Double Plus UnFUCK

Well, I’m happy to report that all is not lost…not yet. The powers that be recovered my vehicle, with minor damage, in SE DC. Apparently, it was involved in a robbery, then the assailants were nabbed and the perps realized there’s no reset button in the real-life version of Grand Theft Auto. I couldn’t believe my Jeep was involved in a robbery… I mean, you think you know a car. It’s out of my sight for a couple of hours and it turns into Patty Hearst. Alot of the machinery I own have criminal tendencies. My PC is constantly performing “illegal operations”…dealing heroin out of the hard drive.

So, I went to investigate the damage to the Jeep. The ignition: gone…well, not so much gone, but in the cup holder. There was also minimal damage to the driver’s side door, where they used the hobo’s skeleton key, a screwdriver. When I inventoried the contents of the vehicle, I found that, not only did they not take anything…they left a bunch of stuff. A pile of CD’s, a couple packs of children’s pajamas, and a Batman playset. I’m petitioning to add this as a Hanukkah Miracle, but the Torah revisionists haven’t gotten back to me yet. Armed with this evidence, I’ve put together a profile of the ruffian who took my car. I was jacked by a narcoleptic toddler with a hero complex and a burnt out subscription to Columbia House.

I’d also like to thank my loyal readers (up to triple digits, btw) for their support. My buddy, comedy dynamo, Justin Schlegel offered to, “undergo intense 2 year training with the League of Shadows to become a weapon of righteous justice, striking down all those who stand in the way of my quest to return your car to it’s rightful place…it’s parking spot.” Stay your sword, for now. I’ll put that little fiery vengeance IOU in my hip pocket. In the meantime, you may walk the earth…solving mysteries, helping people, hoping that your next leap can be the leap home.

The next post will be the year-end wrap up. I’m a procrastinator…so sue me…later.

To be continued…


This blog is for venting… Do not adjust your computer screens…


My car was stolen today. Right in front of Stately Stern Manor. And if I wasn’t such a ball of sloth, it could’ve been avoided. Apparently, a guy had stolen another car… The engine started smoking, so he decided to dump that car. He did so in my parking lot, and my car was the next most available means of conveyance. FUCK.
I was inside all day, either watching football or playing it on PS2 (Go Skins in both mediums, btw). My parents are out of town for the week, on a vacation that was designed so they would be incommunicado and not have to deal with bullshit like this. If I had gotten off my ass to go feed their fish at an earlier point, this might never have happened… Some other poor shnook would’ve been out of luck on Hannukah Eve. Or, I would’ve been in the vicinity of my car when this guy was trying to steal it. FUCK.
Luckily, aside from a couple CD’s (and if my insurance company is reading this: my golf clubs, my laptop, my plasma tv, and my bag of gold boullion), nothing terribly valuable was in the car. It’s just a big headache. FUCK.
The next entry will be funny and insightful… We now return you to your regularly scheduled whatever the hell you were doing…

To be continued…

So Happy It’s Tuesday

Welcome back, loyal reader/s (I’m gonna install a counter on this thing, so I can see if it’s possible to have a negative readership…take that any way you like)…

Ok, so I’m watching the 2005 Radio Music Awards…not so much watching as using it as background noise whilst I tempt carpal tunnel with typing this blog. They’re going through the amazing cavalcade of stars that will be on the show…


Ricky Martin

Snoop Dogg

The Pussycat Dolls

George Wendt

GEORGE WENDT? Fuckin’ Norm? What the hell is he doing within 500 yards of 2005? Just further reinforcement of what kind of a complete fustercluck of a business radio is. Playlists about as diverse as an OCD’s to do list (Wash hands. Wash hands. Wash hands. Touch the doorknob 5 times. Wash hands.) and on-air jocks who push the envelope about as far as I can push George Wendt…not far, people. I treasure the short time I spent in morning radio, but it put 30lbs on me and took about 5 years off my life…oh, and a small sliver of my soul.

I was watching late night TV yesterday and saw an ad for some online school. There, you can “train online to be a crime scene investigator.” Now, why would I turn to the internet for such training, when all the info I need is available on CBS? Hell, Blue’s Clues is pretty intense…I’m sure that, a Where’s Waldo book, and Playskool’s My First DNA Collection Kit is enough to jumpstart a quality career in…obstructing justice. Maybe you can find out who killed George Wendt’s career. Save your tuition money is all I’m sayin’.

