We Fabrege Egg each other's houses on Mischief Night.

My neighborhood topped the list of best places to trick or treat in Philadelphia! Read about it here!

I'd like to keep it that way, so for those of you who live in the NOT NUMBER ONE PLACE TO TRICK OR TREAT IN PHILADELPHIA here are some suggestions for absolutely undesirable treats:

Pennies - the penny is the godfather of the shitty Halloween treat. Nothing says "I rummaged through my couch and maybe in my bathrobe pockets to find something hard and cold and tiny to give to some strange kids so I can catch a glimpse of their mischievous joy turn to disappointment" like the penny.

Apples - another classic. It's almost passive aggressive in its awfulness. Sure, apples are great, but to give someone a healthy snack on the one day of the year when you're SUPPOSED to eat tons of candy. . . That's a big fuck you. If someone gives you an apple on Halloween, they hate themselves, and they hate that you're out having fun. Trust me, they were raised by terrible people, and they will crush their own children's hope. SERIOUSLY. Someone tries to give you an apple, slap it out of their hand - I mean SLAP it hard out of their hand, look them dead in the eye and say "Don't pile your bitterness on me, fuckface. I like myself."

Empty Snicker's wrapper filled with pennies, resealed - this is bordering on something a serial killer would do, I guess. Kind of creepy. Heck, at least a snicker's bar wrapper full of pennies is probably enough to buy . . . half an actual snickers bar? If you consider toying with expectations an art form, this shitty treat might be for you.

A personalized mini-A-Capella song - What you do is you take the second word of whatever the kid is, then make it a verb of the first word, and add "Tonight!!!" after it. "POWER RANGER!!! RANGERING THE POWERS TONIGHT!!!!" "Ooooh little child in a Power Rangers outfit, you gonna dance the niiiight awaaay! Oooh baby!" Seriously, make stuff up for like, 15 minutes. Don't stop singing. "Oooh young Power Ranger child! Dance dance dance! Heee!" Ad nauseum.

Tiramisu.

One of those mangos on a stick.

Caricature - offer to sketch a quick caricature of each child. Sketch fast and furious, ask them what their favorite hobbies are, and who their favorite movie star or athlete is. Then, when you hand them the caricature, it's just a picture of them fellating a rifle being held by Snoopy. Man, that would be a terrible treat to give.

Omelette station - this one really speaks for itself.

Crudites - ditto

Oh and for the record, this year I'm handing out artisanal chandeliers.

I blame the Fall Guy.

I have the Kinks - "The Village Green Preservation Society" on a mix i made in my car's stereo for a couple of days now and 3 times now it has been playing at the exact same part of the song, the "God save Donald Duck" Davies solo, when I pull onto my street.

When it happened the second time I was like "interesting" but when it just happened again for the 3rd time I shit my pants and dove out of my car while it was still moving.

I sure hope the Saturn didn't hit anything too important on it's collision course towards the top of the block.

Found Fitness

In an effort to curtail spending in the latter quarter of 2010, I have cancelled my gym membership. However, staying in shape is still one of my top 28 priorities. Therefore, I have designed a rigorous new workout regimen in order to ensure my lack of membership does not cause (further) atrophy, weight gain, and stoopage of my approachingly zaftig-esque form. And I use the word "zaftig" fully aware of it's manboob connotations.

I have attempted to craft this regimen from found fitness opportunities. We generally don't recognize these opportunities in our everyday lives, but they are there, just waiting to be seized. Through the use of objects, people & situations I come into contact with during my normal daily routine, I will mold myself into a specimen worthy of ogling.

Sunday:

Morning- Sneak up behind neighbor's untethered dog. Poke dog's anus with novelty "Charizard" motorized lollipop holder. Elude.

Evening- 50 situps & 50 pushups!


Monday:

Morning- Walk to Art Museum and back. Kick everything along the way.

Evening - Dash from apartment into PSC without showing (expired) I.D. Hop onto nearest exercise machine and immediately start busting reps until forcibly removed from premises.

For HARD MODE workout: Forcibly resist being removed from premises.

For EXPERT MODE workout: Yell lots of homophobic and racist things while being removed from premises.

Tuesday:

Morning- Upon waking up, stand in middle of living room with one eye closed. Shadow box eye-floaties for 30 minutes. Get dressed. Chase eye floaters to art museum area.

