Drinking It All In

I hate nicknames. I've always hated them. I like calling things what they are. I think there's a certain respect associated with calling you Joe, Megan, Alex Mack, Mr. T., whatever your name may be. Nicknames, in my estimation, are given either to those you love or those you love to mock the existance of. People who are incredibly average don't usually have nicknames. Sure, their friends might call them by their last name or an abbreviated version of their name...or maybe even a play on words, with their name...something like "Nate Dogg" or "A-Dogg" or "Ker-Bear" or other animal related handles...but nothing spectacular. I don't like that either. That actually goes against everything I stand for. If someone is nice and they introduce themselves with their last name, I'll oblige them. That's their choice. But I don't like it. Anytime I call someone by any kind of nickname, it's laced with irony....cause I'm just postmodern like that...and I don't like people telling me what to do.


A working environment is a hotbed for nicknaming. You can go from Dan to "Buttfuck Princess" within days, depending on who you're around. I worked with a "Porkchop", a guy named "Muscles" cause he would get mad, flex, and walk out, on a regular basis....I, myself, actually unceremoniously christened a kid "Tower of Power" cause two different girls tried having sex with him and he couldn't get an erection. It was too great a thought for even me to pass up. This kid Mike was the king of nicknames though. Everyone made fun of him so often he must have 17 nicknames. I can't even remember most of them. "Final Fantasy" and "Poopdick" come to mind. I once said to him that his mother was a blowup doll and his father was a frankenstein, but that's not necessarily a nickname....more of a statement of fact.


I got that job cause a good friend of mine, at the time, worked there. So, the one day I was working, washing dishes, and then it happened. I was taking my good old time with it and my friend called me "Slow Juice". Now, it's almost 6 years later and I'm still not even really sure what that means....but it stuck. Partially, cause it flows off the tongue pretty easily but, mostly, cause a loudmouthed egomaniac who was there wouldn't ever let it go. So, I had to live with it. I did something unexpected though, which was I got really great at everything, faster than everyone else, and it was decided to drop the "slow". I had, in a way, conquered my pathetic, mocking nickname.


Time went on, I eventually quit, but here's the problem: I still know some people from that time that call me "Juice". And, sure, I long ago came up with O.J. Simpson related jokes for it and it's a lot of fun but when I meet their friends, they'll invariably refer to me by that ridiculous name. Now, personally, for instance, if I'm being introduced to a cute girl I don't really want their first impression of me to be "the guy named after a fruit's nectar". I would rather get dysentery or maybe put my dick in a toaster, honestly. So, then I have to work up to that level of humanity where I can be called Anthony or Tony. It's doing nothing but causing me grief.

I understand where it's coming from though. People want to connect with other people, they enjoy humor and acknowledgement, and those are the feelings it's rooted in. So, even though I don't want to call you "Tornado", or "Big Daddy", or "Skunk Pussy", I accept it. It might improve another guy's shitty day. Sometimes, you dislike something but it makes other people happy and you let it go. You have to pick your battles.

All in all, I guess what I'm saying is legalize weed, prostitution, and gay marriage.

It Is What It Is, Baby

I feel like I need to warn you of something. My friendship is not unconditional. There is one big rule. If you want to continue being my friend, don't have a baby. That's not a part of the plan, ok? I'm not trying to go hang out some place where there's a baby; they cry, they do disgusting things, they interrupt our conversation, their asses challenge your senses to fights, they're fucking assholes. "Oh, he doesn't know any better", I hear you saying, in the future. Well, who cares? What he feels about what he's doing is irrelevant. He's just a stupid baby. That's why I blame you, for bringing him home. I believe they call that irreconcilable differences. You don't mind being annoyed constantly and I am against it. It's ok. We can agree to disagree...but don't expect me to be coming over for stew anytime soon.

We can hang out again, at some point. I'll say once the kid is like 14 years old. So, you'll get some time to think about what you've done and realize I was right. If you have any more kids, in the meantime, that could complicate things. You might never see me, for the rest of your life. I'm just saying, keep me in mind when you're getting down.

Another problem with having babies is inevitably you become the asshole. The kids start off as the assholes but, at some point, you become the mom or dad that embarrasses and annoys your child so much they entertain thoughts about what a bottle of sleeping pills tastes like. And, watching that, as an outsider, is as difficult as dealing with a baby. Seeing someone who was your friend think they're being cool and making a jackass out of themselves in front of children....it's just heartbreaking. Go ahead, say "That won't be me. Me and my kids will be pals". You're halfway to disaster, friend. The only way to be pals with your kids is to smoke weed with them. And then, they'll just turn out to be mentally defective deadbeats.

So, in conclusion, having a baby not only ruins your life and our friendship but, more than likely, it will ruin the baby's life before it's ever born. I mean...we're friends....do you think someone who's friends with me would be a fit parent? It's laughable really. Just smarten up and leave those eggs unfertilized. I will throw you an enjoyment of living shower.

