Category Archives: Personal

The Tale of the Magic Green Lighter

The story that I tell you is less of a story and more of a legend. A fabled fairy tale similar to Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. The only difference is that this story is 100% true, and I am telling it only to put a message out to people who will hopefully experience the same glory I did.

My freshman year in high school, I was walking down the street with my friends back from soccer tryouts. We were exhausted from two-a-days and were anxious to get home to sleep and eat. My friend was playing with his new Zippo lighter, as pyromania had swept my social group. We would walk around, setting leaves on fire and seeing who could flip their lighter aflame cooler. Today, my friend was babbling about something dumb while fingering his lighter open and closed, when suddenly, out of the corner or my eye, I see something bright green laying on the curb.

I reach down, and pick up a mini lighter. These lighters are the cheap ones you buy at the convenience stores because they’re 69 cents opposed to the $2.50 ones, only to realize that they’re so small that they crumble under your goliath thumb. However, this lighter was different. It had a rubber casing around it, the same way they make foam casings for ice coffee or cold beer. The casing was a bright green and had rubber grip to ensure a steady flick.

My friend looked back at me scooping up the lighter and said “what’s that?”
“A lighter” I said.
“Yo that shit’s weak. I find lighters on the ground all the time and they never work, that’s why people throw them.”

I tested the lighter out, and within two flicks there was a solid flame burning. Without even thinking twice, I put the lighter in my pocket and continued home. When I got home, I emptied my pockets and put the lighter in the back of my desk drawer. My freshman year of high school I didn’t even think about drugs or cigarettes or anything, and there was no need for a lighter unless it was a Zippo you could suavely light with your jeans.

So for years the lighter stayed in my desk drawer. I would periodically take it out, light it, wave it around, and then put it back in my drawer. I never smoked cigarettes, and didn’t start steadily smoking weed until my junior year, so my lighter was without a job. However, every time I took the lighter out of my drawer, I had two rules.

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the green casing

To this day I couldn’t tell you the actual color of the lighter.

Two years later, it was the end of my sophomore year. I went to my friend’s house to smoke weed for the first time, and right before I left they asked “do you have a lighter?” Instinctively I said “no” but remembered my adopted mini lighter with the green jacket. I shoved it in my pocket and walked down to my friend’s house. They were amazed by the lighter, and inspected the green rubber. “I didn’t know they made those things for mini lighters,” I remember one of them saying. I told them I had found it two years ago on the street, and I warned them not to take it out of the casing and not to shake it. Sure enough, the lighter ignited the bowl, and we enjoyed the night.

Fast forward a few months to the beginning of summer. The lighter remained in my desk drawer, safe in its own corner, snuggled warm in its green jacket. My close friend and I finally decided to have sex after talking about it, and I had her over my empty house late one night. After the awkward first-time of sex, she pulled out a cigarette and asked if I had a lighter. I reached into the desk drawer, and pulled out my mini green lighter. She laughed, toyed with the lighter a bit, and we went outside to smoke. After lighting her cigarette she asked “where did you get that lighter?” I told her I found it in the case two years ago on the side of the road. “Wow,” she said, “I’m surprised it still lights after two years.” I told her the two rules I had told my friends a few months before:

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the green casing

She handed me back the lighter, and I slipped it into my pocket.

By my junior year, I was bringing the lighter with me wherever I went. I would stuff it in my pocket before running out the door, and whenever someone asked for a lighter I’d show them the piece of treasure I found three years ago. They would cradle the small lighter in their hands, light it, and pass it around. It was like they were sharing a joint. Flick Flick Pass. Flick Flick Pass. Every time I would remind the kids:

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the magic green casing

By the time the end of my senior year arrived, I had brought the lighter to countless parties, showed it to dozens of awestruck underclassmen, and created the legacy of the mini green-cased lighter. People would ask “has that lighter burned out yet?” or “do you still have that cool green lighter?” I would tell them yes, and show them if I had it on me. But before handing it over, I would lay the ground rules.

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the magic green casing

While they passed it around I would tell them the story how I found it on the street my freshman year.

The scene: Me and a group of friends had just finished smoking at his house, and were walking down the street to get something to eat. In the frantic rush to get out of his house, I had stuffed the green lighter into the pocket of my pullover sweatshirt that I was carrying in my arms. After a hundred yards of walking, I felt the cool of the night and put my sweatshirt on. I ran to catch up with my friends, and after a few more minutes of walking we reached another place to smoke before getting food. As the kid pulled out the joint, I went to grab for my lighter.

