and venture into Kazakstan. I traded a local a pair of my guess jeans for a small auto, which I intend to take as far as north Qyzylqum and then ditch and try to sneak past the armies of both nations; which in actuallity are just a bunch of angry villagers with pitchforks and flaming sticks (picture frankenstein). Wish me luck, I should be there sometime tomorrow, and hopefully I'll be well received. If it's anything like my imagination, and knowledge of the few kazakhstani people I've met, I'm sure it's going to be all hot girls spinning on poles and offering lap dances and peaks at their genitals for money. So I'm expecting heaven.
Little matt is missing out going to stupid vietnam...no lap dances there. pfft and he hasn't lived till he's had wolf.
"Klavochz" (cheers)
Mattski

Living in poverty in a Republimocracy

2004-11-13T21:21:00.000-08:00

(There Cass...I can come up with snazzy republican-based words too.)
Ever since this election I've been poor. I blame Bush for this. I don't know how that crafty devil managed it, but I have no money to be spending on such niceties as excessive amounts of alcohol during the weekends anymore. Speaking of that crafty devil I don't know how he managed to rig this election either, but I'm sure it will come up in the coming months. Stupid Bush.
I'm officially overcome with bills. I find that, with every coming paycheck that I think will take care of them, once if have that money in my hand it doesn't come close to satiating their hunger for the money that future matt will possess. I know that he's just sitting in his oval office everyday with a shit-eating grin on his face writing out bills for me specifically. I'm tired of it.
(I know it's not his fault in the least but he's a fun scapegoat)
On a lighter, "non-bitchy" side, my band will be playing the ultrasound lounge in Levittown on Thursdsay December 2, 2004 from 7 - 9:30. If you're reading this you're invited/required to come. Check in with the band's website and I'll post a coupon for an incredible 2 bucks off the door admission.
Nothing else new to report. I think I'm going to have to go on a trip to the far reaches of the planet earth, maybe past where I will undoubtably fall off the edge (somewhere around vietnam) just to post interesting things on this blog.

