Hi. Remember me?

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned I was moving to Cleveland. This is true. My job is heading on out there, and in the spirit of adventure and wanting to stress out more and die of a heart attack at the age of 33, I am going with it.

I have thought long and hard (gross) about this decision, and my main problem with leaving was that this move seriously cuts down on my chances of ever being on Cash Cab. Oh well.

Anyway, I can go for a year and if I hate it, I will move back. I have been telling people that if I do hate it, no big deal. It will just be known in conversation as "that fucking year I lived in Cleveland."

Anyway, you are all welcome to visit. Except you.

I would like to take this moment and speak to my future neighbors. The residents of Ohio. This Election Day, you have a choice. The choice to make Ohio a smoke-free state. You know, as far as restaurants and bars go. Cleveland, I implore you to make this happen.

When New York was first toying with the idea, I was like, "Yeah, sure. No big deal. I am not a smoker so it doesn't affect me." I just didn't care. But let me tell you something, Ohio, smoke-free bars kick motherfucking ass. Except for the ones that smell like shit, and smoke covered up that smell. But for the most part, smoke-free is awesome.

You can wear the same clothes the next day because you don't smell like, well, like a bar. Your hangovers are way better. Pay attention to your throat the next time you wake up after being in a smoky bar. It hurts. Well, with a smoke-free bar, that doesn't happen. All you have is a pounding headache and a person next to you whose name you can't recall. But you won't smell like smoke! I would say that over the last two years since I have been going to smoke-free bars, I have gotten way less sick. Sure, maybe I should be going to bars a lot less, but that's a blog for another day.

Anyway, learn the issues and the difference between Issue 4 and Issue 5. Issue 5 is for a Smoke Free Ohio and Issue 4 is for a Smoke Less Ohio, which is something supported by the Tobacco Industry, so you know it's not good.

So vote yes on Issue 5.

I moved to New York in 2002 and smoking was banned in 2003. Then I moved back to New Jersey in 2005 and smoking was banned early in 2006. Now I am moving to Ohio in 2006 and smoking might be banned by 2007. I am not saying I have some sort of bizarre power. I'm just sayin'.

So anyway, make it happen Ohio. Thanks.



I like how the smoker's lung looks kind of like it has some cajun seasoning on it. Makes me kind of hungry for Chili's.

Here are some things that you can watch. I have nothing for you to read.

First is Endy's catch. No matter that the Mets lost, it will give me chills for the rest of my life. I really love how Oliver Perez looks like a Special Olympics athlete when he realizes Endy made the catch. When they show Perez throw up his arms, I want you to think, "Hooray! Fig Newtons!!!"

UPDATE: MLB are jerks and had this removed. Trust me, though, you would have seen it and been like, "That's totally a retard happy to see Fig Newtons."



I give to you, the greatest actor of my generation.



"You're right, sorry we couldn't get that to you sooner."



And finally, butt toucher. I think I was the last person on earth to see this commercial, but gosh darn if it isn't the funniest thing I have seen in a long time.



Hey, by the way, if you love that Yahoo yodel as much as I do, you can go to the Yahoo home page and click on the exclamation point and listen to it as much as you want.

I am moving to Cleveland. More on that later.

Fucking Mets. I am going to pretend that the game ended on Endy Chavez's catch. Holy balls, what a catch.

Last night, if you were a Mets fan, you felt the two most polar opposites of feelings. After Endy's catch, if you didn't jump out of your seat and do something, you are a Mets fan in a wheelchair. And even if you were in a wheelchair and didn't get up, I still might question your commitment. And it was then, right there that you just knew they were going to win this game. Easy. That was a crusher for the Cardinals. You had the big bats coming up in the bottom half of the inning, and someone was going to do something. Even if they didn't do it then, you still KNEW they were going to win.

And then they lost. And it was like someone kicked you in the gut with a cannonball. The Mets have broken my heart many times over the years, but this one, my goodness. This is the tops.

I can't even watch SportsCenter. No way are the Cardinals supposed to be spraying champagne on each other, especially Braden motherfucking Looper. You piece of shitballs.

Can someone forward me the link to Endy's catch once it gets on YouTube? I am just going to watch that over and over again until pitchers and catchers report for spring training. Until then, this will have to do.



Oh, and PS to Carlos Beltran. When you have two strikes on you, swing at anything close. You have to protect the plate. My dad taught me that at a very young age. Actually, here is a short list of things I have learned in my life in the order they happened:

1. Breathing.
2. Shitting.
3. With two strikes against you, swing at anything close.

The other day I was watching the Mets game in a bar by me lonesome. I was with a couple of co-workers, but they had to go back to work. I didn't want to leave to go home, because I'd miss a chunk of the game. So I stayed.

A guy sat next to me and started talking about whatever. Mostly baseball, which was convenient, being that baseball was on. He was an older guy who I figured to be about 55, kind of looked like Tom Coughlin, only way less intense. We continued talking about baseball and other crap. Then, and I have no idea how this happened, he says to me, "Yeah, speaking of, my wife of 15 years just served me with papers two weeks ago."