Oh no.

I searched my pockets. My front, my back. Nothing. I asked my friends if any of them had it, but they all agreed that I had it last. I was angry. I was furious. I was so sad. It was like the end of a friendship that ended too soon. It was like I had lost a family pet.

But part of me was happy. Hopeful. I realized that the lighter was more than just a flame. It was more than a mini lighter in a green rubber case. It was a nomad; a traveling salesman that went from smoker to smoker. And, furthermore, it was never mine. I was simply a bus stop on its long winding road.

Most importantly, I think, was the symbolism behind the lighter. If nothing else, high school is a slew of ever-changing fads and trends, a time when nothing is certain or guaranteed. And while my friends came and went, styles changed and altered, and my views on life each chiseled me into who I am today, I had one thing that was definite. I had my mini lighter with a green rubber case. In the four years of high school my rules and perspectives adjusted to my lifestyle, yet I still had two definite rules that never altered:

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the magic green casing

You could translate the symbolism of my magic green lighter a number of ways. You could take it as living life in the moment and never checking to the end of “the fluid” of life. You could see it as having a safety blanket of something consistent. You could even say that the lighter was the devil being present during all my times of sinning.

But I take the lighter as a lesson that there is always something bigger than you. The lighter was never mine. Before me it belonged to someone else who possibly fell in love with it for years. And as I dropped that lighter on the curb the end of my senior year, I like to think that it was found by a small timid freshman the next day. I like to think that he picked up the lighter, showed it to his friends, and put it in his pocket before hurrying home. I like to think that he naively called it his lighter. I like to think that he will carry the lighter to every party he goes to, telling the tale of the lighter that he found buried in leaves on a hot summer day. And most importantly, I like to think that as he passes the lighter around with his friends—as each of them inspects the rubber casing and ignites it—he lists two rules:

Never check the fluid
Never unpeel the magic green casing

2 Comments

Filed under Personal

My Attempt At Poetry

As a child, they could not keep me from the playground
The basketball court sprinkled with 12-year-olds
Like athletic jimmies on a cupcake field

I am dirt crawling up your nose
Taking your nostrils hostage as the pitch comes
I am fouls ‘til midnight
No bunting
Leading no steal
No call back no recalls

I am seven outfielders, five infielders, a catcher and a pitcher

I am Nate Boit, the first kid to kick a homerun over the far fence
The ball crash landing on the pavement
Erupting of cheers from stunned opponents

I am stolen chalk from the blackboard to draw bases
The dust powdering our guilty fingerprints

I am a pitcher
Not a belly itcher
A batter
Not a broken ladder
Bases juiced with two outs
A dirty arm wiping sweat from a firm and determined brow

Panting chests harmonize around the bases
Blood pumping like its forcing a triple

I am a ground rule double off the basketball hoop
A foul ball over the slides

I am eyes darting around the pavement
Searching for gaping opportunity
A bouncing curveball skipping off the pavement like a rubber stone
A planted foot and a snapped knee
Muscles screaming
I am a high fly to center field

I am the clap of sneakers against tar
The frantic tracing of a falling meteor
I am a ball off the wall

I am a third base coach forgetting his lunch
Spinning his arms at his classmates
I am a long throw from center field
I am a force of adrenaline rounding second
A relay from deep center
Momentum circling third
A laser to the catcher

I am a play at the plate

I am out
No safe
No out

I am a long heated argument
Cursing and name calling

I am the bell to end recess
Sweaty children with grins dominating their face
I am friendships
I am memories

I am kickball

1 Comment

Filed under Personal, School, Sports

Boony, The Suspended Captain

I have very important news for you. It’s a little outdated, because when it comes to writing I delay deadlines like a Barry Bonds steroid trial, but it is very funny news that only calculates into my hilarious life. But first, like all stories, the background:

A few months ago, my school’s Varsity Soccer Team had a car wash to support funding towards our program. And like all car washes in my town, it is custom for the team washing cars to dress in—for lack of a better word—underwear. We wore spandex Under Armuor as pants, and took our shirts off as we paraded up and down Main Street with holding signs. We would yell “sexy car wash” and point at dirty cars. If anything, we took the same “Sex Sells” mentality used in alcohol, cigarette, and perfume commercials and brought it to a community scale. It was tradition in my town for every team to do it. The football team does it, the lacrosse team does it, and even the slutty cheerleaders do it.

