In my never ending quest to become the dumbest man on the planet, last night I watched the repeat of the finale of My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé. Now you might say, "Mike, a lot of people watched that. It's not that bad. It was actually pretty interesting." I would then reply to you, after I've had a hearty laugh at your childlike innocence and I would say, "For you see, my child, this is the second time I watched it."

Yes, I had already seen it, but for some reason, I watched it again. Now, I probably would not have, but my roommate was watching it, and I just got sucked in again. It is amazing how stupid the girl in the show is. She didn't really seem all that upset until it was revealed the joke was on her. When her family stormed off, she did nothing to go and stop her mother, did nothing to go and explain it to her brothers, did nothing to go and hug her crying sister. She stood there, looking for a producer or someone to tell her it was OK and that she'd still get the money so that her family could see that she humiliated them all, out of love.

My favorite part was when one of her brothers reluctantly went back out for the end of the ceremony and he said, "This is so ridiculous. This is so dumb." Indeed.

I also liked when the bride gal started crying to her family, "I did this for you so you could travel. I did this for you so you could move out..." In a way, it was kind of like the end of Schindler's List.

I think the next show Fox produces should be somewhat smutty, but also educational, called "My Big Fat Obnoxious Venereal Disease." One person on the show will have some sort of VD, not sure which, but once all the people start having relations with each other, we can learn how fast diseases travel. So we'll get to see a bunch of hot people doing it, but learn an important lesson about sex.

Last night I had a dream that I quit my job. I woke up from this dream totally confused, thinking that I didn't have to go to work anymore. It was realistic. The best part about it was when I quit, I was flipping out, like making a Jerry Maguire-type scene. Except, instead of saying the normal, "I quit!" I yelled, "I'm giving you my two weeks notice!!!"

So when I woke up I was all nervous that I was going into work to face everyone I made a fool of myself in front of.

But no. I woke up today and got to work, same as every other day. I also remember after I quit in my dream, I totally regretted it, because I had absolutely no plan and I imagined myself sleeping until 3 PM every day, then passing out drunk at 3 AM. I'm saving that plan for when I win the lotto. Now I just need to devise a plan in which I actually buy lotto tickets. Then it's, Hello, Easy Street!

As I left work today, some devout Catholics entered the elevator on their way to get some ash. Three of them to be exact. Here was the conversation:

Lady 1: Where are we going again?

Lady 2: St. Patrick's. Fifth Avenue.

Lady 3: We're walking all the way to Fifth Avenue?!

Lady 2: It's only two avenues away.

Lady 3: I really don't have walking shoes on.

Lady 2: It's only a ten minute walk.

Lady 1: So you won't have to go to the gym tonight.

Lady 3: (frustrated sigh)

ME: Jesus died on the cross for you, you lazy fucking bitch!


Well, I didn't really say that, but I thought it. And if I remember anything from CCD class, it's that Jesus can hear what you think, and it's what you think that really matters. Not what you say or do. Only what you think. I also think that Jesus would have given me a high five after I said that, then given me a free ticket to The Passion of the Christ.

So I was watching C-SPAN last night and I saw Bush's speech where he called for a Constitutional amendment to prevent gay marriage. Well, let me tell you, after I thought about it, I have totally changed my mind, based on this quote:

"Marriage cannot be severed from its cultural, religious and natural roots without weakening the good influence of society. Government, by recognizing and protecting marriage, serves the interests of all."

Ah, yes. The good influence of society, which would definitely go straight down the shitter if we let these homosinuals to get married. I would like to now take a moment to acknowledge those people who have partaken in the glorious celebration of matrimony between man and woman:

Here's to Lorena Bobbit, who after her husband apparently forced her to have sex with him, cut off his penis while he was sleeping.

To John Bobbit, for feeling the need to force his wife to have sex with him, then having the courage to pursue a career in pornography after his penis was re-attached.

To Brynn Hartman, for killing her husband, comedian Phil Hartman, while their children were in the next room, while she was fucked up on cocaine, alcohol and a prescription anti-depressant. The war on drugs would have gotten to her eventually! She took the easy way out! We certainly would have smoked her out of her hole.

To OJ Simpson, who was acquitted of killing his wife and her friend. Thanks for never showing a sliver of remorse about your dead wife and even joking about it on a talk show when you "stabbed" the host with a banana.

I don't want to focus on only the celebrities involved in this, so to the millions of men who beat their wives this year, kudos to you! No homos are going to have the same rights as you. You can rest assured that when a gay guy beats up his "partner", you are still the only one allowed to beat up your "spouse".

To all of these heroes in our society, thank you for defending it with your good influence and not allowing our precious moral fabric to be degraded.

Thank you. And may God bless the United Straights of America.

Earlier I was kind of stressed out here at work, then I went to lunch and I walked into a deli. Over the speakers, playing quite loud, I heard, "I want some hot stuff, baby, this evening. I need some hot stuff, baby, tonight."

