It's been a while. Lots to get to. Let's not waste time. And by that I mean let's waste a whole shit-load of time, because I have twenty items to get out there, and so here today are the first ten. But first, how about you do Deej a favor and look at the right side of this page at the brand new "Follow by email" section. Go ahead and put yours in there if you somewhat enjoy what you see here. This way you don't have to rely on seeing my facebook links when a new post shows up. Cool? Cool. Cool cool cool... Ok, now it's go time. Get naked and settle in. Here we go:

I. NOT READING MY BLOG IS LIKE HAVING CABLE PROBLEMS

When you don't read my blog, you're left woefully unenlightened. When you feel unenlightened, you overcompensate by trying to fool people in casual, public conversation by preaching your weak political views. When you politically pontificate, you anger the other mental-giants in the room and make things generally awkward. When people feel awkward, they fall back upon bad jokes and questions they don't care about like "So how's work?" When people don't give a shit about your answers, they fabricate a reason to abandon the conversation by saying they'll be right back after getting another drink. When people "get another drink" seven or eight times, they get tired and want to drive home. When people drive home drunk, they kill children.......... Don't be responsible for the death of a child. Read my blog.

II. THERE'S ONLY ONE ZOOEY DESCHANEL...AND IT'S NOT YOU.

It seems like every girl who a) has watched the FOX network in the last few months, and b) has even a mildly quirky personality believes that "Oh, my God that "New Girl" is SOOOOO me!" Then they sing the theme song, inserting their own name into the lyrics. "Who's that giiiirl? Who's that giiiiiiiiiiiiiirl? It's [first name here]!"

Guess what. It's not you.

It's kinda like that Van Morrison song, "Brown Eyed Girl." Believe it or not, it's happened on more occasions than I can count on my fingers and toes (and I have 30 of each, just sayin') that when said song comes on, a girl somewhere within ear shot goes, "Ooo! It's my song!" They typically points to their eyes too, as if whomever they're with hadn't either already noticed or obviously inferred that their fucking eyes are brown... No, but you're right. I'm sure Van Morrison had YOU in mind when writing that. ('You seem kinda angry today...' It's Monday. Of course I'm angry).

Lastly, regarding the heading of this particular blog item, Zooey, if it IS you reading this, stop reading and call me immediately. You and I need to break a sweat together... I'm trademarking that phrase. Well, that and the name Blue Ivey. They're mine.

III. QUICK HITTERS PART ONE

- I bet all girls who really like the NBA are whores.

- Speaking of the NBA, I was talking about someone I really don't like (I think it was Glen "Big Baby" Davis), specifically about his Celtic days, and the person with whom I was conversing said "He put the 'ton' in Boston." And I replied by saying, he's put the 'pussy' in the word "pussy." We laughed. I wrote it down. And now here it is for you to enjoy. Boom, see how that works?

- Electric cars are a good idea, but if I were to drive one, I bet it would take me a while before I became comfortable with the idea that I wouldn't be able to hear/feel the rumble and hum of the engine while driving along. At traffic lights, I would instinctively think my car had stalled, etc... For that reason, if and when I do ever acquire one, I'm going to burn a CD of my own recorded voice making typical car noises. There will be two tracks on the CD, to which I'd refer as "moving" and "stopped." Each track will be 38 minutes in length so I don't have to rewind too frequently. The former will simply involve me trilling my r's repeatedly and randomly varying in pitch and volume, hoping that it syncs up with my actual speed - "Brrrrrrrrr-aaaah, brrrrrrrr-aaaah! brrrr-aaaaaaAAAHH, BRRRRR-AAAAH!" - you get the idea. The latter, the quieter track, will consist solely of me essentially saying the word "brub" over and over again to simulate an idle engine stopped at a traffic light or such - "brubbrubbrubbbrubbrubbrubbrubbrubbrub" and so on for 38 minutes. I'm not worried about having music to listen to either because I have an iPad2, so radio/playlists are taken care of. This should not have been in the quick hitters section. Dammit.

- Ya know, for as popular as "Entourage" was, I don't think it's going down in history as anything really worthwhile. So it was pretty much the story of Mark Wahlberg's career....Aaaaaand??!?!..... I would have rather watched six seasons (or however many there were) of Andy Samberg doing Mark Wahlberg impressions and talking to animals on SNL. Also, Jeremy Piven fuckin' stinks.