Evening- 50 push-ups & 50 sit-ups!


Wednesday:

Morning- Make a businessman cry.

Evening: Watch Mad Men. Whenever someone says something condemning, lift dresser. Don't put it down until Don Draper says something omniscient, or until I see someone start smoking. Bonus-whenever Christina Hendricks appears onscreen, pleasure myself. EXPERT MODE - pleasure self whenever old lady secretary appears.

Thursday:

Morning- Place coffee table on curb. Watch from window. Whenever someone tries to take it run outside and tackle them. Once table is safely back in apartment walk to Art Museum and back kicking everything.

Evening- 50 Pushups & 50 situps & karaoke!

Friday:

Morning- Chase eye floaters.

Evening- Drink until violent. Wrestle nearest barstool. Drink until weeping. Undress. While nude & weeping, lift nearest jukebox/cigarette machine. Resist being forcibly removed. Kick everything along the way home.

Saturday:

REST DAY!


(Note: granted, many of these found fitness opportunities are not so much discovered than created)

thoughtdump

i want to run through a screen door or press my face against a chain link fence so hard that it comes out on the other side like facial Play Doh from a meat grinder.

it was so nice out today that I felt obliged to fuck a hole into a Thomas Kinkade landscape this morning. all those bright colors felt cool and soothing against my cheek as we cuddled in post-coital bliss.

i thought of a brilliant idea for the food network. "Iron Chef: 3rd World". they could go from ethiopia to haiti to pakistan and the robe wearing guy would be all, "the secret ingredient today is.... NEWSPAPER" and the chefs would scurry off to concoct bouillabaisses out of childrens tears while they swat the flies away from their eyes and hold a crust of bread just out Ndugu's reach.

food and sadness should continue to fit together as well as they do when you see someone binging and purging or a commercial for that device that will instantly de-shell a hardboiled egg.

the winning dish might feature a disemboweled infidel's ears as garnishments or perhaps as the meal itself. cannibalism has a bum rap and i've been considering marketing my scabs as an "Atkins Friendly" alternative to potato chips.

EAT MY SCABS, motherfuckers!

Smells like a good deal

Sometimes a document comes across my desk that just smells fantastic. It is during those rare instances that I can hold an investment proposal up to my nose, give it a good whiff, smile knowingly, and say "Smells like a good deal." And the best part is, I am completely right. Run it by as many analysts as you want, I hit the bullseye with one snort. It smells freakin' fantastic. If sound investment strategy were merely a factor of smell, I would highly recommend any deal printed on a fruit roll-up.

Haunted Bonito Flakes.

So this happened at lunch today.

I hate everyone involved in this. Even the audience.

Shark Week

If I'm not mistaken, it's Shark Week on the The Discovery Channel. Long-winded set-up here, followed by fake show titles and half-assed explanations:

Shark Bytes! - a computer tutorial show, but with sharks.

Sharks vs. Jets - inspired by Westside Story, this one-sided fight takes place between some Great White Sharks and an F-15. Or, this one-sided fight takes place between some Great White Sharks and some members of the gang, the Jets. OR, this one-sided fight takes place between some members of the gang, the Sharks, and an F-15.

What If All Your Appliances Turned Into Sharks? - a terrifying exercise in hypothesizing. I mean could you imagine?

The Sharkprentice - Donald Trump. Um. And stuff. Eh, still sleepy.

Who Wants To Marry A Millionaaaaarrgggh!

Shark & Order: Shark

Pimp My Shark

So You Think You Can Oh No Shark

Sharkity Shark Shark

You know what, open up a fucking TV Guide and replace random words with the word Shark, and you'll pretty much have it.

i wrote this from the perspective of some loud ass kid this morning at the bookstore

i lost my Chinese grandmother!

and now...
now...
now I can't shut the fuck up about it.

my eyes are crimson dewy.
my voice is stained and pleading.

she's not dead-
my Chinese grandmother-
i just wandered out of her view...
which, to most 7 year old boys, is nothing to cry about.

but i like to cry.
loud.
because i'm a stupid asshole.

i've found her just now-
my Chinese grandmother-
and if the world was a just place
(which it isn't)
she'd be hitting me with a big purse filled

to the brim

with Zen rock gardens and fine porcelain,
because even though now she's back and I can hold her hand again,
I STILL can't shut the fuck up.