That made me laugh. What also makes me laugh is the people with ashes on their heads. Ash Wednesday is great. I would like to start wearing ashes more often, just to fuck with my fellow Catholics. "Wait, what? Ash Wednesday is today?" Then I'd just reply, "Well, hopefully God will forgive you. Who knows? There are no guarantees with the Lord."

I wish today was Accidentally Crap Yourself Wednesday. Then I wouldn't be so self-conscious of all of the disgusted looks I've been getting.

I was trying to think of something to say about the whole gay marriage thing, but Lewis Black said it best when he said (I'm paraphrasing), The issue of whether or not gay people should be allowed to get married should be right up there with, "Are we eating too much garlic as a nation?"

Last night I was so tired, yet unable to fall asleep until 3 AM. And when I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt about not being able to fall asleep. Worst night of sleep ever.

I took a quiz to see what book I am. Apparently I'm crazy, according to these results. I don't think I'm crazy. There is potential for me to go crazy, but not yet. Anyway, I'm happy with being this book. It's one of my favorites. At least I'm not the dictionary.

You're One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!

by Ken Kesey

You're crazy. This has led people to attempt to confine you to a safe
place so that you don't pose a danger to yourself or others. You feel like you pose a
great danger to the man (or maybe the woman) or whatever else is keeping you down. But
most of the time, you just end up being observed. Were you crazy before you were
confined?


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Friday night, a night which was supposed to be an early one, turned out to be a much drunker one than planned. I had to wake up at around 8:30 on Saturday, so when my stumbling ass got home, I went to set my alarm. I don't recall this part of my night. Anyway, when I woke up on Saturday, I saw that my clock said 9:20. Shit! I'm late. So I get up to go to the bathroom and on my way through the kitchen, I notice that the oven clock says 7:20. Huh?

Apparently, when I went to set my alarm, I accidentally forwarded the time ahead by two hours. Now, instead of fixing the time, I simply adjusted the alarm time to what the corresponding real time would be. Of course, not remembering ever doing this, I would have woken up and saw that my alarm was going off at 10:30, even though it was 8:30. I kind of felt like the guy in Memento. I looked for a tattoo across my chest that said, "You were retarded last night and set your clock wrong. You actually have two more hours than you think. No one killed your wife."

So yes, the mind works in mysterious ways. Especially when there is more beer and vodka getting to your brain than there is blood and oxygen.

Well, my pal over at my sister site, Anise recently asked me if I would like to be interviewed about my love for Netflix. I obliged. So go read that and read the rest of her site. It's good stuff! And it's pink, so it's all pretty to look at!

All supervisors in my office are currently away at a conference. What's that mean? you ask. It means that I am in motherfucking charge. Oh yeah. So you might be like, "Isn't it a little unprofessional for you to blog while you are in charge?" Then I'll be all, "Whatever, dick. New rule: I blog as much as I fucking want."

So here are some other new rules I've initiated:

-- Effective immediately, the office will be split up in two teams, Shirts and Skins. Shirts will also go by the team name, No Pants.
-- Whenever anyone has a question, they must follow it up with a tap dance where at the end of it, they clap and go, "Yeah!" or if they prefer, "Ha-cha-cha-cha."
-- All meetings are concluded with a tickle fight!

That's all I can think of for now. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some tickling to do.

I've added a search bar to the left. I'm not sure if I like it. It sort of works, but really doesn't. I've had some people ask that I should put a search bar, so this is for you, you persons. I've also had some people urge me to get comments. This blog is a dictatorship. My word is final. I rule with an iron keypad.

So anyway, there's your search bar. It might not be there for long. But for now, if you want to find that old post where I talked about God's penis, or anything about Uncle Hank, you can.

I've got nothing else to say. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. In the meantime, I'm going to go get my third cup of coffee and you can go read this.

Instructions for being me:

Wake up. Hit snooze. Ten minutes later, wake up. Hit snooze. Ten more minutes later, wake up. Debate on whether or not there is enough time to hit one more snooze. Decide no. Wake up. Step on things. Turn on light. Grab towel. Walk to bathroom in the dark. Brush teeth. Turn on shower. Pray for hot water. Take shower. Dry off. Apply deodorant. Get dressed. Look at clock. Move quicker. One last check for everything. Walk out door. Lock door. Walk down stairs. Lock another door. Brace for cold. Walk hurriedly to subway. Hear train approaching. Run. Skip every other stair. Slide MetroCard. Go through turnstile. Run down more stairs. Jump through closing doors. Look around satisfied. Hold on to handrail. Apply headphones. Stare blankly. Get off train. Go upstairs to next train. Get pushed by people. Get on next train. Stare blankly, this time seated. Read back of someone else's newspaper. Get out of train. Walk to work. Look at clock, with hope that arrival time is three minutes early. Say Good Morning, but skip the "ood". Go make coffee. Turn on computer and begin work day. Look busy for 8 - 9 hours. Go home, just like morning, but in reverse. Set alarm clock. Wait for it to sound so you can hit snooze.