I Can't Believe Those Boobs

Ok, there was this big ordeal I was reading about a couple days ago involving Meghan McCain, hot daughter of Arizona's senator/oldest living man, John McCain. She took a picture of herself reading a book, in a tanktop, and posted it on Twitter. The fact that she has quite large breasts lead to the fact that you noticed them. Now, apparently, this outraged people? I've seen breasts in tanktops many times, in my life, and I have never once been outraged. I assure you. If you are, then I think you have deep rooted problems with rage, in general. Maybe a nun hit you with a book or maybe your mom's breasts liked to drink whiskey and knock you around. I don't know. But I'm getting away from the point. I was actually outraged, myself, at one part of this story. She actually apologized. I assume some man in a suit came to her that night and told her if she loved her dog, she needs to say she's sorry or something shady like that. He probably ended the conversation with "Oh, hey, by the way....nice breasts.". But the idea that this is something someone needed to apologize for is astonishing to me. I don't agree with it. If I become famous, I will not apologize for any dumb shit. I'll tell the public I'm sorry they're assholes, if anything, if something like this pops up.

But seriously, I have decided to compile a list of things that I actually would apologize for and genuinely be sorry about, should I become famous. And, here it is:


1. Accidentally shooting people

2. If I somehow ruin a hockey game

3. Tripping and dropping a brick on your baby

4. Being in a movie that really sucks

5. Getting wasted and freeing dangerous animals from the zoo

6. Starting a hotel fire

7. Driving a car into a mall and running over a teenage girl's shopping bags

8. Having sex with Amy Winehouse in public (setting a bad example)

9. Taking my pants off on Nickelodeon

10. Burning you with coffee


11. Melting America's candy supply with a series of bad decisions, involving a laser

12. The Jay Leno Show(Not really my place, but someone has to)

13. Referring to something as "Phat"

14. Dating Jennifer Aniston, just because it was my turn

15. Letting my wife name my child after a fruit, vegetable, or motor vehicle

16. Failing to enjoy lovely breasts in a tanktop

I was gonna say something about interrupting Taylor Swift....but no.....you don't do that. You love Taylor Swift and make Taylor Swift feel good and never hurt her.

Flat Out Films

There are a lot of movies in the world. So, I'm gonna watch them and recap them quickly so you don't have to. No thanks necessary. Here's my take on a Bruce Lee classic:

Fist Of Fury

There are a bunch of racist japs who think they're better than all the chinks and they kill this one chink but then this other one doesn't like their dumb jap faces so he tells them their business, with his fist.....in a furious way. Then, he's arrested and killed. The end.

The Bible: Revised

Recently, it's been discovered that when all those folks got together to write The Bible they had gotten blasted on Miller High Life and Jonah may have brought a fair amount of ecstasy and possibly some mescaline. So, in an attempt to enlighten people with the truth, I will be rewriting the stories as they happened, before those party animals had their say. Some stories weren't actual events at all but metaphors for inside jokes or gossip they had heard. For instance, Moses "talking to a burning bush" meant that he got syphilis, from a cheap hooker. In a state of delirium, he thought he was talking to God. But the first thing I am going to tackle is the story of Noah and the flood.

First of all, Noah himself told this story and he was a known exaggerator. He was also a sailing enthusiast and a narcissist and wanted everyone to know he made the best boats, which was a lie....he really wasn't that good. What it was, actually...there was this girl...her name was Candy and Noah was trying to show off, he wanted to impress her. He had gotten tired of his wife and Candy caught his eye. She was the daughter of a herdsman, with a wild streak. One summer break, she went to Cancun and got a dragon tattoo on the side of her ribcage.

Anyway, what really happened was it only rained for like 4 days. There was a flood but hardly anyone died. Maybe like 3 people. The only confirmed death was a guy named Vladimir Jackson. (Consequently, the town created the drink The Black Russian, in his honor.) But Noah built a pontoon boat and got his family on it. While they were getting ready two dogs jumped on board. That's where the animal thing, came into play. They were big ass dogs but I don't know how anyone could've believed there were any buffalo on there. That was all a bunch of bullshit. Do you know how many kinds of animals there are? And, where was he gonna get an alligator, in the middle east, let alone two? And, why would an alligator even need to get on a boat? And, there was no rainbow over a mountain or anything either. The writers added that later to go with the whole God theme of the book. So, anyway, Noah, his family, and two stray dogs sailed around for a few days, grilling burgers and drinking and he made up some other stuff to try and cheat on his wife. He was unsuccessful(Candy had jungle fever) but people seemed to like the story.

Oh, and another thing, they said Noah was like 600 years old. I don't know what they were on then. That's just ridiculous, right? He was 52.

Thanks for reading. Join me next time, when I: Debunk the story of Adam and Eve, explain just how hot Mary Magdalene was, and anger christians to a point where they might spontaneously combust.