What else is going on… I gotta wrangle some New Year’s plans and fast. It’s creeping up with a ninja-like quickness, and I’d like to be in the company of a couple acquaintances that could be forgot when they wheel out Dick Clark to drop the ball on ’05. Hopefully something will pan out.

Tune in next time for this blog’s year end wrap up, where I do my best to remember what the hell I did this year and try to quantify how much you should care…

To be continued…


I don’t have much to write in this post. I’ll come right out and admit that. Thursday night’s weather was just one step shy of a plague…frogs, boils, frozen rain, and shitty traffic. Usually, when faced with weather that drains the IQ’s of my fellow drivers to the point that Melwood tells them to keep their cars, I just stay indoors. But, my friends at the Baltimore Comedy Factory called me to fill in as the feature for Brad Trackman. If I’m getting paid to brave the elements, I will thumb my nose at Mother Nature in favor of the green. Comedy crowds, however, do not share the same disregard for their safety and comfort for the sake of laughter. A grand total of 20 people showed up. Luckily, they were willing to let loose and enjoy themselves out loud. A good time was had by all. Hence, the blog’s title…thematic, ain’t it?

This little nugget caught my eye yesterday:
CHARDON, Ohio (AP) — A 75-year-old Amish widower, afraid his church community would find out about him seeking sex from a prostitute, was scammed out of more than $67,000 from the prostitute and her boyfriend, a prosecutor says. Jake Byler of Burton Township gave the pair the money because they had convinced him that photos of Byler and the prostitute would appear on the Internet, county prosecutor David Joyce said.

Are ya kidding me? The prostitute tried to blackmail a 75 year old AMISH guy with the INTERNET. Maybe if she posted the pictures on the side of a grain silo, these threats would carry some weight. You show me an Amish guy with internet access, and I’ll show you an Orthodox Jewish Girls Gone Wild video (These girls LOVE BACON!!). The guy probably got spooked when he found out about the pictures because he thought a piece of his soul was taken by the camera. Can I get a witness? What’s the world coming to, when a simple lonely Amish guy can’t get his butter churned and his barn raised during the holidays without getting jacked by a ho ho ho with a hidden camera and a cable modem…? We’re spiraling downward, people.

To be continued…

Sunrise, Sunset

Wish this blog a mazel tov…my sister got married over the weekend. It was an orthodox Jewish wedding. The bulk of the guests were on the lesser planes of Jewishness, myself included. Because it was orthodox, the men could not dance with the women…all the sexual frustration of an 8th grade dance, but with more beards. Another tradition of the orthodox wedding is a near carnival-like atmosphere as it is the guests’ duty to entertain the bride and groom…Cirque ‘du Soleil by way of Yentil. Despite the minor culture shock, a great time was had by all. There was much dancing in uncomfortable shoes and, in the end, I have not lost a sister. I’ve gained…gefilte fish.

In the wake of this new beginning, there is some sad news that needs to be addressed. The comedy world lost one of its pioneers, when Richard Pryor passed away on Saturday. Like most suburban white kids, I wasn’t exposed to Pryor growing up. I’m not nearly familiar with his work as I should be. I do know that without him there is no Eddie Murphy, no Chris Rock, and no Dave Chappelle. If comedy was currency, his face would be on the twenty dollar bill. Most of us wouldn’t even be on a Chuck E. Cheese token. Do yourself a favor and view The Toy, Brewster’s Millions, or any of his movies with Gene Wilder…your retinas will be better for it.

Another passing, that hasn’t gotten any major attention, is that of actor Jack Colvin. Who is that, you ask?

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Actor Jack Colvin, best known for his role as tabloid reporter Jack McGee in the 1970s television series The Incredible Hulk, has died. He was 71.

The Incredible Hulk was my favorite show when I was a wee tot. Every week, I’d watch as Mr. McGee got within minutes of sighting his green whale. Mr. McGee, don’t make God angry…you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. Mr. McGee, we hardly knew ye…

To be continued…

Fun. Games.