Speaking of??? Speaking of what? I am pretty sure I was talking about Jose Reyes. Is your soon-to-be-ex-wife a speedy Dominican?

So I answered him in the best way I know how -- with a series of mumbles and a really long sip of my beer.

I mean, I met this dude 2 innings ago. Our friendship was moving way too fast. He continues to talk about it, and he'd say things like, "Well, you don't want to hear about all that" and "That's neither here nor there." Actually sir, quite the contrary. It is right here, there and everywhere and it is making me very uncomfortable.

He says to me, "You know, it's such bullshit. She tells me that she's felt dead inside for the last ten years. How the fuck am I supposed to know that?"

I wanted to reply, "I am slowly dying inside, and we just met!"

He says, "You know, we are just different, men and women, you know that. I mean, they like to talk and communicate and men just aren't good communicators."

I wanted to reply, "Actually, you are doing a really good job of communicating right now. I'd say it's too good. You should take this opportunity to go talk to your wife and please leave me alone."

Then he tells me, "You know, I even showed her this study about how men and women just communicate differently, but of course, what do you think she does? She doesn't even want to read it!"

The balls on this woman!

Apparently, in a last ditch effort to save his marriage, this guy presented his wife with a study from the New England Journal of Medicine about how men and women are different. I imagine he Googled one night, "women are from venis" and then Google asked him, "Did you mean: women are from venus". And that was the extent to which he went to save his marriage.

He ended the depressing conversation with, "Well, I've got three great kids out of it and that's really all that matters."

Yes, everyone's a winner!

So time goes by and the talk goes back to baseball. But soon after that, he then asks me about Hoboken and how the bars are there. I tell him that he should avoid the asshole bars. He asks me something else, and then I realize he is asking me where a guy in his 50's can go to pick up chicks. I didn't want to come right out and say, "I have no idea where old ladies hang out." But I think I did. I really don't remember. He eventually did say, "Well, I was just wondering if you knew of any singles bars."

My problems with that were 1) ever since I've lived in Hoboken, I have not been single, and 2) ever since I've been alive, I have never classified a bar as a "singles bar."

Anyway, he finally left, we said "nice to meetcha," and that was that.

Here is a picture of this guy looking for the ladies.



"Where all the old bitches at?"

When I was in Texas, I happened upon a conversation between a female bartender, a male patron who was a friend of the bartender, and a female patron who knew neither. The dude patron apparently said something to the lady patron about how she must work out, because she seemed to have a bodybuilder body. She said she appreciated the compliment, but that she barely works out. They chatted a little more and she left.

So now the dude and the bartender are there talking and the bartender says, "I am glad you said something. I was going to say something about her body, but I didn't want her to get the wrong idea, like I was coming on to her." So then the guy says, "Yeah, you can't be too careful these days." I really like the "these days" part of it, because it leads me to believe gay people just got to Texas not too long ago, perhaps March.

So then they say a few more things, and then the bartender lets out a little chuckle and a long sigh and she says, "I am so homophobic." I wish you could hear the way I mean to say this. It didn't sound hateful at all, but it was just something she had no control over. It was along the lines as if someone at work sighed and then said, "I am so tired."

Anyway, it made me laugh.

There is this section of a block kind of near where I live that I like to call Dog Shit and Broken Glass Alley. I call it this because there is always dog shit and broken glass. I don't think it technically is an alley, though. Anyway, there is always both. Never just dog shit and never just broken glass. Always dog shit and always broken glass. Sometimes, due to shitty parking in Hoboken, I have to park here, which makes me nervous. I assume my window will be broken and I assume I am going to step in dog shit. When the mirror on my car was broken, I was a few blocks away from Dog Shit and Broken Glass Alley. You know what? This whole stupid town should just be called Dog Shit and Broken Glass Town.

And Saturday Night Asshole town. Saturday nights here are just awful. So many dudes with greasy hair and hatred for using the top three to four buttons on their shirts. The main street in Hoboken is called Washington Street, and you don't want to be anywhere near it on a weekend eve. I call it the Running of the Assholes.

I really like my town.

If Robin Williams was ever the president of the United States, like the premise of this new movie, I would forever be known as "Mike Toole, the Guy Who Assassinated President Williams."

Everyone would be like, "John Wilkes Booth. What an asshole for killing Lincoln!" And "Lee Harvey Oswald. I doubt he acted alone in killing JFK, but still... what an asshole!" But for me they would say, "Michael Roger Toole. I kind of saw his point!"

Hey, my friend Matt is traveling all over Asia and he has a super awesome blog about it right here. He just posted some fantastic pics that will make you want to quit your job tomorrow and go catch up with him and be like, "Hey Matt. My name is ______ and I just read Mike Toole's blog and he showed me your blog and then I realized I hated my job and wanted to do something cool so I quit and decided to meet up with you because I think elephants are awesome too."

Well, another birthday has come and gone, and still, somehow, not one of you motherfuckers bought me a banana guard.

What I find most surprising about the Banana Guard web site is in the Frequently Asked Questions section. Perhaps it's just an oversight, but nowhere is the question, which I must assume is the most frequently asked, "Wait, seriously?"

Good day, sirs.