Cigarettes Suck and Buckleys Blows

2004-11-06T11:47:00.000-08:00

If you don't want to hear me bitch about stuff, just skip over this here update, and read the next one, whenever I post it.
So for those of you who are currently out of state at the moment (matt, cass, and gary...sorry if I forgot anyone,) the smoking ban's been lifted somewhat.
For you New Yorkers, you may notice a somewhat familiar maliforous smog of carcinogenic hell in your future excursions to local watering holes.
Yes, The smell of cigarettes is back. After a year long ban on indoor cigarette smoking, it's still not legal to do. However, the bar is no longer fined for such infractions. So, bars have now re-welcomed smoking in their establishments, with certain warnings in place.
If a bar is caught with smoke in it, the individuals that are currently smoking will get the fine, rather than the bar (how it was for the past year.)
While I know it's not the bar's fault for people wanting to smoke, there is no way that this rule will be regulated, and now we regress to the society that we had about 2 years ago. Smoking is pretty much legal again in bars, and the government pretty much said, "my bad, we were wrong" and refunded all the fines that may have been incurred in the 2 year smoking prohibition.
I have to say, at first I was against this ban. I had probably built up a certain dependance on second-hand smoke over the years of drinking that I'd done in college. After about 2 drunken nights though, my opinion changed. Upon sobering up the following morning, I noticed that I could easily get away with wearing my pants for another drunken night, or even work the next day. Now, I don't care if people smoke; but when I have to do laundry (my most hated of all days of the month) more frequently than I've been doing it just so some fuckhead can satisfy their nic-fit without removing themselves from immediate proximity of my lungs, AND increase my risk of cancer and short-windedness to boot, that makes me pissed off.
Some people might question my logic here, saying that I like to enjoy a cigar on occasion and thus becoming one of those fuckheads. To this I will have to apologize to Sal. You see, Sal hates wind in his face; plain and simple. I agree to an extent, mostly with the cold wind that takes your breath away in the icy midst of winter. I questioned him when I realized that Sal owns a Miata and frequently drives with his top down. Why would someone who hates wind in his face drive with his top down on his car? Doesn't make sense right?
Well, I don't question this anymore. You see, I don't like having smoke around me anymore. It's disgusting, plain and simple. Yes, I still like cigars, though. The line that is crossed with this is control. With cigar smoking, I don't agree with being indoors, I can control what I take in, and it leaves a somewhat pleasureable smell. Sal, with his car, can control the wind that blows in his face. If there's too much: put the top up and the windows down. You get my drift with this, I don't need to elaborate. So, sorry for making fun of you about that sal, I now understand.
Now, my jeans smell like a russian moving dude's stale, rotten ass and need to be washed, and it's only the first time I've warn them (they normally take at least 5 wears b4 this happens,) my sweater smells the same, so it needs to be dry-cleaned, and my lungs are going to hate me tomorrow. Thanks fuckheads.
Also, I've concluded that Buckleys in Center Moriches Sucks. I've been there now about a dozen or so times, and can honestly say that the best time I've had while there has been mediocre on a good night. The food is great there, so go for dinner, but leave promptly after that. Dennis signed me up for battle in an interactive trivia game that I had been previously kicking ass in. The first 7 rounds I was ahead of the Owner of the bar and this random German dude. Then they each started answering questions correctly. The topics quickly changed from shit that I knew and is important to everyone, to shit that doesn't affect anyone such as sports and history (like M*A*S*H.) Needless to say, I lost. Risked it all on the last question which was in fact M*A*S*H related. Like I've watched that show for more than 2 minutes in my life. I lost, and had to buy the other 2 contestants drinks, which I did happily because it was a bet. BUT, apparently they have a policy that you can't put only $10 on your credit card; you have to put $20. Great, so now I'm out another $20 that could have been better spent buying astroglide for masturbation. Yeah, another pointless product idea.
Aside from this, as always, there were 3 good looking girls there, all with their boyfriends. I did get to have corned beef and cabbage in November there, so it's not all bad. Don't go to meet girls or have a good time though.
Sorry Dennis, it's been a timeline of letdowns, and you working there and not being able to hook anyone up doesn't help it's standings in local bars. It should be called McJewstein's Pub with their buyback policies.
I'm done.

YOU GOT ME...UNH HU

2004-11-01T06:26:00.000-08:00

To the person or persons responsible for the bedsheets on the overpasses:
I see the light now. Bush and Cheney should win. Your clever advertising of their names tastefully spray painted on a jillion bedsheets and pinned so tactfully from every single overpass from suffolk to queens on the L.I.E. made me realize the err of my ways.
Kerry and Edwards don't have any spray painted bedsheets hung from any overpasses on any major highways, that I've seen at least. So you obviously took the time to first buy all those sheets and then buy a buttload of red spray paint, then sit there and spray "Bush Cheney" on every single one, and finally drive down the L.I.E. and get off at every exit just to go to the overpass and pin up the sprayed sheets.
Such Dedication and roguery makes me think that I too should vote "Bush Cheney" in this month's elections. But then I think again and voting's a waste of my time, so NAAAAAA.