  1. A source of enjoyment, amusement, or pleasure.
  2. Enjoyment; amusement.
  3. Playful, often noisy, activity.

I had a, by definition, fun weekend. Nothing wild. Nothing madcap. Just fun. Before the weekend officially got started, I reached a new plateau of personal achievement. I solved the Friday SuDoKu in the Washington Post. The puzzles get progressively harder as the week goes on. Mondays make you feel like Stephen Hawking…Fridays will give you a mild aneurysm. They put the puzzle right above the horoscopes, so just as you’ve taken that bite out of the caramel apple of vague good tidings, that razor blade of real impending doom is getting ready to bloody your tongue…that metaphor was long, confusing, and just so I could hear myself type.
Numbers have never been my forte so, when I sat down to take on the puzzle, I figured it’d only be a matter of moments before I became stuck and turned the page in search of the soothing salve of Family Circus to put on my aching brain. Not this day. This day, I put those numbers in their place…literally…or numerically…whichever. Long story short, I managed to be more smarter than I usually is. Onto the fun…

Friday night, I drove up to Columbia to hang out with some peeps…the marshmallow treats, not friends. Yes, I’m seeking help. Anywho, we ended up playing Texas Hold ‘Em. I’m a decent poker player…I have horrible tells (if I ever burst into tears, bet the moon), but I know when to walk away and when to run.
I think I mentioned earlier that I’m an idiot wearing a smart-guy mask…well, I suggested that we play for pride instead of money because I’m poor and, while I have the cashflow of a homeless person, I’m Hubris R’ Us…pride coming out of my arse.
Anyone want to guess how this turned out? Yeah, I won the game. With nothing to show for it but the knowledge that I could’ve been $60 richer…a Dollar Store spree.

Turns out it wasn’t all for naught, as I hosted another poker game at my apartment on Saturday night. This one was with Frank “The Ragin’ Asian” Hong, recently auburn-tressed funnygal, Erin Conroy (who came up with “Ragin’ Asian”…I can’t take credit for that) and her valet, Melissa. It was fueled by two 12-packs and a bag of corn chips. Hilarity was in the cards. The three of them hadn’t played cards in awhile…with my poker muscles recently stretched, you don’t have to be Einstein to figure out who won…but it helps…

It was a great night of reckless betting…a good time was had by all…but mostly me, because I won. And it injected some boisterous life into my humble abode.

Sunday was devoted to football. If you happened to catch the Bengals/Steelers game, perhaps you too heard Dick Enberg say the following: “These quarterbacks are like opera singers. Lots of gesticulating.” Here’s a tip, Dick: Know your audience. Odds are, the closest your average Steelers fan has come to an opera singer is that Bugs Bunny cartoon where Elmer Fudd sings, “KILL THE WABBIT!”. And when most football fans hear that a quarterback is gesticulating, they think he’s jiggling the center’s yambag at the line of scrimmage. Just say that he’s talking with his hands, Dick.

To be continued…


Well, December is here. Once again, the year has gone by way too quickly and the scrambling begins for decent New Year’s plans, holiday shopping, and repenting to stave off the possible end of year smiting. 2005 has gone from newborn to grizzled old coot faster than that guy who chose the wrong grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. How am I kicking off this last dangling hangnail of the year? Laundry. Lack of planning left me with only one pair of clean undies, so tonight I stayed in to fluff and fold to be better prepared to rock and/or roll this weekend.

But, let’s stop looking forward and throw this blog in reverse to take a look back to Wednesday night. A long streak of crappily attended Wiseacre’s Wednesday open-mics was finally broken with a boisterous crowd and a solid line-up of regulars and first-timers. It was refreshing. Like a Sprite commercial.

Hey…here’s a fun website. Use it wisely. Like this:

Create your own…trade with your friends.

As a new homeowner, and poor person, I’d like to publicly endorse the Freezy Pop as the Ramen Noodles of frozen treats. They come in a wide variety of flavors, they never go bad, and they’re a low-cost way to turn your tongue purple. “Tongue” is one of those words that never looks like it’s spelled right…oh well, that’s what spell check is for…spell check and apathy.

News Flash:
CHARLESTON, W. VA.– A mother has been charged with trying to sell her 2-year-old son for $500 so she could buy a stash of OxyContin. Brianna Marie Burns, 23, could get up to five years in prison if convicted. She’s being held on $102,500 bond. The sale of a child was a misdemeanor in West Virginia until 1994, one year after a Charleston woman was convicted of trying to sell her 1-month-old baby to undercover officers for $1,400 so she could buy a mobile home.

First of all…$102,500 bond is ridiculous…don’t the courts realize how many kids her family are going to have to sell to raise that kind of money? Kids don’t grow on trees, y’know. Second, nice to see West Virginia taking a stand and making the sale of a child a more serious transgression than, say, littering… Hey honey, what with the holidays coming up, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone…I sold Johnny Bob to buy an XBox 360 for Timmy Jo. Git ‘R Done.

To be continued…