Repeat five days in a row. Weekends optional.

"My hand and I will not rest until we are in the White House! We're number 1! I would also like to officially announce my hand as my running mate."



Thanks to Kevin Freedom for the photo.

As a Mets fan, I am upset that Alex Rodriguez is now a member of the Yankees. I'm sure he'll still be great, but if he actually went to the Mets, he'd end up sucking. They have a history of signing very good players who end up being awful and usually get into some sort of legal trouble.

I now present to you A-Rod's timeline as a New York Met:


Feb. 17 -- The Mets make it official and sign A-Rod. Hype and expectations are at an all time high. The NY Post, giddy with the prospect of all of the new puns they can now use, displays the headline "A-God".

April 12 -- On Alex Rodriguez bobblehead Doll Day in A-Rod's first regular season home game as a Met, he goes 0 for 4 with four strikeouts and commits 11 errors. After the game, he calls it a fluke and says he just has to work through some of the nerves. He is booed mercilessly from the fourth inning on and pelted with his own bobbleheads.

April 14 -- To get back on the good side of Mets fans, Alex organizes Alex Rodriguez Fan Appreciation Day, in which he gives $1,000 to every fan in attendance. He goes 0 for 3 with a sacrifice fly. He is booed, although no one throws their money at him.

April 24 -- Now batting .187, on a road trip to Chicago, A-Rod accidentally shows up at Comiskey Park, rather than Wrigley because he is so used to playing for an American League team. He ends up putting on a Tampa Bay Devils Ray uniform, and somehow goes 4 for 4 with eleven home runs. He realizes he's on the wrong team in the sixth inning, goes to Wrigley where he somehow strikes out seven times in 3 at-bats.

May 28 -- After a month in which he batted .087, A-Rod begins to show signs of a nervous breakdown. On a road trip to Florida, he calls Daryl Strawberry for help and spiritual guidance. Daryl agrees and invites him over to his house for a reading of the Holy Bible. At approximately 2AM, they are both arrested for snorting coke off of the Bible. Facing deadline, the NY Post editors decide to go with the headline, "A-Cokehead". The next day they issue an apology for the lack of originality.

June 3 -- A-Rod rejoins the team after a brief stint in rehab. He claims to be a new man, and in his first game back, he goes 4-for-4 with 7 RBI. Hope is restored to Mets fans who think the season will now be salvaged.

June 4 -- A-Rod apparently hits his first triple of the season, but is called out. During the argument, A-Rod somehow eats third base umpire, Gary Darling.

June 25 -- After spending a week in jail for involuntary manslaughter, two weeks of community service and filming a Public Service Announcement talking about the dangers of eating umpires, A-Rod is allowed back to play with the Mets, who are currently enjoying a ten game winning streak.

July 5 -- Having not won a game since A-Rod's return, the Mets start listening to offers for a trade. A-Rod doesn't help his own cause when he holds a press conference announcing that he has been donating half of his salary to the Al-Qaeda terrorist network.

July 13 -- Still garnering the most votes for the All-Star team, a visibly drunk A-Rod shows up to the All-Star Game and plays an entire inning without pants. All he wears is a Mr. Met sock puppet over his penis.

July 15 -- Completely fed up with his lack of production and his embarrassing off-field behavior, the Mets trade Rodriguez to the only interested team, which happens to be the Yankees. Officially, the trade is Alex Rodriguez for a minor league catcher and $2,000 dollars in Chuck E. Cheese tokens. During the press conference announcing the trade, Mets General Manager Jim Duquette, says, "We are glad to have this cancer off of our team. Well, he was actually worse than cancer. It would be like if cancer could somehow get cancer, that's what Alex Rodriguez was to this team. We wish him the best of luck in his career with the Yankees."

July 16 - October 30 -- A-Rod bats .780 for the Yankees and becomes the World Series MVP. After the World Series, he dedicates his offseason to pediatric cancer research and by Spring Training, he rids the entire world of cancer. "I was really hurt when I was called worse than cancer by the Mets. It inspired me to eliminate this horrendous disease. Also, I have broken my ties with Al Qaeda and I am now working with all organizations in the Middle East to end violence." At the beginning of the next season, Yasser Arafat and Ariel Sharon are seen sharing popcorn in box seats right behind home plate.

I've always wanted to be in a movie where my only line is said after I jump into the passenger seat of a car, and say to the driver, "Step on it, bitch!" I've never thought about who is playing the driver, but this would be a fun line to say. Try it sometime.