- How come there are no white people with the last name "Dawkins?" And why are so many Dawkins's really athletic?

- They should make toilets where you can lay down to drop a 2. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking - what about the inevitable pee that follows? And my answer is simple - I don't know what to tell ya. Deal with it. I just want to lay down. ('Wait, so you'd be okay with getting pee on yourself?' Well, at least then I'd know what it's like to be any girl I've been with recently...).

- I sat staring and thinking about deleting that last one about toilets for 11 minutes just now because I almost made myself throw up writing it. But, you all have to know that it's all in jest by now, so....yeah, whatever, moving on.

IV. IT JUST DIDN'T SEEM RIGHT!

Person A: "So how was it?"

DJ: "I don't know. Something just seemed a little....not right."

Person A: "What do you mean 'not right'? Did it go really badly?"

DJ: "No, it was just like.... I don't know, like if you met a hispanic woman who said her name was Carol."

Person A: "...............What?"

DJ: "You know, if you meet a Spanish mami, you'd expect her to be an Isabella (Eees-a-bella) or something, not fuckin' Carol. Carol's a white soccer mom. It just wouldn't seem right."

Person A: "Have you actually met a hispanic woman named Carol?"

DJ: "No... That'd be ridiculous."

V. NO SERIOUSLY, WHO WOULD YOU EAT?

This is another item that stemmed from a funny/absurd conversation, but I don't feel like doing it dialogue-style again, and this is also the designated "If you're gonna comment, do it about this one" item, so I want you to know that I really want an answer here.

I won't even bother with posing a ludicrous hypothetical scenario like "You're stuck on an island and you haven't eaten in a week, blah blah blah...." Forget all that. Just answer the following: if you had to eat ('Are we being lude and disgustingly sexual here?' No. When I say "eat," I mean "physically ingest the entirety of") one person, who would it be? And to take it a step further, how would you prepare him/her?

Would you eat a celebrity? Does physical attractiveness have anything to do with it? Like, do you suppose Liv Tyler would taste better than Steven Tyler because she's pretty and he looks like the thing from Tales from the Crypt?

Would you even eat someone you like/respect? Or would you go the other way and eat a mortal enemy so later in life you can say things like "Yeah, that motherfucker always gave me a hard time, so I fucking ATE him, hashtag boom-roasted." (Get the pun?).

Personally, that's how I'd do it. I'd pick someone I don't like, and preferably a small person, because I'm guessing I won't like the taste, despite the veritable cauldron of A1 sauce I'd pour on the sum-bitch....Now, who do I hate that's small?....hmmmmmmmm......

........Actually, ya know what, fuck it. Meryl Streep. That's who I'm eating. Barbecued. And when people ask me how she was, I'll say "I don't know what all the hub-bub was about. It was REALLY NEVER THAT GREAT!"

('Really? All that just was setup just so you could go after the greatest actress of the past half-century?' Well...yeah.)

VI. INSERT WEAK MASK METAPHOR HERE...

I find it boundlessly interesting that during business trips, after I've wrapped up all my work for the day and head out to a bar/restaurant for dinner in whatever town I'm in, people are almost always ready to engage me in conversation. And I think that in most cases, it's because they can just feel the, ummmm, "not from around here"-ness that I apparently exude... Of course, wearing a Phillies hat in Boston is kind of a dead give away, but still. People can just tell.

I also recently decided that it's not satisfying enough to simply continue to observe this phenomenon, but rather, after three of years of this, it's about time I up the ante a bit and start inventing identities...That's right. And I could certainly use your input here. Be as detailed as you'd like, I'll think it over, try my best to match your description, then will be sure to report on my experience next time. Could be interesting.

Of course, there are limits. I can't say I'm a fuckin' astronaut or a rock star or something because I wouldn't be able to answer questions about the former and don't drive a car indicative of the lifestyle of the latter. But, I can still be creative. For example, while I'm not a monster, I'm also not a small person. So, the last time I was in MA, I managed to convince a throng of shmuck-ish ('Is shmuck-ish a word?' No, but I think the meaning is obvious and I think it's funny, so I'm introducing it) Patriots fans that I made it to the last round of cuts during the team's 2006 training camp, trying out as a reserve tight end. One of these football-crazed assholes even said he lives and dies with the Pats, that he's always on the team website, has saved all his memorabilia, etc., he was there when Tom Brady did this or that blah blah blah, and that "Yeah, you [meaning me] looked kinda familiar. I think I remember you..." What a jackass.