Well, unfortunately, it was OUR carwash that got all the attention, and there were dozens of emails sent into the school complaining about our lack of clothing. There was even an article written in the town newspaper about our shenanigans. The next day at school, the athletic director pulled me and the other captains into his office and asked that we write an apology letter in response to all the criticism. So I did. This was the letter:

“Dear citizens of Arlington,

Saturday the 20th of September, the Arlington Boys Varsity Soccer had a car wash outside of the high school. Unfortunately, what we thought was fun and games turned out to be very offensive. Children of all ages saw us strutting around in our sports shorts, and with an event such as Town Day happening a block away, we didn’t consider the consequences of such immature humor. Kids our age have been having high school carwashes to support our teams, and what we thought was the norm turned out to be disastrous.

Obviously we assumed that people would take things lightly, but in retrospect we see that being in public with a large population is not the proper place to be so exposed. No one thought of the repercussions of acting the way we did. Many people enjoyed the fun, but there were many more that deemed our actions to be juvenile and inappropriate, and for that we apologize. Years to come, our behavior will certainly be fitting and we hope not to scare you away from something we enjoy doing and will be doing again.

Boys Varsity soccer invites you to come and watch us play to prove to you that we are not a bunch of hooligans who dance around half-naked in hopes of getting car wash sales. All of us realize that what we did was unintentionally offensive and we promise you it will not happen again. Little children should not have been exposed to what they saw, and many of the emails the school received were from concerned parents hoping to put a stop before things got too inapt in the future. Like the mature kids we are we sincerely express regret for what we did and thank you for helping us fix our mistakes.

So as the captains of the varsity soccer team, I hope you accept this apology. Arlington is the town we love and we are proud to represent our pride through a sport we love, and we would never mean to offend you. Clearly we will act more mature next time we have a fund raiser, and we hope we didn’t scare you off. Kindly accept this apology.

—Sincerely, Boony and the entire Boys Varsity Soccer Team”

The letter seems good right? It thoroughly apologizes throughout the entire letter, and it even encourages people to look past the car wash event and see us play soccer. The athletic director loved it, and I even got it published in the paper as a response to the angry editorial. The publisher I sent it to even said, “I’m sure this wasn’t an easy letter to write, and I commend you for doing so.” You like it right?

Okay good. Now, look at the same letter, only write down the first letter of every sentence. I highlighted them for you:

“Dear citizens of Arlington,

Saturday the 20th of September, the Arlington Boys Varsity Soccer had a car wash outside of the high school. Unfortunately, what we thought was fun and games turned out to be very offensive. Children of all ages saw us strutting around in our sports shorts, and with an event such as Town Day happening a block away, we didn’t consider the consequences of such immature humor. Kids our age have been having high school carwashes to support our teams, and what we thought was the norm turned out to be disastrous.

Obviously we assumed that people would take things lightly, but in retrospect we see that being in public with a large population is not the proper place to be so exposed. No one thought of the repercussions of acting the way we did. Many people enjoyed the fun, but there were many more that deemed our actions to be juvenile and inappropriate, and for that we apologize. Years to come, our behavior will certainly be fitting and we hope not to scare you away from something we enjoy doing and will be doing again.

Boys Varsity soccer invites you to come and watch us play to prove to you that we are not a bunch of hooligans who dance around half-naked in hopes of getting car wash sales. All of us realize that what we did was unintentionally offensive and we promise you it will not happen again. Little children should not have been exposed to what they saw, and many of the emails the school received were from concerned parents hoping to put a stop before things got too inapt in the future. Like the mature kids we are we sincerely express regret for what we did and thank you for helping us fix our mistakes.

So as the captains of the varsity soccer team, I hope you accept this apology. Arlington is the town we love and we are proud to represent our pride through a sport we love, and we would never mean to offend you. Clearly we will act more mature next time we have a fund raiser, and we hope we didn’t scare you off. Kindly accept this apology.

—Sincerely, Boony and the entire Boys Varsity Soccer Team”

That’s right.  My apology letter has a secret message that spells out SUCK ON MY BALL SACK.  I know, it’s funny. It’s straight up hilarious. It is literary genius. Apparently, it’s illegal. When the letter got published in the paper, I told my teammates. They told people, who told people. In time, the entire school knew, and then teachers knew, and then my coach knew. As discipline, I became the only captain in Arlington Varsity Soccer History to have his captainship “indefinitely suspended”. It was given to my friend Mike, who deserved it, but didn’t want to accept it as a substitute.