I would never want to be in a movie where I have to say the line, "I wish mom was here to see this." The word "mom" can be replaced with any deceased family member. I think I'll start to say lines like that in my every day life, but with dead celebrities, rather than family members.

It seems as though my blog has become quite popular. I wish Eazy-E was here to see this.

My favorite president is Andrew Jackson. I only say that because I like his picture on the 20 dollar bill. He looks like the original hipster. He didn't give a fuck. Here he is, going to be on money, and his hair's all messed up.

I also like that he killed a man in a duel, because the man "cast an unjustified slur on his wife Rachel." Damn! Imagine the media circus if John Kerry killed a man in a duel.

So here's to Andrew Jackson -- the official president of the ATM.

UPDATE: So I just read a little more about ol' Andy. He was an asshole! Fuck that guy! Get out of my wallet, you slave trading, Indian hunting son of a bitch!

I just found this site that makes a case for putting Martin Luther King on the twenty. I'm all for that. Either him or Alex Rodriguez.

I had a fine Valentine's Day. I didn't fall in love. I was at a bar near the old hometown and these two gals brought in chocolate covered strawberries and pretzels. How do you not love that? They were the hits of the bar and it got them free drinks. Smart.

I went to see my grandfather today. Dude is 95. He is out of it. Doesn't recognize me at all. Thinks that maybe I'm my mother's husband. Then thinks maybe my mom's first husband died. Doesn't remember that his own father was run over by a drunk driver who took to the sidewalk. Can't recall his wife. Doesn't remember taking me fishing. Doesn't remember me coming over to watch Mets games with him. Thinks he still might have a job.

Worst part of it all is that the one thing he does recognize is the fact that he's out of it. He points to his head and says "My mind's not so good no more."

This demise is only about a year and a half old. He was still doing pretty well up until a fall he took that sent him reeling into dementia. He's the coolest man I know. I've never heard him complain. A 95-year-old that doesn't complain? Difficult to find. He doesn't make a big deal out of anything. At his surprise 90th birthday party, I asked him if he was surprised. He said, "Well, I didn't think this would be so big, but it happened and that's it." That's it. It happened. Happy to be here.

this place he's living in, assisted living, is actually a beautiful place. But it smells like old people and shit and is occupied by people ringing heaven's doorbell. Depressing. Very. As I was leaving, my mother said, "I don't think it would be so bad to just come in here with a gun and put them out of this misery. Even if I do have to spend a couple of years in jail." I told her it'd probably be more than a couple. I hope she doesn't do that. It's hard enough to visit her in Barnegat, NJ.

Anyway, seeing him there made me feel melancholy, which I've learned if you pronounce ma-lunk-a-lee, turns out to be a much more fun word. Thanks to this lady.

So that's why you have this somewhat downer of a Sunday evening blog. I'll try to turn it up tomorrow for a hilarious President's Day blog. I've got an idea with George Washington and Abe Lincoln in a gay porno with Lincoln saying, "Shoot it at my head." Get it? He got shot in the head and all. But with a bullet, not presidential sperm. It will be called Founding Fuckers.

That's not true. I will not do that. I just thought of that right now. Speaking of things that people thought of just now, I was talking with people today about what their idea of hell is, and this one lady named Asia said that her idea of hell that just popped into her head was running in snow, trying to get to an unknown destination, but she gets pushed down every two feet. This goes on for eternity. This was the most interesting hell to me because it is cold. Most people go the hot route.

My best Valentine's Day was actually a couple of days after a Valentine's Day. And it had nothing at all to do with romance.

I was in college and I had a roommate who got stoned a lot. I might have mentioned him before here, but I'm not sure. Anyway, when I say "a lot", I mean "every minute of every day." He loved his weed. He'd wake up, get high. Come home, get high. Go to class. Get high. One semester he was a student teacher at a middle school. I was waiting for him to come home with an eleven-year-old and be like, "I totally made a bong out of this kid."

Anyway, because he smoked all of the time, me and my other two roommates would often smoke along with him. I've never been a huge fan of marijuana, but when I lived with these guys, it was fun. One night, we were sitting around, high, playing cards. It was probably two days after Valentine's Day, and one of my roommates said, "Mike, did you see that package from your sister?" I didn't know what he was talking about, but a few days earlier I apparently got a box from my sister, Laurie. She is someone who believes that Valentine's Day should be a national holiday. A fool for love. I could care less about the day, but she likes to spread the love around.

So I open this package and in it was a big box of Nerds. The candy. Not actual nerds. That'd be a weird package and it would shed a whole new light on my sister. Anyway, I hadn't had Nerds in years, and neither had my roommates. Keep in mind, we are now high and most likely drunk. I've never been so excited to see candy. We all flipped out. My stoner roommate, Owens, was like, "Yo, bro! Nerds. Fuck. I love these, bro." They tasted so good. My sister was a god that night. The God of Valentine's Day candy.