Don't get me wrong, most of the time these conversations are indeed directed towards women. But honestly, it's almost less fun that way because while they find the out-of-town-ness equally if not even more interesting (kinda like how all chicks have a thing for a dude with an European accent), they also tend to have their guard up a bit more, keeping a close eye on their bullshit-radar (Conversely, a bunch of drunk dudes at a sports bar will believe anything you tell them because why the fuck would some out of towner lie to them?). Moreover, after the first few minutes, women tend to do what women tend to do, which is to say steer the conversation in a way that centers exclusively around them. And that's fine, but then it's just like any other ole' time I hit on a girl and buy her drinks, except now I'm a pediatrician/ninja who's in town to help his brother teach young kids the finer points of trapeze....

And no, I don't typically get laid by pulling this shit.

VII. YEAH, I MAKE PUZZLES. WHAT OF IT?

No for real, I make crossword puzzles. At least, I'm just starting to try to. Don't believe me? Go here:

www.crossword.info/dmazz109

The grid patters, clues, and answers are all my original shit. Go do them.

I'm gonna keep posting more of these, but it takes a while. You wouldn't believe how fucking hard these things are to make! Did you know each puzzle has to be exactly diagonally symmetrical, and that you're not really allowed to have more than 1/6 of the tiles be black squares? AND every letter in the puzzles must be part of an across and down answer? AND that every answer must be at least three letters in length? ('So why the fuck do you do it then!?!?' Jeez, I've never heard you curse at me before...I dunno, it's fun.)

VIII. IT JUST DOESN'T SEEM NECESSARY!

Nobody looks their best or feels their best immediately after getting off a plane. For this reason as well as many others, I wonder why airports insist on placing mirrors directly above the urinals in the bathrooms. Never - and to reiterate, especially not after exiting an airplane - do I really need to look at myself while I take a piss. There's no reason for it. I mean, I look at myself in the mirror with my junk in my hands enough as it is while in the comfort of my own home...('Kidding? Please?' Yes, relax).

The only possible answer here is that maybe some folks feel comfortable knowing what's happening behind them in case they think someone's otherwise going to come up and strangle them while they're peeing. But that still seems silly, doesn't it? In fact, I bet that on far too many occasions, the current urinator looks into the mirror and inadvertently makes eye contact with the person waiting immediately behind them, and who is also likely anxiously tapping his foot and taking long, deep, impatient breaths. And that just makes for an awkward situation, right? Like, what is the guy supposed to do, pee faster? Eliminate shake-time? Because then he'd get piss all in his underwear, and nobody wants that. So, simple solution - just get rid of the goddamn mirrors. If you want to see yourself, wash your dirty, pissy hands when you're done and look then. Boom, problem solved.

IX. QUICK HITTERS PART TWO

- I recently heard of this product called "lip venom." Apparently it's designed to essentially burn a woman's lips so they swell / get puffier. Interesting. And why doesn't someone market this exact product to Asian men?.... (Come on, you're almost there, keep thinking......There ya go. It's a dick joke. Good job).

- Can we all just agree to bring back the sunglasses-dip move that was so prevalent on 80's movie posters? You know what I'm talking about - like when a girl in a bikini walks past a couple guys on the beach in slow motion, they both look at her and dip their sunglasses to get a better view... It used to be EVERYWHERE! And now it's gone. And that's unacceptable. I want to dip my fuckin' sunglasses when I see someone junk-worthy, and I don't want it to be cheesy. Let's do this together. Thank you.

- Also, men should start wearing hats to work again. It looked awesome in the past, it looks great in movies, and it would look awesome now. In related news, who else is pumped for "Mad Men" to come back?

- Have you ever thought about what Denise Richards would look like if she took off all her make-up, cut her hair short, and dyed it black? I have, and the answer is Peter Gallagher.

X. WE FOUND LOVE IN AN.... UNEXPECTED PLAAA-AACE!

('Jesus, here we go. Why is the last item always the mushy one?' I don't know, shut up).