I didn’t really fight the issue; there were only two weeks left in the season and I figured that I deserved it. All that is proven by this situation is that if you do something amazing that deserves to be bragged about, wait a little bit before telling everyone about it. Part of me wishes I never did it, or changed the hidden message to something less immature; but the other half thinks that this proves my creative writing style and I am happy to show people what I am capable of. The days after the letter hit the school and people found out that a goofy stunt like that lost my captainship, I was approached by dozens in the hall praising me for such a cool act. I had stuck it to the man. I had slipped one past authorities. I had suspended my captainship for comedy.

2 Comments

Filed under Comedy, Personal, School

Whatever Happened To That Kid On Made . . .?

A long time back I talked about how a kid at my school named Colin Colt was on MTV’s MADE to become a rapper and now I rap battled him to get on TV. For those of you who didn’t get to see the show, I had probably a 20 second cameo in which I busted the ill rhymes and made Colin my bitch. There was luckily someone recording it in the crowd so you guys can get an unedited version of the battle:

Colin went first:

The kid who screamed “MADE” in the beginning was my friend Joe, who was determined to make the videos obsolete with outbursts of profanity. Colin’s hit line “at least I don’t go to parties, get drunk and hook up with guys” is based off a massive school-wide rumor that I went to a party, got drunk, and got a hand job from a gay kid. This of course, is not true, but my friends and I still joke about it and, of course, I still get shit for it. Colin’s second big hit (“. . . go around dancing, while checking around for dateline’s Chris Hanson”) is because before I had a girlfriend I was notorious for hitting on younger girls. Not because I thought they were hot, but because most of the girls in my grade looked like if you touched them they’d be sticky. However, Colin slumped towards the end, studdering some oddly brokeback line: “that would put me on top of you.”

I retaliated:

My lines are self-explanatory, I just made fun of Colin and how goofy he is. On the aired TV show they only showed the last ten seconds, only since it had to be edited it went like this:

“Colin I know I diss you and that’s just ‘cause I’m the meanest
‘Cause in the dirty game of rap you’re definitely the cleanest
So overall, I hope there’s no real beef between us
And if there is then *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep*”

At first I thought my 15 minutes of fame had passed with the show. When I got hired at work, I had to rap battle a few kids there, and of course I was asked on the streets to bust a few freestyles. I complied with all these requests, but mainly just to boost my ever-growing ego. One things that struck me as freaky was when one guy was pulling out of a parking lot, slowed down his car, and said “Hey aren’t you that kid from MADE?” I couldn’t help but feel like a star. For a while, I was a superstar. A Z-List celebrity, but a celebrity nonetheless.

And then I thought it was over. Aside from having a good story to tell and being the life of my family reunions (“Grandma! I beat this kid in a rap battle by telling him to suck my fucking penis!”) I thought my eminence was over. And then I got the call.

It was my last day of finals at AHS, and I went up to the room where my girlfriend was taking her test. When I got there, the teacher, who I rarely talk to, called me aside and said she needed to talk to me in private. We went out in the hall and closed the door and she half-whispered:

“The principal got a call from a producer at Nickelodeon who saw you on MTV. She said that she’s looking for kids to be on a TV show and when she saw you she thought you looked the part. The principal is waiting for you in his office with the lady’s phone number and all that.”

I went down to the office, got the phone number, and called the lady. When I mentioned that my name was Alex she didn’t remember me, saying that she saw me as “Boony” and assumed that was my real name. We talked for a while and she said that she was told to look for—and I quote—“A Justin Timberlake look-alike.” To this I laughed in her face, saying that I look more like JT’s dog than him. Let’s compare:

The lady asked me to send her a few pictures along with a resume about my abilities. Talent-wise, I have nothing. I can play two and a half songs on the piano, I can juggle, and I can say the alphabet backwards. Unfortunately, the show I’m auditioning for isn’t about a dyslexic piano playing juggler, it’s about a boy band. I sent her the pictures, and she called me and asked me to come out to New York for an audition the next day. Feeling rushed and unorganized, I immediately found a replacement for work, told everyone I saw, and went to bed early. And by “went to bed early” I mean stayed up all night predicting my future career.

The show she was doing was apparently about a boy band—hence me needing to be able to sing, act, and dance. Unfortunately, I can only sing in the shower and dance whenever we’re acting goofy during a techno song. As for acting, I think the extent of my performing arts talent is displayed whenever I need to stay home “sick” from school. My character on the show, whose name was “Donovan”, was the lead singer of the band and was described as having “enough music and dance stuffed in his soul that he could carry the group on stage by himself.” This is ironic, because if I got the part, I would most certainly be the retarded member of the band who just flails around and acts retarded (also known as Lance Bass).

