A wise man once told me, "Son, if you're gonna be a quasi-internet journalist you gotta write yerself some year end lists. They're the wave of the future, I tells ya."And I once responded to this wise man, "But wise man, I'm taking my first vacation in 2 years, and even though I'm too poor to actually go anywhere, leaving me with hundreds of hours of free time, I'd prefer to sit around all day furiously masturbating, smoking weed, drinking by myself, eating bacon, reading shampoo bottles while I shit, and watching marathons of shows on the Discovery Channel that I don't even really like that much to begin with. With all that going on, where on Earth am I going to find the time to write something as difficult and time-consuming as a year end list?"
To which the wise old man once replied, "Son, your dick ain't goin' nowhere. But your readers? Your ever-expanding fan base of 15? If you don't give 'em some lists, those sonsabitches'll give up on you quicker than Charles Barkley gave up on trying to pretend he wasn't shit-faced. HEY-OOOOOOOOOO!!!"
At that point I once said, "Yeah, I saw that story already. Shit's pretty funny."
"You bet your boots it's funny, " said the wise old man.
"I don't get it," I replied, "Are you supposed to be a southerner, or an old prospector, or a guido, or a cowboy or something? What the hell kind of an accent/vocabulary is that?"
And the wise old man rebuked me, "Listen you little shit, it don't matter what the fuck I am. I could be a prospector, I could be an olde timey criminal, seeeee. I could be anything. The only thing that matters right now is that you take off those disgusting semen-stained drawers, clean yourself up a bit, then get out there and write the half-assed blog post about your favorite music or books or TV shows of 2008 that you were born to write. Because in this game of life, the inches we need are all around us. And on this team, we FIGHT and CLAW FOR THAT INCH!"
"So now you're Al Pacino in Any Given Sunday?"
"WE'VE GOT TO KEEP OUR COMPOSURE!!!!!"
"Oooh, I know that one. What is that from?"
"It's from Old School. I'm not sure it applies here, but I love that movie, so I guess if I'm being completely honest with myself, I might have tried to shoehorn a reference in there that didn't really fit."
"No, no, it makes sense. I mean, it's not 100% applicable, but the point of this blog is to be funny, right? We're not publishing a law journal here. Plus, it's already 2009, and I really should've written any year end lists for 2008 already. So, staying calm and writing one anyway, despite my obvious and ridiculous tardiness, would demonstrate that I have indeed kept my composure."
"Ok, now you're pushing it, kid. Just get out there and write that fucking list already. And have sex with women, but not just one. Lots of women. You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em. Plastics."
And you know, to this day, I never forgot that rambling, nonsensical advice from the mysterious drifter I found sleeping in the entrance to my apartment building.
So, after much anticipation, here it is, my list of the
Top 10 Things I Should've Gotten Around to Doing but Never Actually Did
(For Whatever Reason)
(For Whatever Reason)
10. Buying shelves
This past October I moved into an apartment in Manhattan after living in Queens for the previous 6 months (the details behind the reason for this move comprise a story too long, sordid, and unseemly for this klassy publikation). Its been a tough adjustment for me on many levels (including, but not limited to, its apocalyptic effect on my wallet), but perhaps the most aggravating change has been learning how to effectively house my rotting carcass in so small a space.
As you've probably heard, every apartment in Manhattan is a tiny, sunless shithole infested with disease-spreading yuppies. That's why it's imperative that you store your belongings smartly, or you'll be moving ski boots and mannequins out of the way every time you need to brush your teeth.
It's kind of like when you're a kid and you put every belonging you can think of under your bed in order to hide the trapper keeper full of Hustlers you stole from your Jewish friend's dad. Only now, the reward for this domestic archaeological dig isn't the glory of perusing snatch closeups for the first time in your life. No. All that's waiting for you now (after you've taken out every false limb and lacrosse stick from your kitchen cabinet) is a poorly-washed pan you're going to use to make scrambled eggs for dinner for the third time this week. How did it even get that far in there? You just used it yesterday. What the fuck?
Basically, the point of this story is that I need some fucking shelves in this hell hole, but I never got any.
9. Caring about my job
I didn't even attempt this one in 2008, but I have a feeling it's probably pretty important this year. People are losing their jobs or something, right?
8. Thanking my grandmother for the $50 she gave me for Christmas
Poor grandma. Not only have I ever once thanked her for the 50 bucks she gives me every Christmas, but I don't even have the common decency to think about her when I'm smoking the eighth that money buys me. Grandma, that's just plain rude, and I'm sorry. But hey, you never know. This might be the year I actually give you a call or send you a thank you note or something. There's still time to right this wrong.
7. Buying toilet paper
This year I've wiped my ass with paper towels, corner store receipts, and the hopes and dreams of my youth. Now that I think about it (I usually don't start thinking about what I've written until a day or two after I've posted it) this item could probably be a little higher on the list. But if you think I'm copying and pasting this paragraph to a different part of the list, you clearly don't understand the depths of my laziness. To drive the point home, allow me to introduce you to my bloodied anus (checks watch to see how long it takes "the taint" to make a joke about this line).
6. Doing the dishes
Fact: I have not seen the bottom of my sink since I moved into my new place.
Underrated fact: dishwashers are only slightly less necessary than air, water, and internet pornography.
5. Calling Time Warner
Honestly, if anyone can deal with these people without wanting to rip out their own still-beating heart, they deserve to be sainted, knighted, and mounted. Am I referring to a sexual mounting or a stuffing-and-hanging-above-the-mantel mounting? You be the judge.
