So I have decided to get rid of comments altogether after this post. I just don't like them. Got a problem? I'll kick you in the vagina.

Email me if you've got a problem. Then tell me where I can find your vagina and I will kick it!

Dave "huge balls" posted this comment, regarding my eaten feet.

mike... we need to work on your reaction times. When the first ant bit you, where was that little voice saying, "Brain to Mike, Brain to mike, come in please... yeah, we've got a situation where a small insect is sinking it's claws/pincers/teeth into your body... Brain highly recommends you moving to an alternate location and inspecting your feet for bites and/or more ants." I guess after the 70 bites, you got the message, but really dude, time to get those synapses off their lazy asses... maybe some calisthenics or something?

Well, Dave, unfortunately the previous night, where I fell into a lake, the synapses that would have been responsible for firing and alerting me to my feet being gnawed on were destroyed, thanks in part to the Coors Brewing Company, Golden, Colorado. It is, as you know, the coldest tasting beer, and I think that had something to do with freezing the synapses to death.

In other news, I am grossed out about this McDonald's ad where this chick is in her apartment and she's saying things like, "This morning, I was chased by the paparazzi" and "Today I called the pool boy... and I don't have a pool."

She says this shit before you realize it is a McDonald's commercial. Then they show her grabbing a McGriddle, which I love, but then she looks all creepy into the camera and says something like, "What will I do tomorrow? Wouldn't you like to know..."

Um, no, I would not like to know. You are creeping me out, ya McGriddle eating psycho. The ad is supposed to imply that McGriddles take you to another world or something. How the fuck does a McGriddle stimulate your imagination? Like, I said, I love McGriddles. But I've never eaten a McGriddle and thought, Oh man, today, I will do a pool boy.

Apparently there is some sort of fight between the fast food chains to have incredibly shitty commercials. Burger King is still in the lead with their "Wake Up With the King" ads, where the Burger King is in someone's bed holding a sausage and egg biscuit. And then there are those chicken fries ads with that band called "Coq Roq." Just awful.

At the request of Lisa, I will post a new picture. Here is what my foot looks like right now. I was attacked by ants over the weekend. I also got drunk and fell in a lake.

This guy signed a contract with the Los Angeles Kings. Check out his name. I bet he is going to really love the very clever things that drunk hockey fans yell at him.



I will get you started, just in case you can't think of anything.

You are one of the very few Asian hockey players in the NHL!!!!

Oh, good one, right? Here is another one.

Your hair is interesting!

Zing!

If you add three to each digit of your number, you will get 69! Hahaha! 69!

This shit is priceless. Write it down. Here is my favorite.

That is a nice suit you are wearing in that picture on Mike Toole's blog!!! It's a very classic look! And oh yeah. Your name makes Americans think 'Fuck you Fuji!' Fuck is a curse word in English! And when you say, 'Fuck you' to someone, it is disrespectful! I don't know what 'Fuck you Fuji' would mean! Fuji is a film company! I would think that film companies have been having a rough go of it lately, what with the digital camera boom! But anyway, you seem like a nice guy! But since you don't play for the team that I root for, Fuck you Fuji! And I don't mean the film company when I say that! I mean, you, goalie for the Los Angeles Kings! Fuck you Fuji!

I can't imagine that won't catch on at arena across the league.

Oh man, I am tired right now. I'd kill for a nap. But then I'd probably feel all guilty for killing someone just to get something as simple as a nap, so I doubt I'd be able to sleep. And I'm not sure killing anyone would ever result in getting a nap. You can't kill someone and get sleep. Well, I mean, you could kill someone and then go to sleep, but you wouldn't get sleep from killing them. You could get Air Jordans or an iPod from killing someone, but not sleep. You could get a bed and a pillow from the person you just killed as well, I suppose, but the actual act of sleep would not be gotten from killing anyone. Am I making myself clear?

So kids, don't kill someone and try to get a nap from them. Just take their iPod and their drugs.

So. What's up everyone? Like I said, I am tired. Last night I hung out with my boy, Mike "Hollywood" Ochs. We got drunk and Mike tried to do awesome things to get mentioned on my blog. Towards the end of the night, he was like, "So, will you mention me?" And I was like, "Well, nothing really awesome happened. I had fun, but it was mostly good conversation. But nothing really bloggable." And then he was all, "Yeah, I see what you mean." So as I was driving home and Mike was in the passenger seat, he goes, "Hey, look out for that oncoming bus!" And I was sort of, "What oncoming bus? I don't see anything." Then he said "This bus!" and just unloaded a mean right hook into my balls. So I cried and crashed into a parked bus and laughed and said through my wheezing and tears, "I will mention you now! Touche! I'm pretty sure I can't have kids now."

I was watching the Mets game yesterday with the most awful collision I've ever seen. I happened to be, um, mouthwashing? I was walking into the living room so I wouldn't miss any of the game, and bam. I almost did a spittake with Listerine all over the place. Luckily, I kept it in and prayed that Mike Cameron would be alive.



