one free friend fuck up

Did you ever realize that in most cases it takes only one big fuck up for a friendship to go sour. You could be absolute best friends with someone and one day they could say or do something heinous and the friendship is over. You would never believe your friendship could end that quickly, until it happenes. Like if your best friend fucks your dad the summer before senior year and she gets pregnant and and goes into labor at your prom with your little brother and you have to witness it all surrounded by the 'cool kids'. Or what if your college house mate steals your puppy and gives it to his little brother for his birthday and you are actually at the party and have to watch as the kid joyously plays with his new puppy that is actually yours. And you couldn't take the puppy back even if you could proove it was yours because now the kid is all attached and you dont wan't to break his heart like yours has been broken.

You know there is an un-written code in life. The little things that go without saying that everyone knows but noone talks about. If you break these rules often enough you can become an outcast. These social rules and your adherance to them, make you or break you in terms of your 'coolness' factor, or in some cases even your 'sane-ness' factor. Take staring for example. You just can't stare in our socitey. You can get your ass whooped if you stare at the wrong mother fucker. You know you have seen evidence of this in your own life. Every day some one hears 'wadda you lookin' at?' before getting their ass soundly womped. Don't believe me, watch a movie in which something blows up. I guarantee somewhere in that movie you will hear someone say and do just that. But then again if you know how to look at someone the right way, a properly carried out stare can get you laid. We all make bedroom eyes and we all know what they look like. And do I have to mention that no female wants to see someone she doesn't know on the street make that face at her, but at least once per week every woman does. Tisk tisk assholes. What about the people who only stare at themselves... Or how about people who naturally have a crazy look in their eye. People you know who seem harmless or innocent but who are still scary because their gaze is odd or uncomfortable. How depressing it must be to have a crazy look in your eye but a kind heart. Would anyone ever truely get to know that kind heart?

Frozen need not mean mundane

Last night I was looking around my kitchen trying to decide what to make for dinner. I was in the freezer and something came over me. I have always liked cooking and this night I was feeling creative. All of a sudden I was in Kitchen Stadium and all I could think was 'the secret ingredient is Fish Sticks.' I sprang into action. I gave myself a 15 minute time limit, luckily my oven was preheated. I tore through the pantry and fridge and freezer for ingredients. I baked a pizza pocket and the prized Gorton fish sticks according to the package directions. The fish sticks were of a very good quality so I decided to serve them whole. I arrainged them in a fan pattern on half of the plate, and in a moment of sheer Kitchen-Stadium-like genius, I made a second fanned out layer on top of the first, creating a very chique fish stick presentation if I do say so myself. My condiment collection lacks the rare and sometimes expensive 'tartar sauce' so I gave a tablespoon or two of mayonnaise a quick fluff with a fork and it accompanied the secret ingredient splendidly. I arrainged the pizza snack on the other side of the dish in a very artful presentation, cut diagonally with the cheese oozing out. For my second dish I found a cantaloupe and cut it up in bite sized chunks. I placed it in a small bowl and topped it with my very own secret-recipe-fruit-topping sauce-- I like to call it honey. Moments after the final garnishing was complete the 15 minutes was up and my dinner was ready. I think Iron Chef Bobby Flay himself had a tear in my eye for my sticks-n-pocket creation. Now I ask you, have you ever had this much fun with fish?

Who can you trust?

I don't know why but crazy stuff happens to me all the time. Maybe it is my effervescent spirit. Once in 1998 or 1999 when the Buffalo Sabres were in the third round of the playoffs and my sisters and friends and I were at the height of our hockey watching days something crazy happened. We had just finished blessing the arena, which consisted of driving top speed around it while one or two of us poured salt out the windows and threw cloves of garlic. We were on our way to the real business of the night, drive-by-mooning people in South Buffalo-- a poor Irish Catholic neighborhood, our favorite pastime for a few years running. As we turned the corner behind the arena I saw a kitten sleeping in the street. I wasn't what you'd call an animal lover at the time but I felt compelled to save it, as cars were driving right over it. I had my sister stop the car and got out and went over to the cat. Aww look at him i thought, so little and stupid he doesnt even know not to sleep in the street. I'll just go pick him up and put him on the curb where he'll be safe. I had only grazed his fur with my finger tips when the little beast awoke and attacked me. By 'attacked' I do not mean scratched I mean the fucking kitten tryed to devour me, complete with cat shreeking and biting and viscious lascerating clawing. I was stunned, he was afterall so tiny and sweet sleeping there on the cobblestone street, no bigger than the brick he had been laying on. He devistated my hand and ran off bucking like a small furry bronco. I couldn't believe what had just happened. As I started back toward the car I saw something I hadn't seen on my way over. A few inches from where the cat lay napping was the most devoured and ripped apart carcus of a pigeon that I had ever seen. Apparrently the kitten raveged this bird and passed out until I came along and woke him up. I was really bleeding but we had mooning to do so I topped off my attack at the closest mini mart called 'Big Basha' where I bought some 65 year old dry ass baby wipes to clean my gushing wounds. Maybe I should have gone to the hospital, but I don't trust Doctors.