That's all I can remember about Valentine's Day. Oh, and there was one time when I was eighteen and stupid where I didn't get my mom anything, and my dad called me up and said, "If you don't get your mother any flowers, I'm going to break your neck."

Flowers gotten. Neck still intact.

On a sidenote, Owens used to talk in his sleep. One time he started to sing the Baby Back Ribs song from Chili's. It was a stirring rendition. He must have had some serious munchies.

Anyway, happy Valentine's Day! Wear a rubber! Nothing says Romance like "Hey, baby. I'm HIV Negative."

I'm sitting here watching Friends. I know a lot of people that have always talked about how much they hate this show. I always defended it. "It's a victim of its own success!" I'd say. It's now just a victim of horrible writing and lazy acting. The only clever line in tonight's episode was "I'll be my something blue." Sorry if you didn't see the episode, but I don't feel like explaining the line, but if you saw it, you might agree.

Anyway, it's kind of sad, because I do feel that at one point, this was one of the funniest shows I've ever seen. It's just not anymore. All of the characters are now caricatures. And the only one who seems to put any thought into her lines is Jennifer Aniston. Brad must be giving her acting lessons.

Scrubs. That's where its at. Friends is no longer TV that I must see. I don't even care what happens at the end. Ross and Rachel? Fuck 'em.

During one of the commercials, Chuck Scarborough of NBC Channel 4 News came on for 5 seconds and said, "Should the government know if you've had an abortion? At eleven."

Hell yes! I'd be a freak! If not the government, at least the circus.

According to this article, Barbie and Ken have called it quits. The people in the article seem to be serious about this.

I think they are paving the way for On the Rebound Barbie - The Sluttiest Barbie in History!

Speaking of sluts, someone got to my site by searching "NUDE PICTURES OF MIKE DITKA".

Holy moly! If you do find those, please keep them a secret.

Da Balls.

Next time someone tells you that they would absolutley die without their cell phone, you can reference this story.

(Leif Skoogfors/Corbis)

People are going make such a big shit about this picture with John Kerry at an anti-Vietnam rally with Jane Fonda. You can see Kerry in the background, and either the sun was in his eyes or some filthy hippie just cut one. Anyway, that picture was taken in 1970 and she didn't officially become Hanoi Jane until 1972. If you've got a problem with him being against the war (even though as a veteran, he's got more of a right than anyone to be opposed to it), that's fine, but the fact that he attended a rally where she spoke is no big fucking deal. Besides, I'm sure a lot more shit will come out when he's president, so you can have a ball with that.

I would like to pass a law that people may no longer say, "Remember when MTV used to play videos???"

Yes, I do remember that. But they don't anymore and they haven't played any on a regular basis for quite some time. I'm over it. You should be too. I also remember when Comedy Central used to play comedy, but have you seen Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn? I don't know what that is, but it ain't funny.

Good day.

If anyone would like free French fries or a free hash brown, you should head on down to the McDonald's on 50th and Broadway. I'm not sure if this is a company wide policy, but they have the "Smile Guarantee". According to the yellow sign, they promise, "If we don't smile before you pay, you get free small fries or a free hash brown on your next visit."

When I saw this, I had been waiting for my food, and this guy definitely did not smile. I knew he wasn't going to smile, but I didn't feel like being the guy to call him out on it. "Gotcha! You owe me some free fries, motherfucker! Or if I so choose, a hash brown!"

In fact, there was no one behind the counter that smiled to the customers. They smiled at each other while, I think, they were making fun of the customers. There wasn't even a retarded person working there. You can usually count on them for a smile. Or at least a spit bubble.

If McDonald's really wants this to work, they should make the policy, "If we don't smile before you pay, we'll take 10 bucks out of the cashier's paycheck." They will be smiling their asses off. I promise you.

The thing is, though, with McDonald's, I don't expect them to be all that friendly. Just get me my food and get it quick, and I'm happy. Really happy people in fast food restaurants make me uncomfortable. You can't be that happy. You are working in McDonald's. Don't bullshit me. Just give my Big Mac. Not to say they should be miserable fucks, but just be honest.

This past summer I was in a Hardee's (I think) in Delaware. They guy who was the manger said to everyone who paid, "We appreciate your business." To everyone! It was so annoying. But he really seemed to be happy, which was weird. At one point he started walking around and talking to everyone eating there to make sure their meal was satisfactory. Then he'd ask them where they were from, chat a bit more, then end it with, "Alright, have a great day. And... we appreciate your business." Ugh. Stifle it! Enough. He didn't even approach me. I put on my best, "Look, I appreciate that you appreciate my business, but please leave me the fuck alone" face. It worked. He walked right by me and started to talk to some old people from Virginia.

I like when people are friendly, but when it's forced, it just makes it fake and in a way, it feels condescending. Both to me and the poor sap who has to smile.

