Greatest Hits

here are some links to the most popular posts on this site:

girlfight.

…Clearly, I was in the market for a retaliation plan that would compensate for my being publicly shamed. Of course I wasn’t going to punch the girl, but a proportional response was called for. So when drunkyface turned away for her victory lap, I cupped my left hand and laid a prodigious slap across her butt-cheeks. “Good job, baby.” As you might expect, the girl became furious…

 

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candy canes & the l.a.p.d.

…and with a shiny new quarter in my hand, the three cops formed a triangle formation and escorted me – wearing nothing but sky-blue boxer shorts and happy little santa socks adorned with candy canes – down a ghetto street in east l.a. during the dead of winter to the nearest pay telephone…

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she’s not retarded.

…i tried not to be rude about it, but her inability to speak was becoming annoying. could i really hook up with a girl *this* drunk? i remember thinking “i’m brown – if things with this retarded sounding broad end badly this could easily turn into a court case.” when mush-mouth left to have a quick parlay with her grody friends, i broke down the situation to this kid named “broz”…

 

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pressing the “copy” button.

…let me tell you – it is SOOO not easy to talk someone into giving up an umbilical cord. for something that essentially has no resale value you’d be surprised how unwilling people are to part with them. we ended up acquiring the umbilical cord of a pig…because how would anyone know that it WASN’T a human umbilical cord? we cut a lot of corners when it came to fulfilling these bizarre requests. however, there were certain requests that compelled our full effort…

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32nd & 7th.

…otto tumbled down the short flight of stairs like a furry, orange boulder rolling downhill. he gained enough momentum that by the time he hit the court otto had built enough steam to roll to within a few feet of the free throw line. every syracuse fan to witness the atrocity gasped in horror. who was that hooligan that dared attack our beloved gay mascot? me. thats who…

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señor littlejeans.

…It was a simpler time, when boys were boys, girls were girls, and midgets were midgets. One such midget was living in my dorm. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name. I’d like to think that he didn’t have a real name, and that all midgets have wacky little monikers like “Mister Peepers,” “Señor Littlejeans” or “Wee Willy.” You get the idea…

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the mets are history’s bitch.

…watching the mets lose this lead has been akin to being shot up the ass with a bullet, and then slowly and excruciatingly leaking essential body fluids until death finally (and mercifully) chokes the light from your eyes. if i had a choice between watching this season again or listening to fingernails dragging across a chalkboard at high volume in my headphones for 4 months? i pick the chalkboard… easily…

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i am in fact puerto rican.

– yes, i have worn the PR flag like it was a cape before.
– yes, i will do so again.
– no, i don’t have eleventy million PR flags all over my car. there are some stereotypes even i won’t fulfill…

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good advice.

…it doesn’t matter that you received the advice from a silly-ass movie or from a bumper sticker, either. for example, once i saw a bumper sticker that read: don’t meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. really…