Allow me to be sincere/honest before I put a bow on this thing. For six months I have questioned when I would fall in love with a girl again, and honestly if I ever would. I've tried. I've failed. I've dusted myself off. I've tried again. I've tried to force it, etc. Dead ends all around (for now). I became somewhat skeptical of the whole idea, and I all but eliminated the seemingly absurd possibility of falling in love at first sight. Clearly, I began to think, that would never and could never, ever, ever happen....

.... Just as clearly, I was dead wrong on all counts.

Hello there, Francie-Anne Mazzola (my niece).

_____________________________

And that'll do it for now folks. Until next time, don't be afraid to be yourself. And if you're travelling out of town, don't be afraid to be someone else! Just know that if you meet a hispanic chick named Carol, she's probably full of shit just like you....Oh, one more thing....

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

DJ

You're a Mean One, Mr. Mazzola...

Hey bitches. I can't believe it's been about five weeks since I've even had the chance to sit down and fingertip-vomit all my thoughts about stupid shit to y'all. This whole "having a job" and "working hard at it" thing is really getting in the way of things I'd rather be doing. Such a ridiculous inconvenience employment is... Anyway, what I'm getting at here is that I'm temporarily putting my newfound "shorter and sweeter" approach to these posts on hold because I have a lot of shit to say, and I won't be around again likely until after the New Year what with all the holiday shit coming up. So, either settle in for a while, or take this one piece-meal and take down a little bit every day during this, the last work week before Christmas, during which time I know you're not going to be doing shit by way of productivity anyway... Alright, time to get merry. Here we go:

I. Cheesy Anecdotes are Easily Trumped by Cheesier Anecdotes

I find that many times, serious discussions/debates/arguments/etc. often tend to progress from the specific to the general. While the majority of the discussion typically involves a back-and-forth regarding the details of a particular subject matter, said discussion usually ends with one of the members spewing out some hackneyed nugget of conventional wisdom, some cheesy or tacky generalization that wants to be comprehensive but ultimately is really just so stupid that it destroys the integrity of the conversation to that point. And many times, these intellectually stunting cliches begin with "Yeah, well..." You know the kind of bullshit I'm talking about.

For example, if you're talking about the economy these days and how difficult working life is/how expensive everything is, etc., someone may very well drive the dialogue into the ground by saying, "Yeah, well, there's no such thing as a free lunch I guess." You get the idea. "Yeah, well, you can't always have your cake and eat it too" is another popular one ('Are they all somehow food related?' No, that's just a coincidence).

Thankfully, the amount of frustration these mindless little quips cause me is trumped only by the amount of humor I derive from taking them a step further. Instead of just politely nodding at the generality and leaving the subject lie, I think it's a fun exercise to either build on it, or perhaps even better, negate it using equally goofy metaphorical language. Because nobody ever does that, and so when I do, it's completely unexpected, most times catching people off-guard and leaving them at a loss, which is hilarious. And of course, speaking in silly adages while simultaneously trying to appear profound or intellectually abstract is a funny concept as well.

To illustrate with those same examples, if someone halted a conversation I was enjoying with the ole' "There's no such thing as a free lunch," I'd say something like "Well that shouldn't be a problem if you make sure to eat a big breakfast, ya know?" I'm not even sure what that would mean; I guess it could symbolize the benefit in preparing for inconveniences ahead of time, I dunno. Whatever the case, the other person will likely be surprised, and will just as likely ask me, "What do you mean by that exactly?" And from there, it doesn't matter what my explanation is, because I've already succeeded in keeping the conversation going right after that motherfucker tried to bury it. See that? Boom, fuck him. I win.

Additionally, it's entertaining to carefully observe the look on people's faces when you offer one of these - hmmm, what should I call them?... - counter-cliches, or "co-cli's" for short (has a nice ring to it). More often than not, before they ask you "what you mean, exactly," they'll have a seriously perplexed look on their face, followed by a moment when their eyebrows straighten, and their head and eyes veer slightly upward and to one side as they try to puzzle out your meaning. During this brief time, I HIGHLY suggest offering them a condescending smirk. This makes them feel stupid, which they fucking deserve for attempting to prematurely squash our stimulating dialogue before I've had my full say.

Other potential co-cli opportunities:

- "Yeah, well I guess you have to read between the lines." "Not if I'm thinking outside the box, I don't."