When I worked in Disney World, I actually knew a girl who got fired because of her lack of friendliness. See, working there, depending on where you worked, it was easy to smile. I drove a boat. I smiled until my teeth hurt, but that was because I liked my job. This girl worked at this awful Pocahontas show where she had to see the same show eight times a day. She was warned about her lack of friendliness, but she didn't seem to care. I did see her a few times and she did seem to hate everything about her life, and it showed. When you are working at the Happiest Place on Earth, I think you should at least try. But if you are working at McDonald's in New York City, I feel your pain.

I switched schedules with this girl named Gina today. I was able to wake up after the sun, which is always nice. I had time to do stuff before work. Not that I actually did anything, but the point is, I had the time. Even time to shave! How exciting. So that's all I did with my extra time. I shaved and watched 20 minutes of Ellen. The show, Ellen, not my neighbor, Ellen. I don't know if I have a neighbor named Ellen, but if I do, she might read this and think I was peeping at her.

It is sometimes frustrating to work so early. It's nice that I leave earlier than most and I miss the majority of the insane part of rush hour, but I also start to get nervous if I'm awake past 10:00. I just start thinking how miserable I'll be the next day. I've never been a morning person, but now that I am always up in the morning, I am, by default, a morning person. I am not necessarily extra grumpy in the morning, but I'm definitely not the stereotypical morning person. I imagine that as someone who wakes up at 5:00, smiles, jogs three miles while smiling, gets home, tosses open the drapes and laughs, cooks a huge breakfast with pancakes in the shape of a smile, gets to work and just bugs everyone with their happiness. I've yet to meet this person. I think they only exist in coffee commercials.

For me to be awake in the morning is quite an accomplishment. I've always been known as quite lazy. I'm still lazy. I just get up earlier to get the laziness off to a proper start. Whenever I'd be on vacation with friends, I was always the last one to wake up. I was diagnosed with "Toolieosis". But now I wake up before most everyone else. I still have Toolieosis, though. The symptoms are sitting on a couch for hours, watching SportsCenter at least twice, then switching over to MTV for something completely mind numbing.

One thing I hated when I used to sleep late was the snobby way other people would act. "You woke up at noon? I've been awake since seven!" My dad was always the worst with that. Of course, he'd fall asleep at 7:30 while the History Channel blasted World War II in the background. Then he'd wake up at four and be all noisy.

Do I have a point to this? Not really. Just wanted to let you know you aren't better than anyone if you happen to wake up earlier. Except in my case. I'm so much more awesome at seven than I am at eleven.

On Friday I was waiting for a train. There was a guy playing a tuba. Tubas don't interest me. They are large and not that pleasant sounding. Just like my dad when he's sleeping.

Anyway, a lady came into the subway station and started yelling at the tuba player. I would have liked to yell at this tuba player as well, but because I am somewhat sane, at least for now, I did not. This lady was insane. She had bright red lipstick on, which was put on haphazardly. And if there's one thing that signifies a crazy lady, it's bright red haphazardly applied lipstick. So she's yelling at him, but I am all the way at the other end of the platform, and I can't hear what she's saying. Everyone else moves away from her. I move closer. She might as well have been screaming, "Mike! This is something you should put on your blog!"

From some of the words I caught, I gathered she was now, or at one point, homeless. And I think she was yelling at this guy for not respecting the subway, which was/is her home. Anyway, I got closer, and the only line that I was able to understand was, "How would you like it if you fell asleep on the subway, only to wake up to a man jerking off on your face?! It was traumatizing!"

Good Lord! I would not like that at all. And that would, indeed, be traumatizing.

What was even weirder, though, was after this five minute tirade, she got on the train, sat down next to a woman who was filing her nails, and started to talk about knitting. The lady she sat next to was polite and smiled and nodded like a nice person tends to do. But the lady just transformed from a crazy screaming headcase, yelling about people jerking off on her face to a kind of weird, somewhat nice lady who talked about knitting.

New York City, you so crazy!

Look at how big my hand is. I can't lose!

I've noticed that Paul McCartney is starting to look like my grandmother.

I should be sick of Hey Ya, but I'm not. I also didn't hear it until about two months after everyone else, so cut me some slack.

Justin Timberlake: You are not Stevie Wonder. You never will be Stevie Wonder. Even though you sit behind a keyboard and attempt to sing like him, you are not. Please stop.

I don't have much of an opinion on the death penalty, but this motherfucker in Florida should be killed. I often tend to sympathize with anyone who is being killed, including criminals, but I wouldn't give a hoot if they put this guy down. How do you kill an eleven-year-old girl? How?

At first I thought, Feed him to the lions!!! But that's too easy. Lions would kill him too quick. Feed him to the crabs. Feed him to the fire ants. Feed him to something that is going to take a long time. But not starving kittens, because that would be so cute! Imagine watching someone getting the death penalty, and everyone going, "Awwww."