On the phone, the lady told me I had to read a script and sing a song. Immediately, the song I thought of was Afternoon Delight as sung by Will Ferrell in “Anchorman”. But the lady made it clear that the producers were expecting a Backstreet Boys or N Sync song, limiting my options. Luckily, I still own the Backstreet Boy’s “Millennium” album on cassette, so selecting a song wouldn’t be so difficult. The only challenging part about singing a Backstreet Boys song became the fact that I’m painfully tone-deaf. Regardless, I selected I Want It That Way and started practicing.

Now normally, when an actor prepares for a roll, they do intensive research. Tom Cruise spent months learning Japanese to star in “The Last Samurai” and Christian Bale lost over 60 pounds to make a lasting performance in “The Machinist”. I, on the other hand, had less than 24 hours to practice for my audition, so my preparation consisted of me gelling my hair.

I went with my friend Adam to Nickelodeon Studios in New York City, taking a five hour bus trip there. When I got to New York, I could sense the smell of opportunity, hope, and gonorrhea. I decided that if I ever lived in New York, I would most certainly get stabbed to death. My friend, however, was a natural in the big city, pushing through crowds and aggressively cutting off traffic. I personally think New York City is disgusting. I think everything smells like a garbage truck drove by, and everyone seems like they just ate shit. When I wasn’t maneuvering around shoulders, I was trying to dodge traffic. I later found out that in the Big Apple, most traffic lights are optional. So is courtesy.

My interview with the Nickelodeon was the most disappointing thing ever. I went into the studio, signed in, and sat on a bench for five minutes. I was then called into the studio, asked to read the script, and sing the song. I honestly wish they could have showed people how horrible I sang, because it would have made William Hung look like Michael Bolton. Total, my time in front of the camera look less than two minutes. I’ve seen cows get slaughtered slower than that. Disappointed, my friend and I took a bus back home, spending a total of $100 each in the whole day.

Was it worth it? Yes. If I hadn’t taken the opportunity I would have been kicking myself for letting such a big chance go by me. But I now know that I can’t sing, act, or dance, so when the next opportunity arises I’ll be able to better predict the outcome. I guess I’ll just have to stick to being the best rapper in the school. Nickelodeon, I have no problem with you, and I hope there’s no beef between us.

And if there is then *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep*

2 Comments

Filed under Comedy, Joke, Jokes, Movies, Personal

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I saw Ashley again today. She was gorgeous. I saw her coming out of her house across the street, but I don’t think she saw me because I was hiding in a tree. I hide in the tree about three times a week. If you climb to the top you can see into her window. I once went there at night and saw her sleeping. I didn’t wake her up though, that would just be mean.

The reason I was in the tree was to see if Ashley got the jar of blood I sent her. I mailed it to her about a week ago but I didn’t get a letter back. I even signed the letter “Your Secret Love.” I don’t think she knows it’s me, we barely talk. One time she asked if she could borrow a pen and I offered her mine but Turner Ralsel gave her his first. I was so mad that I stabbed Turner’s voodoo doll with a needle. Even though Turner and Ashley are going out, I know that she loves me. I know so much more about her than me. Does Turner have a doll made of Ashley’s hair? No. Does Turner watch Ashley sleep from a tree branch? No. Ashley and I are soulmates.

In 7th grade Ashley sent me a Valentine Card. She gave one to everyone in Ms. Fuller’s class but I knew that mine was extra special. I was going to give Ashley a jar of my blood, but she said that it was gross and ran away. She’s so cute when she plays hard to get. Turner got her a big stuffed bear and a box of chocolates, which is so unoriginal. For being so cliché I burnt a leg of Turner’s voodoo doll, but I don’t think it worked. I know Ashley secretly wanted my jar of blood.

In 8th grade it became illegal for me to go near Ashley when they found me stealing her clothes from her gym locker. I was simply checking them for sweat stains to smell. I had to stay 50 yards away from her and she even moved. I think it’s adorable that Ashley would play so hard to get, especially because no one listens to those restraining orders anyway. I know she wants me, I can see it through her window.

Turner’s beaten me up a lot over Ashley, but he doesn’t know how much I love her. I once went through the garbage to dig out Ashley’s chewed gum. It still tasted a bit like grape. I added it to my collection. Does Turner have a collection of Ashley’s already chewed gum? No. I obviously love her more.

I went onto Ashley’s Facebook and found a picture of her kissing Turner. I photo-shopped my face onto his and put it as my background. Ashley and I are so perfect together. When my mom saw my background she told me I was deranged, but she doesn’t understand the bond Ashley and I have.