- "Yeah, well I guess everyone has skeletons in their closet." "Doesn't matter if you have a walk-in."

- "Yeah, well you just gotta remember to dot your i's and cross your t's." "Nah, man. In today's world, it's all touch-screens and keyboards."

I could go on and on. I would appreciate some of your own examples here though. It really is a fun thing to do.

Of course, there is the slight chance that someone might immediately respond to your co-cli by saying, "What? That's doesn't even make any fucking sense." For this reason, I do advise coming up with a potential explanation for what you say - no matter how far-fetched - before you throw the co-cli at them. This way, you seem prepared, like what you implied was obvious, and the other person is now left feeling stupid, which he or she should. From that point, the only remaining opposition you'll get is "I've never heard that before in my LIFE!" And that's a lay-up for you, because you can just bring the hammer down by saying, "I don't fucking care if YOU'VE ever heard it or not." Boom. The point is - just don't let them know that your co-cli is essentially an empty, meaningless statement. Make them believe it so you can revel in how dumb they are for believing you. In the end, either the conversation will continue like you wanted, or if not, your mood is soothed by making the ther person pay for ending it.

One final note - back in 2008 when Obama was running for president, many democrats would contest the conservative notion that poorer folks need to "pull themselves up by their boot-straps" by saying "How can they if they don't even have any boots?" That's cute. But it's retarded. I hope these folks are having fun coming up with more stupid bullshit while they're walking around sans ambition, filling their days with nothing other than trying to find another street to "Occupy." Take a shower, hippies.

II. On the Other Hand, if You WANT the Convo to End...

You see this quite a bit in movies/tv as a way of offering closure to a dialogue-heavy scene. When an important theme or idea or significant plot point or a main character's plan of attack or whatever is the focal point of a particular scene, many times said scene will end with that main character having a small epiphany ('You mean an 'epiphanita'? Yeah, I remember your older posts!' Wow, that's an old one. Thanks for paying attention), often by realizing the genius or truth behind what the other, sidekick character says. This moment of clarity is then frequently punctuated/emphasized when the main character repeats what his advisor had to say.

To illustrate, let's say the main character is upset that the love of his life is dating some other douchebag. In order to prove his superiority and to win her over, the main character's best friend will deviously suggest something like, "Dude, you want to show her how much better you are than that nerd she's dating? All you gotta do is take him out of his comfort zone, know what I'm sayin'?" Then the main character will smile - clearly formulating a master plan in his mind at this moment - and repeat "Out of his comfort zone, huh? I think I know exactly what you mean..." Then the scene will end, usually fading into a transitional shot of a camera panning the busy streets of whatever major city they're in while some upbeat rock song kicks in, and the next scene will begin with the girl and her nerdy boyfriend being plopped into some funny/awkward atmosphere with which he's clearly not comfortable while the main character is all smiles. It also helps if the earlier scene with the two friends ends with them toasting by clinking their beer glasses together and having a drink in celebration of their diabolical genius.

The point here is that you can apply this to real life as well. If, in contrast to my first item in this post, you really WANT the conversation to end, just do that exact same thing. Just agree with the cliche - "No free lunch, huh?..." - nod, then say "I know what you mean man," and then change the subject. It's just a shame that real-life doesn't feature awesome transitional scenes.

III. Quick Hitters Part One

- The movie "Garden State" is the cinematic equivalent of a handjob. You don't reeeeeally enjoy it while it's happening, you were reeeeeeally hoping for something more entertaining than that, but you're nonetheless very happy at the finish.

- I'm thinking I'm just gonna not invite anyone over to my place for a year and just turn my living room into an enormous bedroom. This way, I can have a bedroom with couches, a recliner, and a fuckin' desk in it. How awesome is that? And when I tell people who've never visited me about it, they'll be impressed - "Wow, you have a Christmas tree in your...in your BED-room!?!? That's amazing!" Damn right, motherfucker. At that point, I could also say, "Yes, I do. 'Yule' be surprised how much space there is." ('Zing?' Absolutely. ZING, bitch!)

- I guess the term "butterface" eluded me recently when I was trying to describe a girl I saw at a bar in south Jersey who had a phenomenal body but a face that looked like it had absorbed its fair share of slapshots from the blue line. Thus, instead of referring to her as a butterface, I leaned over to whom I was talking (I think it was Ryan. Dude, back me up on this), and said, "I guess I'd nail her. Yeah, she's the kinda girl I'd bang but push her face into a pillow." We then laughed, and then I wrote it down and said, "This is going in my blog."