Anyway. Back to Janet Jackson! Some dipshit is suing Janet, Justin, CBS, MTV and Viacom for "sexually explicit conduct" by the performers, which caused millions of people to "suffer outrage, anger, embarrassment and serious injury."

Serious injury? The only one to be injured in this whole thing seems to be Janet's nipple, which had to wear that big metal shield, yet you don't hear anyone talking about the negative effect on the nipple. Won't someone please think of the nipple!

After work yesterday, I walked over to the Ed Sullivan theater where the David Letterman was taping. They set up a huge ramp designed for snowboarders outside, which was about four stories high. Being that my building is right across the street, I decided to see what was up. The show just started taping and it looked like they were getting ready to jump.

So first, there was a guy who came down the ramp, and to be honest, it wasn't very exciting. I was about to leave and then someone else came out to jump, so I decided to wait. It was a lady, so I thought that if anyone was going to crash, it'd be her. Because we all know chicks can't do things right. Am I right, fellas? So she came down and she got off to a very shaky start at the top of the ramp, but she came down, hit the jump and landed fine. I figured they were probably done, so I left. I walked by it again about 10 minutes later and there were ambulances all over the place. Damn! I missed something.

Turns out when the girl went again, she hit the jump wrong and landed on the pavement. When I saw the news, I realized she would have hit right in the vicinity of where I was standing. I could have recognized that she was a damsel in distress and I could have saved her! Damn! I coulda been a hero.

So the lesson here is: Never leave a place early when there is a chance for human tragedy. You can end up being a hero, or at least end up with something more interesting to put on your blog.

She is doing fine, in case you were wondering. She should have been wearing a helmet.

Yesterday, being that it was a balmy 40-something degrees, I decided to walk from the old midtown office down to 14th Street. As I got to Union Square, I thought, Huh, nothing interesting has happened on this walk. There is usually something interesting that happens. So just as I started to think that, I see this girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties looking around somewhat frantically. I make eye contact and she walks up to me and says, "Can you tell me where Port Authority is? It's right around here somewhere, right?"

Oh boy. For you out-of-towners, she was nowhere near Port Authority. She was under the impression it was right around the corner. It is about 28 blocks and four avenues away. I felt so bad. I said with lots of sympathy, "No, you've gotta go up to 42nd and 8th." She thanked me and then just started crying. She said something like, "The guy told me it was around..." Then she got on her Nextel walkie-talkie and called someone and started blubbering. I didn't have a chance to explain to her how to get there. So I just punched her and took her wallet. Well, no, I didn't do that. I just felt like I had to act tough in front of you, Dearest Blog Reader.

Speaking of you, Blog Reader, who are you? I like getting emails and chances are, you have not emailed me. I'm bored right now. Please send me something to read. Thank you.

I'd like to say one more thing about Levitra and the Super Bowl, if I may. What I think is more offensive than the Janet thing, or at least should be, are the commercials for Levitra. Before I realized it was a boner drug, I repeatedly saw the old commercial for it, where the guy is in his backyard and he's trying to throw a football through a tire swing. At first, I thought it must be a drug for arthritis or something, because in a lot of those prescription commercials they never really tell you what they're for. "Ask your doctor if the purple pill is right for you." Uuumm. OK. Sure. If you say so.

Anyway, the guy can't throw the ball through the tire. Then he apparently takes Levitra and now he is throwing through the swing with alarming accuracy. "Sign that guy up!" is what a football coach might say. Then his wife comes over to him and is smiling, seemingly happy with her husband's newfound accuracy. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I didn't realize this was supposed to simulate the guy being able to now give it to his wife.

So ladies, check this out. Levitra is comparing your vagina to a tire swing. And the football is a penis that is finally strong enough to get through your tire swing. I find this so odd. He should have been throwing a Nerf ball first, to symbolize his limp biscuit.

Anyway, I just wanted to point that out, the whole tire swing/vagina thing. I rhymed!

I had a dream last night that my number got retired at work. There are two reasons for this. One is that the Rangers are retiring Mike Richter's number tonight, and two, I am so fucking awesome at my job. Four years this month. Four years. Holy crap. It's like high school. I should be graduating. Four years. Good Lord.

By the way, we don't wear numbers at work. If they retired anything, it'd be my initials.

Today my eyelids weigh about 155 pounds of the 160 that comprise my being. I slept nearly 8 hours last night, so I shouldn't be this tired. I hate complaining about being tired, but I am at the point of fatigue where all I can think of is how tired I am.

Maybe I'm having a stroke. There is a banner ad that I just read through that struck me as hilarious. It goes like this...


i like meeting people, all people.

i like getting inside their heads.

i like making them dizzy.

i like knocking them to the ground,

and if they ignore me, killing them.

i am a stroke.