I just can't seem to Chinese win.

SWMF

Single Waxy Monkey Frog Seeks Same.
I'm new to this, so forgive me if I come off like a dork! It's been a while since I've dipped my toe into the proverbial "dating pool", but hey, that's what the webbing is for, right? I know, I know, lame joke. Let's see...I'm a pretty normal guy. I lead a pretty active lifestyle. I'm more of a climber than a hopper I guess. And naturally I love swimming. My unblinking stare has been called both sexy and unnerving, but I just like to think it means I'm listening to what you have to say. I don't really want to come off like too much of a goof, so I'll stop writing. I'd much rather chat in person. Give me a chance, let's meet, chat, maybe dance 'til we croak! I know, another lame joke. Trust me, I'm much cooler in person! And waxier.

PROFILE:
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Religion: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 80mm
Smoking: No
Drinking: No
Children: Thousands - heck, maybe you're one of them!
Plans for Children: LOL!

PROFILE OF DESIRED MATCH:
Maximum distance: 3 branches
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 60mm - 72mm
Drinking: No

A bear is nothing but a tiger thrown in amongst conifers and made to appreciate a more spartan wardrobe.



But then i'm no zoologist . . . which should explain my lack of worthwhile college education, string of low paying jobs and the fact that I *still* don't have access to the most exotic (and, hence, delicious) animals that the metro Philadelphia area has to offer.

I went to the zoo. Once. Gorillas sat motionless just out of view (or so I was made to believe) and the goats of the petting zoo area had an unhealthy fixation on my crotch area when I ran out of the bountiful corn/other crap mixture that flowed forth from a modified gumball machine.

I attempted to cure the wry goats by filling my hands with dirt, pretending to get more 'goat feed' and then dumping the dirt in their mouths when they came to beg and bleat.

I taught them.

Attention, COPRHSJWSRC members:

It is my sad duty to inform you that as of today, July 2nd, 2010, The City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club will cease operations. This is for our own safety, as I'm sure you can understand. It's unfortunate. For the past 25 years, members of the COPRHSJWSRC have enjoyed jogging through Philadelphia rush hour pedestrian traffic while screaming and lugging smoldering rucksacks, for both fitness and fun, and it is sad to think that the actions of a few bad apples would make this wonderful past-time seem suspicious in any way. The tragic results of yesterday's annual Scream 'n' Lug made the decision to disband the COPRHSJWSRC a foregone conclusion. Some of you have dissented, insisting that we can continue as a club if we merely stop screaming as we jog while lugging smoldering rucksacks. Still others have pointed out that it's the smoldering we need to eliminate - that non-smoldering rucksacks would serve us just as well. And a vocal few have argued that the mere presence of rucksacks at all is the issue. Let me be clear. With the COPRHSJWSRC, it's always been all or nothing. For us to honor our club's history, and for us to achieve the full satisfaction and joy that we have always striven for, it is pertinent that our jogging be:

a) during rush hour

b) while screaming

c) and carrying rucksacks which are:

d) smoldering.

That's it. Until we can safely resume the activity for which our club is named, in its totality, we shall cease any and all club activity. I am truly sorry, and I wish all COPRHSJWSRC a happy and healthy remainder of the summer.

Sincerely,
Dan Cleets III
President, City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club

P.S. This Sunday, I will be having a few COPRHSJWSRC members over for an informal smolder seminar, exploring what materials produce a good, long lasting smolder in a rucksack and so forth.

P.P.S. From now on, let's call them backpacks.

(special thanks to Dom for brainstorming up that fake name for me) 

Last week on Twenty-One Dollar Burger. . .

Dale 
You're shitting me.

Seth

No man, seriously.

We now return to Twenty-One Dollar Burger

Dale

How was it?

Seth

Awesome.

Tune in next week for more Twenty-One Dollar Burger!

Abusing the "Replace All" function has never been more fun.

Original post HERE

(CNN) -- After lining up for hours, or sometimes days, Apple fanatics on Thursday morning started to get their hands on the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off, the latest gizmo in that company's line of trend-setting Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off went on sale at 7 a.m. local time Thursday in U.S. stores, and at 8 a.m. local time in France, Germany, Japan and the UK.