I think I’m going to ask Ashley out. Just because she’s going out with Turner doesn’t mean she can’t love me. Besides, once I cut of the head of Turner’s voodoo doll, she’ll need someone to console her. We can listen to My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. I know Ashley likes that song. I can hear her listening to it through her window. I bought Ashley Titanic on DVD, but I don’t think she opened it. Probably because it was attached to a jar of my blood.

Ashley and I are in love, even if she hasn’t realized it yet. Maybe when I cut off her skin and wear it as a suit she’ll know what it feels like to be close to me. I want to wear Ashley’s skin.

-J.R.

Leave a comment

Filed under Personal

Beat Your Children Before They Wind Up On “Sweet 16”

Not to many of you knew it, but I have been spending the last two weeks of my summer at my grandparents’ house in Holland, also known as “The Netherlands.” My time here as been well spent, and by “well spent” I mean that I want to go home now. All the other times I’ve been to Europe I’ve gone to Italy or France and now it sucks. Instead of being able to lie out in the sun all day it’s rained all week and the most exciting thing I’ve seen is a windmill that makes wheat. You know what else makes wheat? Massive factories in the Midwest that don’t require pussy wind.

But my least favorite part of coming to Holland is dealing with my spoiled cousin Justine. My cousin is so annoying that I’ve actually complained about her on my last trip to Europe, but this year is so much worse. Since she lives a few blocks from my grandparents, I have to hang out in her room and play with her toys. Every day. You see, Justine is an “only child,” and the readers of this site know how much I hate those kids. Only Childs are created when the parents are too much of pussies to deal with a second child, so instead they spend 80% of their finances making sure that the first child is the best. The result? Spoiled assholes on “My Sweet 16” crying because their parents didn’t buy them the BMW M6 convertible in pink.

Justine is only seven years old, so I don’t blame her for craving attention. In fact, I’m not as mad at Justine as I am at her parents, my aunt and uncle. It’s not her fault that she screams and whines and annoys everyone around her to the point where they give in to her demands, it’s the fault of her parents for allowing her to think that’s the proper behavior. In my family, whining for a toy would get you one thing: smacked in the face. Have you ever been smashed in the face with an elbow? I’ll tell you one thing: it’ll make you care a lot less about the G.I. Joe Fighter Jet with retractable wings.

Justine’s parents wouldn’t dare hit her. They don’t even yell at her. Hell, I’d be damned if they’ve ever parented her! They’re essentially her bitches. Justine gets whatever she wants one way or another, simply by screaming at them. You see, when you only have one child, you want to make sure that that child loves you unconditionally. Whereas other parents have a second or third child to give their attention to when one claims to “hate them,” the parents of only childs have to make sure that their offspring never consider hating them. So, when Justine wants to stay an extra 10 minutes in the playground when dinner is already on the table, all she has to scream is “I HATE YOU DADDY I HATE YOU!” and the father is suddenly in defense. He doesn’t want his child hating him, so what can he do to fix it? Well, I guess another 10 minutes on the jungle gym is okay if it makes her stop hating you, right? Wrong. Your daughter has just made you her bitch, and you can just stand off to the side and watch her go down the slide while your dinner gets cold, you spineless bastard.

Justine never gets disciplined. Her parents are scared to discipline her for fear of her hating them. Instead, they justify her tantrums with bullshit excuses. “Oh, she had to wake up at 8:15 this morning, that’s why she’s really grouchy.” No, your daughter is grouchy because she’s a spoiled bitch who is given whatever she wants. Grow a pair and tell your daughter No.

Does anyone else remember the Clean Plate Club? It was an exclusive group that you wanted to be in, and you could only join if everything on your dinner plate was gone. And I mean eaten, you couldn’t slip your extra ham to the dog or else you were rejected at the door by the Clean Plate Club bouncer. And everyone in the Clean Plate Club got dessert! But only if you were in the club. If you weren’t, you had to sit with your dinner plate in front of you and watch as everyone else sucked down their Creamsicles while you stared at the broccoli in front of you. No Clean Plate Club; no dessert.

Well apparently the Clean Plate Club was bought out by an asshole with only one child, and he changed the name to It Doesn’t Matter How Much Food Is Left On Your Plate Because All You Have To Do Is Complain And You Automatically Get Dessert Club. Out of the two weeks I was here, my cousin didn’t finish a single meal. In fact, she didn’t even have to eat the food that she didn’t want to; my grandmother individually picked the mushrooms out of Justine’s lasagna while the rest of us simply picked around them. Yet at the end of dinner, after all my food was eaten and Justine’s plate looked like Nichole Richie had just picked at it, we all got the same amount of dessert. And if Justine wanted more ice cream, she just had to complain and boom—she would have seconds.