Then it tells you to go and visit the American Stroke Association web site. I don't know why I found that funny. My grandmother died from a stroke 14 years ago. That was very shocking and devastating to my family. Not very funny. She was 85-years-old and still worked part time at Sears. We all expected my grandfather to be the first one to go. He is still alive and kicking. Ninety five, I believe. My great-grandmother on my father's side lived to 104. I always imagine myself dying at the age of 27, but that didn't happen, so I guess I'm in it for the long haul, and if I take after any of these people, I'll be here for a while. I wonder if I'll still be blogging when I'm 90.

Here's a blog from the 90-year-old me:

Tuesday, February 03, in the year 2066

Ugh, it's so cold in here. Where's that draft coming from? My knees hurt. Speaking of drafts, did I ever tell you about the time I dodged the draft in 2008? We had just invaded Iceland, because America was out of ice. George W. Bush was still president and got really crazy in his final year in office. The reason we were out of ice was because we were out of oil, thanks to SUVs, so there was no way to produce energy, which would have frozen the water, which would have given us ice. All that oil we thought we had in Iraq turned out to be fudge. It was a joke that Saddam played. When we figured it out, he just shrugged his shoulders and went, "Gotcha!" We all had a good laugh about it, but the energy crisis soon became apparent and the laughter stopped. Except on the ABC network, which was more successful than ever with their Friday night lineup of According to Jim, My Wife and Kids, and a brand new show called Celebrity Nipples.

Anyway, since our troops were all over the Middle East and now we were going to Iceland, the draft was necessary. I was among many who didn't believe that going to Iceland for ice would solve our problems. Plus, we didn't even have proof that they had any ice! Everyone tried to tell the president that Greenland actually had more ice, but he responded by saying he had nothing against the Irish. There was no stopping him. He also gave orders to invade Alaska, not realizing it was already part of America. The military was stretched quite thin.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the draft. Some friends and I decided to burn our draft cards and drive to Mars, being that the U.S. - Mars highway had just finished completion.

Oh wait! Gotta go! My grandkids are here! Plus, this was starting to get kind of stupid!

Somewhere in hell, there are two suicide bombers, patiently awaiting their promised virgins, completely baffled that they just successfully killed 67 people in Iraq, yet in America, all anyone wants to talk about is Janet Jackson's right milk-secreting, glandular organ.

Let this be a message to all terrorists in Iraq: We just don't give a fuck!

I have looked into the future, and here is part of a statement released by CBS after Super Bowl XLVII:

We deeply regret the gang bang involving Britney Spears and the members of her entourage during the halftime show. There was never any indication all week during rehearsals that something like this would happen. Britney promised us she would sing her hit song, "That Right There Belongs In My Butt!" and that she would uphold the integrity of the Tiffany Network. We apologize to all those who were offended.

I think we can all agree that the Super Bowl commercials sucked. Two million dollars for 30 seconds. Budweiser spent two million dollars to show that one with the horse farting in a girl's face. Apparently they are now hiring eight-year-olds to do their advertising. Couldn't they donate that money to a pediatric AIDS foundation or cancer research? Of course, my dad thought it was gangbusters, so maybe it was worth the two mil.

I was at my mother's house in New Jersey for the big game. Yesterday was also my older sister's birthday, so we had a little surprise party for her. The gal is 30. Here is an interesting note about my sisters' and my birthdays: Each one of us has had a tragedy to coincide with the day of our birth.

First, Laurie had the Challenger explode on her birthday back in 1986. Then last year, on February 1, my sister Christina's birthday, the Space Shuttle Columbia blew up. And perhaps the worst tragedy of all, on my birthday, September 27, back in 1947, Meat Loaf was born. What a horrible horrible day.

So I got to see Uncle Hank yesterday. He was pretty awesome. Nothing too memorable was said. He was actually overshadowed by my Uncle Joe. Uncle Joe is my mother's cousin who somewhat resembles Mel Brooks. Yesterday at some point in the evening, there was an unusual silence in the conversation, when Uncle Joe said out of nowhere, "Can you believe White Castle raised the price of their hamburgers to 49 cents? (Another pause... no one responds) Man, I love those burgers."

OK, halftime show. The American Flag has never looked better than it did when worn as a poncho by Kid Rock. In case you were wondering what that rumbling was when he came out wearing that, it was all of our founding fathers rolling over in their graves simultaneously.

Janet Jackson's boob... I only wrote that so people would get to my site by searching for photos of her boob. I loved the statement release by Justin Timberlake. "I am sorry that anyone was offended by the wardrobe malfunction during the halftime performance of the Super Bowl." Wardrobe malfunction. Brilliant spin. Luckily, Janet was wearing her nipple broach. Probably handed down through her family. I'm sure at one time it was her grandmother's.