4. Laundry
Ah, laundry, you truly are the bane of my existence. You cost money. You take forever to complete. And you never stop needing to be done. Not only that, but when I don't do you, I walk around with wine stains on my shirt smelling like the inside of Harvey Milk's asshole. As it is now. Decomposed (but still with lots of penis sweat inside of it).
3. Not masturbating 24 hours a day
Internet porn is to me as shiny things are to babies. I probably shouldn't have used a baby in my porn addiction analogy, but I got distracted by furiously masturbating.
2. Writing the Great American Novel
I was supposed to do this last Tuesday but I ran out of underwear and had to do laundry instead.
1. Not being a crass asshole
See: Fanny Pack, Biological. Also see: everything I've ever said and done in my entire life.
This past October I moved into an apartment in Manhattan after living in Queens for the previous 6 months (the details behind the reason for this move comprise a story too long, sordid, and unseemly for this klassy publikation). Its been a tough adjustment for me on many levels (including, but not limited to, its apocalyptic effect on my wallet), but perhaps the most aggravating change has been learning how to effectively house my rotting carcass in so small a space.
As you've probably heard, every apartment in Manhattan is a tiny, sunless shithole infested with disease-spreading yuppies. That's why it's imperative that you store your belongings smartly, or you'll be moving ski boots and mannequins out of the way every time you need to brush your teeth.
It's kind of like when you're a kid and you put every belonging you can think of under your bed in order to hide the trapper keeper full of Hustlers you stole from your Jewish friend's dad. Only now, the reward for this domestic archaeological dig isn't the glory of perusing snatch closeups for the first time in your life. No. All that's waiting for you now (after you've taken out every false limb and lacrosse stick from your kitchen cabinet) is a poorly-washed pan you're going to use to make scrambled eggs for dinner for the third time this week. How did it even get that far in there? You just used it yesterday. What the fuck?
Basically, the point of this story is that I need some fucking shelves in this hell hole, but I never got any.
9. Caring about my job
I didn't even attempt this one in 2008, but I have a feeling it's probably pretty important this year. People are losing their jobs or something, right?
8. Thanking my grandmother for the $50 she gave me for Christmas
Poor grandma. Not only have I ever once thanked her for the 50 bucks she gives me every Christmas, but I don't even have the common decency to think about her when I'm smoking the eighth that money buys me. Grandma, that's just plain rude, and I'm sorry. But hey, you never know. This might be the year I actually give you a call or send you a thank you note or something. There's still time to right this wrong.
7. Buying toilet paper
This year I've wiped my ass with paper towels, corner store receipts, and the hopes and dreams of my youth. Now that I think about it (I usually don't start thinking about what I've written until a day or two after I've posted it) this item could probably be a little higher on the list. But if you think I'm copying and pasting this paragraph to a different part of the list, you clearly don't understand the depths of my laziness. To drive the point home, allow me to introduce you to my bloodied anus (checks watch to see how long it takes "the taint" to make a joke about this line).
6. Doing the dishes
Fact: I have not seen the bottom of my sink since I moved into my new place.
Underrated fact: dishwashers are only slightly less necessary than air, water, and internet pornography.
5. Calling Time Warner
Honestly, if anyone can deal with these people without wanting to rip out their own still-beating heart, they deserve to be sainted, knighted, and mounted. Am I referring to a sexual mounting or a stuffing-and-hanging-above-the-mantel mounting? You be the judge.
4. Laundry
Ah, laundry, you truly are the bane of my existence. You cost money. You take forever to complete. And you never stop needing to be done. Not only that, but when I don't do you, I walk around with wine stains on my shirt smelling like the inside of Harvey Milk's asshole. As it is now. Decomposed (but still with lots of penis sweat inside of it).
3. Not masturbating 24 hours a day
Internet porn is to me as shiny things are to babies. I probably shouldn't have used a baby in my porn addiction analogy, but I got distracted by furiously masturbating.
2. Writing the Great American Novel
I was supposed to do this last Tuesday but I ran out of underwear and had to do laundry instead.
1. Not being a crass asshole
See: Fanny Pack, Biological. Also see: everything I've ever said and done in my entire life.
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3 comments:
Protip 1: If you continue to wipe your ass with paper towels, the thick, coarse paper and blood will form a critical mass that is unplungeable.
Protip 2: Don't ever call Time Warner, use the internet chat function on their website. While all Time Warner employees are idiots, the ones who know how to type are preferable.
My list is almost exactly the same, except instead of traditional shelves I needed to buy some sort of magical trunk with infinite storage capacity to hold the three new outfits that we can't afford which my lady buys every day.* Didn't they have one of those in "Bedknobs and Broomsticks?" Should I be ashamed that I really liked that movie when I was younger?
Also, my captcha was "butpli" which is sorta close to "buttplug." Sorta.
*I consider myself a pretty accomplished grammarian--I took 7 years of Latin, only 3 of which were taught by a Spanish teacher with no knowledge of the language--but I still have no idea if I'm even close on the "thats" and "whichs" in this sentence.
Don't you dare anticipate my jokes. I will ruthlessly pick apart your posts in any manner I see fit. Anyway, I was trying to ignore that line because it was so goddamn gross. I would think that a germophobic, finicky bitch like yourself would have better ass hygiene.
PS. I also like to catch up on shampoo/toothpaste/air freshener product data while pooping.
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