My anger reached its limit last night when we were at dinner. As a side, we had french fries. In Europe, it is custom to put mayonnaise on your french fries, potatoes, etc. The night before we had potatoes, so there was a very small amount of mayonnaise left. Aware of this, my sister got the tube out and finished it off, only getting enough for maybe three or four fries. Justine then parades to the table and demands mayo. She refuses to eat without it and runs away from the table crying. CRYING. This child is crying because she didn’t get a condiment she wanted.

Well guess what happened. Justine’s parents took half of my sister’s mayo and gave it to Justine, who wasted it all on one fry and then ate her other 20 plain. Outraged at what had just happened, I decided to write this post.

Shit like this would never have happened in my family. Ever. Not only because I wasn’t an only child, but because my parents are pussies who play to their children’s pathetic needs. You know what would have happened if I had left the dinner table in a tantrum over mayonnaise? My dinner plate would have been emptied into the toilet and I wouldn’t have been allowed to eat. My parents took no bullshit from anyone. I specifically remember having timeouts so long I could feel my chin-hairs growing. You know my father’s favorite line? “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

I think my parents favorite form of discipline was the wooden spoon. If me and my brother started bickering or if I was being stubborn, my mom would get a look on her face that meant business. She would grow silent and rush to the kitchen, where I would hear her open a drawer, rummage through cutlery, and slam the drawer shut.

Run.

I would scamper anywhere I could find. Behind the couch, under the coffee table, or into my room, I would scurry for safety, but not before my mom got a few good smacks on my head with the tool. To this day I never look at a wooden spoon the same. My dad, on the other hand, would use only his hands, which he managed to transform into amazing weapons of discipline. Whether it was a few smacks across the head a tight “Grab and drag” of my arm down the hallway, I would be yelled at if I was late to dinner, cried over something idiotic, or even thought about acting spoiled.

I’m glad my parents hit me, too. Because I see now what would have happened to me if I hadn’t. I see kids my age crying over spilt milk and getting whatever they want. My girlfriend was also hit, and because of that she doesn’t take anything for granted. You definitely won’t see her bitching about wanting more mayonnaise. That might be because she hates mayonnaise, but you get the point.

Because Justine was never beat or yelled at or even contradicted, she has become the world’s biggest bitch. At age seven! She thinks she can control everyone and if they don’t do exactly what she says, she gets upset. Here is a conversation I overheard between her and my sister who were playing “pretend”:

Justine– Pretend that you’re my mom and that I’m the prettiest girl in the world. Pretend that I have to go away to camp. “Goodbye mother, I’m going off the camp.” Now say ‘how long will you be gone?’
My sister [emotionless]- “How long will you be gone?”
Justine– “Just two weeks.” Now say ‘Two weeks?! That’s so long!”
My sister– Two weeks, that’s so long.
Justine– Now say that you want to come with me.
My sister– “I’m going to have your father go with you”
Justine– NO SAY THAT YOU WANT TO COME WITH ME!
My sister– “I want to come with you”
Justine– “No, I want dad to go with me”

Whenever I call Justine out on her bitchiness she ignores me. On multiple occasions I’ve asked “Why are you being so mean?” only for her to turn her back and walk away. Luckily I’ve leaving tomorrow so I’ll no longer have to fight the urge to shove my foot down her throat. Kids like these should be shipped off to a military school where they are shown how to respect people older than them and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Hopefully I won’t see my cousin for another 10 years or so, but I suspect I’ll see her on a future episode of “Sweet 16.” No doubt she’ll want a car filled with mayonnaise.

2 Comments

Filed under Comedy, Personal

The Hardest Question Ever Asked

The other day, my co-workers and I were discussing a topic that normally takes place in a bakery: who is the hottest “Austin Powers” Girl? Now for those of you who haven’t seen the three “Austin Powers” Movies, the girls are:

Elizabeth Hurley from “Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery”

Heather Graham from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me

Beyoncé Knowles from “Austin Powers in Goldmember”

Now obviously based on looks, most guys would agree that the order goes Beyoncé with Heather in close second and then Elizabeth in back, but my co-workers and I also factored in humor and acting skills. Comically, the order was changed to Heather (who was 2nd in both categories), Beyoncé (who was the worst actress since Tom Cruise, but whose beauty is unprecedented), and then Elizabeth Hurley (who, although being a model and actress, was put into last place because she’s British). Now personally I would get with any of these actresses in the blink of an eye, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Because although this conversation with my co-workers is one that ignites between any teenage crowd watching the Austin Powers series, this one sparked a new question. Although to call it a question would be like calling Hitler “a little bit racist”; this question was more of an undeterminable debate amongst the human race.