At an Apple Store in Atlanta, Georgia, customers and Apple staff clapped and cheered when the store opened at 7 a.m. ET.

A 20-year-old college student named Seth Herren said he had been waiting in line at Lenox Square Mall since 10 p.m. on Tuesday. 

At a flagship Apple Store on Fifth Avenue in New York, more than 600 people had lined up to get a device that some were calling the "Jesus Leprechaun," according to CNNMoney. Vuvuzelas trumpeted. Fans cheered.

In London, Priscilla Lee and her brother, Alex, had come all the way from Dubai, United Arab Emirates, to get a spot at the head of the line for the new Leprechaun, which features video conferencing, a faster processor and a sharper cha-chi.

The Lee siblings said they had traveled so far because they had to have Apple's new gadget on the day it became available. "I've got a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off and then my Librarian throwing guns. And then a bad case of the mondays. This rash -- the list goes on," Priscilla Lee said. "Apple. What else to say?"

Gizmodo, a technology blog, pointed its readers to a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off app -- called Line Snob -- that helps Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off line junkies know how long they will be waiting. Of course, as one commenter pointed out, you would need an old version of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off to be able to use that app.

When Apple CEO Steve Jobs unveiled the new Leprechaun this month, he said the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off is "the biggest leap we've taken since the original Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off," which debuted in 2007.

The Leprechaun will cost $199 for a 16-gigabyte version and $299 for a version with 32 gigabytes of storage space for photos, videos, movies and apps.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off has a higher-resolution cha-chi, which Apple calls a "retina display" and says is better than anything in the industry.

It is about 25 percent thinner than the most recent generation of Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking offs and features cameras on the front and back, which will allow video conferencing.

The Leprechaun comes in two colors: black and white.

Early reviews of the Leprechaun have been predominantly positive.

Some have criticized Apple's continuing policy of not running Flash graphics, websites and games on its products, as well as the company's deal to sell the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off only with an AT&T wireless network contract.

The size of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off's cha-chi -- at 3.5 inches, measured diagonally -- has also come under criticism. Several Android-based Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off sport larger cha-chis, which some analysts say are better for watching video.

Up the stairs he jostled, like a young jostling jostler on the jostle. He felt every blade of Astroturf between his un-socked feet as he blazed across the faux fairway of his faux St. Andrews number 17 situated in the friendly confines of his attic.

Not only was he fast, but he was rich enough that there was no one to race him. Not on this indoor golf hole. He'd found through his years of play at 'normal' golf courses that most patrons favored playing golf to racing from tee box to flag stick anyways, so it was near impossible to find a race.

Sometimes he paid young crack whores to race him for a razored rock or two but their technique was as lacking as their dental maintenance and to say they were fleet of foot was, indeed, a lie of the greatest measure.

A compatriot mega-rich acquaintance enlightened him to the quickness and relative ease in procuring preteen Arab boys for races and, for a time, he raced the brown youths until they cried for mercy and his feet bled from Astroturf burns . . . his hands from hoisting the flag stick skywards proclaiming his utter brilliance and insanity in a single shout of victory.

But those racing days were long past and in their place settled cold cans of corn niblets and bottle after bottle of cough syrup garnished with the same drink- worn tiny umbrella that once gave the gin rickeys and singapore slings of his youth a touch of whimsy.

Sadness permeated from every corner of the house. Profound sadness punctuated with exclamation points fashioned of kidney beans in the shape of famous kidney beans kept in a kidney bean shaped jar resting on a shrine to beans of a kidney variety made of an old desk with old issues of "Jet" magazine for legs.

Across the room: a toilet paper roll with a long spent glow stick taped inside serving as a shamefaced sham of a lamp.

Then, as if out of nowhere, I was hungry for a salad. goodbye.

The man with the bulging left pocket and the corresponding buried hand that manipulated it just seconds before you stepped into the viewing room flicks his possum eyes from corner to corner, fiddles with his headphones and lumbers out of sight (likely toward another mildew cornered Renaissance canvas with pink puffs indicating the presence of long dead nipples). The thick memory of his flushed face hangs heavy in the room like an elevator filled with soccer mom smells and hairstylist noise. Dead eyed teenagers stop dutifully while a teacher gestures grandly towards a well known piece and takes a few extended moments to enjoy the echo and play of her resonant voice in the expansive hall. A boy, just away from the crowd, scuffs the floor with his gaudy sneakers and blinks heavy and hard at the noontime light that pours endless through the one window in the room. He spins slow from the light on a heel, casually flicking a two fingers in front of his gaze as a stop gap shield.