The vicious circle of Dee

2004-10-31T08:49:00.000-08:00

Alright. Coolest costume ever goes to the guy who was being held up by an oompa-loompa last night at port jazz. looked like he was sitting on the oompa's shoulders.
I also saw Dee Snyder there too. Not the real Dee, the fake one. Which, in times like these, you have to wonder. What would the real Dee do if he met the fake one, because I have seen the real Dee on that very block that we were on. And to further ponder...what if the real Dee dressed up like this guy for halloween, and it was a coincidence? And why was someone dressed up like dennis last night, and standing right next to him for a good 15 minutes? weird.
But aside from all that, another somewhat wild night last night. We saw a kinky cowgirl dancing on top of the bar at port jazz, stripper style. I use the word "kinky" mostly because she had a gun with a penis on the end of it, and her outfit was little more than some underwear and chaps.
So we wasted some money shoving it in her underwear. Chris did an intelligent thing though, realizing that the singles in his pocket were gone, and the singles on the bar were plentiful; he started taking the dollars off the bar to give to the cowgirl. Basically just moving the tip on down the line.
Other than that there was a super-hot bartender dressed as dorothy from the "Wizard of Oz." I don't know if she was super-hot or just super-hot bc she was dressed as dorothy (judy garland was pretty hot,) but she was hot nonetheless.
Ken and Meredith went to a wedding last night, but met us out afterwards. At one point, Ken told us to go to the V.I.P. section where there was a table and a couch. We did and we looked at the card. It said Ken's name and Guests. None of us could believe that he actually reserved a table there, and it took me 15 minutes or so to realize that he had just taken the card from the wedding, and dropped it on the V.I.P. table to fake us all out. So we stayed up there anyway bc no one was using it.
Somewhere in the course of the night we lost Sal. The very person whose birthday we were celebrating. Haven't heard from him yet today. I can only surmise that he's trapped in a basement somewhere, tied up and being whipped by a 40 year old woman and possibly her other man-servants. Sal, good luck buddy; it's a little early to put out a missing person's report, but if I don't hear from you by say...January, I'll get around to filing it.

Horseshoes and Handgrenades

2004-10-28T22:08:00.000-07:00

I'll make this one pretty quick.
Re-shooting the photos for the website and demo album tomorrow, so expect to see an updated site very soon (http://www.almostdoesntcount.com). Also, going into the studio tomorrow, so we'll be able to take the cd that will be recording while we're practicing. Next up, tour of China. We're going to call it "Rock the Red."
Sal's Bday today, and I made up a new Birthday song for the occassion.
Here it is:
HEY
HO
HEY
HO
IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY
GET BUSY
I like it better than the traditional one because it's short and to the point, and the HEY-HO thing gets you pumped when more than one person is doing it.

broken teeth, men's health and the flop

2004-10-28T00:24:00.000-07:00

alright, I just learned something very important so listen up. This article in this month's "Men's Health" grabbed my attention particularly. It was on "Home Dental Health" pretty much, something I very much believe in. Although the article mentioned nothing of removing braces and the glue that still sticks to your teeth after you do so with a leatherman, it did happen to mention a little bit about what to do in case you lose a tooth. Apparently, what I did [stick it in a glass of milk] which only seems to be known by dentists, is only the SECOND best thing you can do in that occasion; the first being to wash it off, and keep it in your mouth (ew) until it's reinserted into your gums. What I did, which is far less disgusting, but was advertised on one of those "Schoolhouse Rocks" cartoons, is to stick it in a cup of milk until it can be reinsterted..bla bla bla. Both reasons being that it preserves the roots. Still can't believe I was in the state of mind to think of that after 20 something shots in an hour.
So on a follow up topic, "Men's Health" says that you can preserve and reinsert it for up to an hour after it falls out, so I think I might be safe with it...I'm still pretty scared bc it's noticeably looser than all my other teeth but I can eat anything I want without it getting looser...Good news there is that I will have saved myself about 2500 dollars in dental surgery if I'm right.
So my point of this post is: Life's a lot like poker, sometimes you're dealt a bad hand on the flop, but you can sometimes rely on the community cards to carry you through.

Why are russian girls so hot?