Metaphor In Progress

Masturbation is really sad and depressing. It's kind of like if you were wandering through the desert, dying, and you suddenly see a giant, beautiful hotel and you start running towards it. Then, you're in front of it and you can't even contain yourself, you're so happy. But, when you walk through the door, you realize it's a sticky, hooker motel, the air conditioning is broken, and all the employees and the phone are dead. Then, you're like "What was I thinking coming to the desert, in the first place? It was a terrible idea.". It's kind of like that. Maybe.

Always The Rains Subside/A Brighter Day Is Near

It was inevitable. As much as I thought positively and said I wouldn't have to go to jury duty, I was always gonna end up there; I was always gonna end up sitting in a room, clawing my face off, in boredom. Luckily, my face is still attached....and here is the story of how:

I woke up at 5:30, in the morning. This, mind you, is the time I usually go to sleep. So, me and justice were already starting off on the wrong foot. I prepared myself for the day the right way: I ate frosted flakes and a slice of pizza. It was explained to me that there would probably be traffic and I'd have to get through security, so I left real early. Let me say, that 3 minutes or so of traffic really killed me. I end up at this god forsaken courthouse an hour early. There wasn't a single soul at the entrance. Thus, security consisted of me walking right through a metal detector. I thought "Wow, this is really going super great. I'm so early for this thing I hate. All the others are probably so jealous, in this fictional depiction of them and how they feel I'm creating." I just found a chair, in the lobby, and chilled for half an hour.

After I was done texting half the people I know, about my misery, I headed upstairs to room 318. Room 318 is pretty ominous. It almost sounds like a bad horror movie. And, when you're walking to it, it's quite distinctive...in that all the other doors look nice and room 318's door looks like it's where you would enter to check the pipes. The first area inside I believe would've been described as a sardine can. I found some of my fellow, salty, fishy, potential juror friends there. There was a leather couch...but no one was sitting on it. I found that peculiar. I guess those are the kind of people that get picked for a jury; people who would sit on a plastic chair, instead of a leather couch. Also, people who bring things to read read the worst stuff. I forgot to bring a book, so I was just sitting there and would continue to for longer than I'd like to talk about. However, I was entertained by looking at the hottest girl in the history of jury duty. Things were looking up, when I saw her. Well, not my eyes really...but other things. I enjoyed watching this slacker try to chat her up and it going nowhere. Poor Kara Something Or Other. As I'm writing this, she's probably still at jury duty.

Anyway, we all got moved into the actual jury room. It was kind of big and filled with light but it still somehow had a claustrophobic feel about it. I sat behind said slacker and Kara. By the way, she smelled just incredible. I don't mean to harp on the hot girl but it really stuck out to me how amazing she smelled. She was like a field of fruit trees and wildflowers. There really was an interesting cross section of people there, at any rate. One kid wore shorts, despite the repeated reminders through every step of the process that you couldn't wear shorts. So, the idiot population was well represented. If you wear shorts and a backpack to court, you should really just go to jail, no matter the situation. After a while, there was a murderer there too. Oops, I mean...a guy that's innocent until proven guilty, looked perfectly nice, and didn't shoot anyone, to the best of my knowledge.

A woman came in the room, after a brief period. Then, a judge, who basically reiterated the same stuff the woman said. Then, we got to fill out a questionnaire about our experiences and feelings on certain things. It combined all the tediousness of paperwork with all the excitement of talking to a pencil sharpener. At the bottom, you had to give your signature and swear it was all true and it said they could prosecute you for false answers. I thought that was strange since most of the questions were about my thoughts. Apparently, Minority Report is coming true. I hope I can get one of those cool, bald girls that see the future.

The lawyers for that first homocide trial came up and they were selecting 35 names, at random, to pick the jury from. There was a close call cause another guy named Anthony was there and I had a slight heart attack when they said his name. But I made it through. All of us unwanted folks, went over to the lounge. I sat there for an hour and a half; I ate a snickers bar cause I thought I would be there a while and that's what I heard snickers are for(verdict: I'm not sure snickers are actually for anything); I read an article about Sarah Palin and thought about how dumb her kids' names are; I listened to an old woman talking to another old woman about being on a boat and how her daughter performs dances with a poodle. I really really wish I could remember the website she said that had videos of that. Like I really really wish. Real hard. And I wish that that took place on a boat.

After that hour and a half, it seemed like time for lunch. The lady in charge said all the people who's names were called could go to lunch and everyone else needed to stay. We were hungry and upset. But when we sat down, she told us that the rest of the cases were cancelled and we could go home. A couple of people literally yelled out in excitement. I couldn't believe it. I was spared. I donated my 9 dollar salary to some sick kids or poor kids or something and was on my way, the undisputed champion of court.

In the morning, when I was walking into the courthouse, it was gloomy and storming and when I left, the sun was shining and a comfortable breeze was flowing through the city. Forget all the other junk I just wrote. I think THAT pretty much sums up my day.