His backpack is a canvas of his own and the paint-penned fabric is filled with whirling letters and dizzy figures. He stands away from the rest.

Fuck this shit.

You heard me. Fuck this shit. No, not THAT shit. THIS shit. Right here. Fuck it! How this shit can be allowed to go unfucked is beyond me. Look at it! Ooh this shit is so asking to be fucked it's ridiculous. Someone's gotta fuck this shit. Fuck! This shit. You know what? Forget what I said about THAT shit. Someone should fuck that too. Yes, both this shit and that shit should be fucked repeatedly until they are completely fucked and no longer need to be fucked. FUCK! I hate this fucking shit.


(note- In actuality I am not angry about anything in particular.)

Instruction.

GETTING STARTED

CONTENTS:
I. Installing On-line Shut-in on your hard drive.
II. Subscribing.
III. Creating your Shut-in.
IV. Navigating the On-line Shut-in "Introverse."

I. INSTALLATION:
Installing your new copy of On-line Shut-in is as easy as not dancing. Simply place the CD-ROM in the appropriate drive and follow the prompts that appear on the screen. On-line Shut-in will take up a tiny amount of space on the furthest corner of your hard drive. You'll hardly notice it.

II. SUBSCRIBING:
Stare at the On-line Shut-in icon that should now occupy the bottom right hand corner of your computer desktop (it looks like a tiny man hiding behind a sofa). If nothing happens, double-click on the icon. If nothing continues to happen, try again. Remember, a "double-click" means that the two clicks must be in fairly quick succession. Today's computer 'mice' are built to withstand repeated, firm clicks, so don't hold back. Once the subscription template appears on your screen, you simply need to fill out the appropriate billing information. Our unobtrusive automatic withdrawl option ensures that you won't have to walk to the mailbox or speak to anyone on the phone.

III. CREATING YOUR CHARACTER:
Three columns will appear under the banner "Creating Your Shut-in". Click on one icon in each column to choose your shut-in's gender, pastiness, and eyeglass prescription. Once you've set these parameters, click DONE to proceed to the bathrobe selection screen.

There are over 8,000 styles of bathrobe to choose from, with variable size, length, color, fabric, stain types and stain patterns. Make sure you pick the bathrobe that's right for your shut-in, because he or she will be wearing it for the duration of the game! Once you've picked a robe, it's time to determine how your shut-in makes a living.

The occupation screen has over 4 different types of occupations to choose from:

Freelance web designer
Novelist
Neighborhood curiosity
Famous physicist
Undiscovered corpse (this occupation will severely limit your playing choices)

Once you've created your on-line shut-in, it's time to start not exploring our vast, virtual world - the "Introverse."

IV. NAVIGATING THE INTROVERSE:
The Introverse is a gigantic virtual world, filled with thousands of virtual characters, each with unique personalities and objectives, and all of them interacting with each other to create a constantly-changing virtual "eventscape." However, your virtual shut-in will only be able to experience this world vicariously, as he or she will never leave their home. Your character can:

Cook.*
Clean.*
Peer through the curtains.*
Go on-line.*
Watch tv.*
Pace.*+
Play on-line games.*
Shout at passersby through the mail slot.&
Engage in on-line discussion forums relating to on-line games.*
Solve age-old mathematical and scientific conundrums and receive international praise.^
Send and receive both snail and e-mail.*
Decompose.**

*Option not available to undiscovered corpses.
**Option only available to undiscovered corpses.
+Option not available to famous physicists.
^Option only available to famous physicists.
&Option only available to neighborhood curiosities.

BFFs

So I bought "Plastic Beach" yesterday which means I can stop listening my torrented version - which always made me feel guilty for enjoying it so goshdern much and not having paid good official American currency for it.




I recently discovered Janelle Monae. It's like Sun-Ra Orchestra meets Outkast. I'm not mad at it.


I am the Record Industry's good, good friend. Such a good friend that sometimes we borrow from each other and I've slept over a time or two.

Ludittes

I officially own a "Smart Phone."
I don't like it.