2004-10-26T20:01:00.000-07:00

Alright, I've got nothing to say about my life in the past couple of days, so I'll tell a short annecdote about today, and then introduce the previous story that happened.
So after reading about a problem at work on the internet; something about emails, the final post was completely unrelated. Something to the order of "Here's your answer: http://bride.ru/?brid=31274 "
So upon further in depth analysis of the link, I found that it did not contain the answer anywhere on the site. The only unfortunate thing that it did have was lots of really hot russian girls looking for american husbands.
So on to the story. It was christmas of last year, when me and a friend of mine were walking around the mall looking for presents. We were then confronted by this really hot russian girl with a crazy spider-like object in her hand. It was a type of massager with lots of little legs that are meant to massage your head in different places. I had previously foiled her attempt to get me to buy it, with all my resistance I just managed to get out of it; but this time, my friend caved faster than a 45 year old hooker that just got offered 100 bucks for oral sex. Not only did he cave, exclaiming, "I'LL TAKE TWO," he dragged me down too. She offered 4 for the price of three, and with a deal like that (2 for the price of 1) on my end, how could I lose? but then I did lose after I already said yes, because we split the cost of 3 of them...$45 for stupid wood with hangar wire coming out of them.
Point of the story...hot russian girls can sell anything to me.

Having fun and paying for what you've done

2004-10-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

This weekend started off with a good outline, but that went down the toilet when ken's couch broke.
So I spent all of yesterday planning how to fix Ken's couch with Dennis, only to have him call and tell me to forget about it because he's got a warranty on it.
I effectively missed the last weekend of belmont for my stupidity, but had a good time just hanging out anyway.
Aside from this, I've just now realized that the day after I drink a lot, I have this crazy pain where my neck meets my shoulder on the right side. No matter what I do, it doesn't go away; I've tried rubbing it, I've tried yelling at it, I've tried moving my right arm around like a windmill, and I've tried offering it money, none have any success. I figured out why I get it though after much pondering. I think when I drink a lot, I pretty much stay in one position all night when I'm sleeping, and I usually lay on my right side, hence the pain.
A couple of new terms were coined this weekend:
1) "spooky beer pong" - like beer pong, only spookier. Borrowed from "spooky walk," I've decided that putting "spooky"in front of anything is funny; ie. "spooky tree," "spooky steering wheel," etc. (see previous post for more)
2) "fiery dragons" - dennis coined this one - next time diarrhea comes up in a conversation, replace it with this term, it's much funnier.
I went to see "The Grudge" today, and found that it's actually really funny if you watch this first:
http://media.ebaumsworld.com/gijoebelch.mpg

Friday, October 22, 2004

2004-10-22T22:22:00.000-07:00

Today at work, I spent most of the day fixing "yesterday matt's" (ym) fuck ups. For some reason he fucks up a lot. Hopefully I don't get fired for those things :).
Also, most of the day, I kept wondering how little matt (lm) is doing in a country overuled by commie-midgets. Being that he just got there and is probably overcome by crazy oriental germs that his body would have never thought he'd encounter before.
Also for some reason I had to create this blog just to post on lm's blog site. dammit, suckered into another internet resource maliforously (wow, hope that's not a real word, cuz if it isn't it's dynamite) spent.
me and chris went to buckley's (where dennis (d-nice) works) tonight while everyone else went on a stupid spooky walk. me and chris were trying to get a rally for "spooky beer pong," but no one else wanted to play with white pillow cases over their heads for some reason. Everyone else went on the spooky walk, but me and chris spent hours thinking of a devious plan to destroy kenny's couch.
After that, I got drunk tonight and broke ken's couch. Sorry ken, but I'm gonna seriously try to fix it tomorrow w/ a couple of 2X4's and some screws. I don't care if I have to re-upholster the whole goddamn thing, but it'll be better than it ever was.
Don't suplex dennis on the other one, cuz I'm not fixing that if you do.
So lm...ken schamb kicked us all out of his house tonight bc we destroyed his couch (rightfully so,) ken lake is engaged and still answers to the call of "beeeee-otch," sal is trying to hook up w/ adina's friends (as usual,) and I got drunk again (also as usual,) but proudly didn't smash anymore teeth out.
That was today in a nutshell