The question is, of course, who is the hottest girl alive? Now before you do some stupid assuming and yell out “OMG I WUD TTLY DO MARIAH CAREY! LOL!” let me explain the rules. The qualifications for these girls is that they come with “no strings attached”—that is, while considering the woman, you pay no attention to her personality, background, or past boyfriends. We are going by the idea that you were knocked unconscious and forgot any celebrity gossip in the past and you were looking at these girls for the first time. Also, the women need to be semi-famous. When I discussed the topic with other girls, I got dumb responses like “There was this cameo by a man in Sex and the City and his mom’s niece in the show was the most gorgeous women I had ever seen.” They don’t have to be big names; they just have to be recognizable names. Lastly, I know that when it comes to the looks of women there are different types. So in order to make things easier, I will split the competition into three categories, which I will describe here as stages of Britney Spear’s life:

The Goody-Girl

This is the girl who you would keep around just because she’s an angel and keeps you out of trouble. You know that with this girl your relationship would never hit a rough spot and everything would be easy sailing. Her looks are based more off of clear skin and cute smile than anything, and you know that if you were to play with her it would include fewer condoms and more Barbie dolls.

The Bad Girl

This is the girl who could probably kick your ass. You don’t dare pick a fight with her because it would result with you on your back crying Uncle. You keep her around because her fierce attitude scares you in a way nothing else can. You would gladly fight a bear or wrestle an alligator than forget your one year anniversary with this girl. After playing around with this girl you’d need three shirts on so no one sees the scars on your back.

The Psycho

This girl could undoubtedly kick your ass, and she has the spiked bracelet to prove.
There’s really nothing attractive about this girl, other than the always sexual idea that if you were to upset her she would slit your throat. In fact, the only thing keeping you with this girl is the fear of your dick being thrown out of a moving car into a field. To prevent yourself from being chopped up and kept in a freezer, you stay with this girl and endure the excruciating and terrifying sex, all-the-while begging that someone spots the Morse Code S.O.S. you’re flashing with your phone. Playing around with this girl would unquestionably involve whips, chains, leather dominatrix suits, and you crying like a bitch.

After much debate and talking with other girls, I feel that I have safely come up with my decision for the hottest girl ever: My girlfriend.

Hahaha just kidding, here are my real candidates for the hottest girl in each category. They are as follows:

The Goody-Girl—Jessica Alba

I feel that if I were to share an apartment with Jessica Alba, the worst thing she would ever do during our 15 years together is overflow her cereal bowl. And even then she would thoroughly apologize and immediately clean it up. She is arguably the cutest thing since Furbie, and probably listens when you ask her to be quiet—something Furbies are yet to do.

My Runners Up: Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Aniston.

The Bad Girl—Megan Fox

The piercing color in this girl’s eyes is enough to make a grown man cry, and her body is enough to have him coming back for more. I feel that if Megan and I ever shared an apartment together, she’s get the bigger bedroom and my bedroom, forcing me to sleep in the closet. We would watch whatever channel she wanted to watch, which would most likely be wrestling or dirt-bike racing. In an interview with Maxim, Megan admitted that she “really enjoys having sex,” a thought that makes more than hope rise in many men (swing and a miss).

My Runners Up: Courtney Cox and Angelina Jolie

The Psycho—Carmen Electra

Carmen Electra is one of the hottest girls alive, but I’d be too afraid to tell her for fear of her whipping a razor from her titties and attacking me. In fact, I’m a little scared that she’s reading this now, finding out my personal information and a planning to kill me in my sleep. The things I would do to this girl are enough to send me to confessional, and the things this girl would do to me are enough to send her to jail.

My Runners Up: Lil’ Kim and Rosie O’Donnell

I would be glad to know what you think of my girls, and I encourage everyone to try to answer to unanswerable question. Do you agree with me? Who are other potential Runner Ups? My co-workers and I dare you to answer the question. If you think you have a good idea, just leave a comment. I probably won’t read it for a while though; I think I have to fix things with my girlfriend.

2 Comments

Filed under Comedy, Joke, Movies, Personal