Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
According to television ads, and I base all fact on these, people with Herpes and overactive bladders are way more outgoing than I am. They are always white water rafting or throwing frisbies to golden retrievers or running down a beach with their loved one who's cool with their disease so long as they are taking their meds. And they always have athletic gear on, sweatpants, sports bras, head bands. You would think that commercials like these would inspire me to be more active but no, they have the opposite effect. It seems to me that the only people with prostate problems and high cholesterol are athletes. Like they always say, everything in moderation, it's obvious to me now that if youre not careful and spend too much time doing stuff outdoors, youre going to get an STD.
I also learn from commercials, that big Jews love Windows 7.
I was on Facebook looking at my cousins mobile uploads, mostly pictures of himself trying to look thug. One of the pictures was self taken, over head, him looking up to the camera with these glasses on. His caption simply said “$200 Prada glasses”. Mind you this kid works in the meat department at Publix and drives a Grand Am. I decided he was in need of a lesson, it’s not right to brag about expensive things or even buy things just because they are expensive.
I had just done a line of coke and was already wearing my Valentino suit so I jumped into my Vantage for the two hour drive south.
Half way down, I stopped at a Starbucks and ordered three chai’s, I only drink one of them but order three because I can. I realized half way through my chai that I still had my Moss Lipow aviators on and my earbuds weren’t actually plugged in to my 17” Macbook Pro, so everyone in the Starbucks was listening to This American Life with me. All I could think is how pretentious I must look, and also how good.
I finally arrive at my cousins house, which is also my uncles house since he doesnt have the money to move out. I storm his room and tear him from his bed.
“Where are they!” I screamed.
I see on his messy bureau, the glasses. I grab them and he jumps to protect them. I throw them to the floor and stomp them as he cries from his knees.
“Don’t cry on my Berluti’s please.” I say.
I throw him a $20 and tell him to go buy some Foster Grant’s from Wal-Mart.
End of story, lesson learned.