I have bugs

One job I had in college was working at a corner store chain called Wilson Farms. Between the crack heads and the petty thieves I ran into some real, um, characters there. There was an asian family that spoke virtually no English who collected bottles. The mom and the kid on one team and the dad on his own. The dad was sweet. The mom was insane. She always brought in Canadian bottles and yelled at me in Chineese when I couldn't take them. One hot summer day she had once again brought in a shopping cart-load of filthy cans and began furiously lining them up on the bottle counter. They stank of rot and were sticky. I wanted to get them taken care of quickly so I was grabbing them as as fast as she put them up. I was almost gagging. Thew were wet and disgusting. I had to mentally remove myself from reality to touch them. I don't know if she was cracked out or hungry or what, but she was moving so quickly that the remains of whatever was in the cans was splashing all over the place, including all over me. I motioned for her to slow down but she only moved faster-- a little filthy Chinese blur throwing putrid old canadian pop all over my face. And then it happened. I remember it like you'd remember seeing your grandfather getting hit by a train, vividly, in slow motion and with great detail. She picked up a yellow can and banged it down on the counter. I heard a faint clink as it tipped over. A wave of moldy pop washed out and I saw a little face looking at me from inside the can. It didn't hesitate, it ran across a few inches of counter and right up my apron and onto my neck. I am told I screamed out. I didnt hear myself. I grabbed it off of my neck and threw it as far as I could. The line at the register that I had been ignoring stopped complaining and now the line of bikers and crackheads and angry as hell single moms were rapt and horrified, watching my every move with compassion. In the distance I saw the little fucker crawl unscathed under the apple it landed on. With the store in complete silence I darted over to the sink and grabbed the waterless hand sanitizer and proceded to dump half the bottle on my neck. I can still feel its tiny quick moving feet. Maya Angelou might know why the caged bird sings, but I know what makes the Wilson Farms crack heads shutter. Yes friends it was a huge cockroach.

Racism? I am not perfect.

I live, for those of you reading this who do not actually know me, in the hood. More acurately I live in MY hood... the ghetto that I have known and loved all my life --otherwise known as the West Side of Buffalo, NY. No it's no Detroit, but I do hear an awful lot of gunfire after dark. (Stop giggling) It is starting to get over run by not so petty drug dealers and bodegas (very nice bodegas) and I would be sacred, except I'm not. No one has ever given me any reason to be. Sure if I was a $100 dollar bill carrying 77-year-old gramma I might have something to worry about, but I always walk with my hood up and my head up and look everyone in the eye so I usually feel right at home. I love the multicultural atmosphere of poor neighborhoods... no one looks the same but we are all in the same boat, so there is definately a comradarae that is hard to understand if you have never... understood it.

That said, I would like to tell a story. One day not so long ago, I was driving home from somewhere at dusk. I was about 4 blocks or so from home and out of nowhere 6 or 8 (seriously) guys came running from what seemed like all directions toward my car. They were in front of me, behind me, on all sides. It was winter time and they were all dressed for the weather making them look a lot bigger than they were. The men were black. (I AM NOT A RACIST.) I didnt know what to do! They were motionng for me to stop and I think I sped up a little. When I was passing them by I fully expected them to jump on my car. I was bracing for impact. But as I passed by I saw their faces and they didn't look angry or particularly mean in any way, so maybe 6 feet past the group I decided to stop, I slammed on my brakes only to look behind me to see one sad-looking, large black man lifting his crushed cellphone out of the snow. I couldn't believe myself. I love all types of people, I even sometimes think that I prefer black people to white people, but I found out that day that even I, am capable of a 'White Moment.' So let me end by saying to those guys that I am really sorry! After I saw the crushed cellphone and the disgusted looks I couldn't bear to talk to them, what was I supposed to say, Oh sorry I thought you were going to kill me... so I just waived left. I am not Perfect.

Welcome to My World

I am trying something new. I set up this blog to showcase something pretty important to me... comedy. I love the idea of making people laugh for a living but I want to do something a little bit more original if I possibly can. I am trying to introduce myself as an online comedian of sorts. I'd like you all to get to know me by listening to my daily blog-on-the-spot, where I will perform bits of stand up comedy or blurbs about life.

I am not the only comedian on the quest to be invented as an icon of the Blogg... there are some really funny sites out there right now, sites i will make refrence to often in my posts. Please check out my links!!