The whole thing was a little gay. It looks like Cameron is giving Beltran a very violent kiss here, then afterwards, Beltran tried to spoon a little with Cameron, but Cammy wasn't having any of it. I would imagine if I just broke my face, I wouldn't want to cuddle either.

Let's go Mets.

I think I am kind of late to talk about this, but I want to. The Dove girls. You know, the girls on billboards who are supposedly "real." Not skinny superest of models, but girls that you can relate to. Gals like you and me.

So after I Googled "dove girls," I came across this Slate article, it turns out this guy already talked about what I wanted to. And it's about the Dove girl that I have a crush on. I was recently talking to a gal I am dating or something, and we were having that conversation that couples have, which boils down to "Let me bang these people if I get a chance." You know, like if you ever meet Jude Law, you can have sex with him. He's on the list.

Somehow my list ended up being Cate Blanchett, Kimmy Gibler, and this chick.



I don't know what it is about her, but I really like her. Perhaps it's the come hither look and the chunky can, and the fact that I first saw her on a bus stop ad, and you know how I dig chicks at bus stops.

But then I saw the big billboard and saw her there, and suddenly I was no longer attracted to her. Why? Because she is the one on the far right who looks like she's trying to take a dump.



By the way, I've posted these pictures using the "medium" size. If I used the large size, you know, this blog would be real fat.

I kid, of course, because these girls aren't real fat girls. These are seemingly average gals. I think the only ones that you might consider fat are the second and third from the left.

I think I had a point to all of this. But I don't remember what it was. Um, I guess I'll make something up. So, uh, average girls in advertising is OK with me. Just don't show them in poop making positions. Leave that to the truly fat ladies.

By the way, I've gone to Blogger comments. Haloscan is dead to me. So all of your old comments are dead. I'd like for each and every one of you to spend the rest of the day scouring my archives and commenting on everything you've commented on in the past.

Thanks.

I guess I need to blog about something. I've got nothing. But I will try.

I saw my friend Rich this weekend and we had this conversation about my blog:

Rich: You say the pussy word a lot.

Me: You mean vagina?

Rich: Yeah. You say it a lot.

Me: You do realize that saying 'pussy' is more offensive than 'vagina', right?

Rich (turns to his wife): Is it?

Wife (nodding): Yeah.

That's why I love Rich.

Some guy wearing a bike helmet, but didn't have a bike, yelled to me tonight, "Hey." I was walking through the Hoboken train terminal from work at 1 AM. I was wearing headphones, so it annoyed me that he would try to get my attention. I looked at him and he yells, "Any vending machines in here?" I gave him the most condescending look I could muster and shrugged. My look and my shrug, I think, was the equivalent of "Why the fuck are you asking me that?" Oh, and "Where the fuck is your bike, you helmet wearing douche?"

I gave him the same look everyone gave Marty McFly in 1955. I was a hair away from saying, "Hey kid, you jump ship?"



My 30th birthday is approaching. I am undecided if I should have a huge party or not. It's kind of sad to throw a party for yourself, right? My backup plan is to cry in the bathtub.

Let me know if you'd show up to a party. Also, let me know if you'd show up to watch me cry in the tub.

Oh, my Irish skin. Oh, my hands and arms with limited mobility and reach to parts of my back. Oh, the sun in the sky, with your flames all ablaze. Oh, ozone layer, so rapidly depleting.

I went fishing on my bro-in-law's boat this past weekend. I am not a fisherman. This was the first time I have fished in years. I think I was five the last time I went fishing. I was with my grandfather. I don't remember it.

So I went and I got a sunburn on my back. The sunblock didn't make it to all areas, so my back looks like a poorly-designed flag. Like, if a new country needed to submit their flag to the New Country Commission and they were a bunch of procrastinators, they'd turn in a flag that would resemble my back. No distinct or straight lines. Just a blob of red on the top, and the bottom will be a little white.

Hey, remember when I was talking about Shark Week and how I missed it? Well, I caught a shark while I was fishing. Not a Great White or anything, but a shark. That was fun. Then we ate him. Or her. Not sure. I did not notice a shark cock or a shark vagina. Both of those things would make great names for bands.

Shark Vagina. It would also be fun to order that at a Red Lobster. You should do that next time you are at the Red Lobster. Right after the server tells you the specials, say excitedly, "Ooh, the Shark Vagina sounds great. I'll have that." Then when he tells you that wasn't a special and that they don't serve Shark Vagina, say, "Fine. Just bring me the Whale Balls, I don't care. I'm starving!"

I had a dream the other night that I lived in New York again and they were going to clean the entire city. But what this entailed was that everyone had to get into their apartments and stay there for a day or so while they flooded the city to wash the streets. Another really cool dream. Very Day After Tomorrow, but better and more of a plot. Much more character development as well. And a shitload more nudity.