- Next time you go grocery shopping, the first thing you should do is take your cart over to the checkout counter, open the little refrigerators there with the sodas in them, remove the drink of your choice, then drink it as you shop. By the time you're done, your drink will be empty, you throw the bottle away (be sure to recycle now because you gotta remember to be a nice, genuine person), and nobody will ever give it a second thought. Free caffeine during an exhausting food-shopping outing? - don't mind if I do.

- I've been criticized for programming my GPS in my car to speak to me in an Australian MAN'S voice. Apparently its gay to not have a woman's voice. Whatever. Wanna know why I have a dude's voice? - so I'll actually listen to it when it tells me where to go, that's why. Honestly, when he says, "In point five miles, take exit 10," even if I have my doubts about the route he's taking me, I'll say, "Alright, Gunsmoke, I'll trust you," and I do as I'm told ('Wait, you named your GPS's voice 'Gunsmoke'? Yes.). If it was a woman's voice that told me to take a route I questioned, I'd literally say "Shut up, bitch. You don't know shit about shit," and I'd stay on the highway, likely getting lost as a result, and likely blaming her nonetheless.

- So much credit is given to the cat's pajamas; I think people should acknowledge the fuckin' cat for his excellent sense of fashionable night-wear.

- Hippos are like women. They both can seem adoreable at first glance but will instantly chomp you to death once you get too close, and they both think you can't see them when they're under water.

- I had a conversation recently about the 2014 Winter Olympics that will be taking place in Russia. Someone asked me if they had big enough mountains in Russia. Clearly, this sad motherfucker has never seen Rocky IV.

IV. The Cougar Age Conundrum

Are cougars, by definition, confined to women within that loose age range from approx. 38-50 or so ('When you say "loose," do you mean?... I'm referring to the age range, not vaginal structural integrity.)? Or are cougars really just women of any age who prey on younger men? In other words, yeah, a 40-year old mom who just needs to ride some college kid is a cougar. I get that. But how about a 26 year old who bangs middle-schoolers? Is she a cougar too? Or how about a 70 year-old skank who chases 50 year old dudes? Is she technically a cougar? I find myself confused.

I ask because I'm finding that life isn't fair. No matter how much I age, I never seem to quite catch up to the age bracket of women I want to destroy ('Destroy meaning have sex with? Yes, destroy meaning have sex with). When I was 15, 20 year old college girls were the shit. When I turned 21, 30-45 year old business women were my endgame. Now I'm pretty much 30 years old, and, ummm......

... I just watched "American Horror Story" on FX and found myself seriously wanting to nail Jessica Lange........ She's 63. Yikes.

So, have I been attracted to cougars my whole life? Or was I only attracted to "cougars" when I was 21 and pined for women in that commonly understood cougar, middle-aged range of 30-45? And if that's the case, what's Jessica Lange? Am I allowed to make up some new term? If so, I suggest condor. Cuz condors to me seem like they're fuckin' old school - which is appropriate given Ms. Lange's age - and they're kinda regal and majestic, which I feel are qualities earned over time, which also befits older gals. So yeah, Jessica Lange - if you're not a cougar, you're my wrinkly old condor. And you can get it.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think I'm ashamed of wanting to get on Jessica Lange. Anybody who ever saw Sophia Loren in "Grumpier Old Men" knows what I'm talking about. She was, like, 900 years old in that movie, and she was still hot.

I just worry about what's next. Who's gonna be hot to me when I'm 40? Estelle Getty? God I hope not. One of the other Golden Girls?... Maybe, but it won't be Betty White. Cuz she looks like my grandmom. And that's gross.

V. Two Things I Will Never, Ever, Ever Give a Fuck About

1. How your fantasy football team is doing, and how you couldn't believe it and it was such bullshit that you lost by one point because so-and-so fumbled and didn't score at the end. I promise - PROMISE - I could not fucking care less. If I want to know, I'll ask. Please don't update me unsolicited about your league of which I am not a member. If I owned a gun, I promise I'd shoot you in the heart with it.

2. What you cooked for dinner the other night. Again, this does not impact me at all, nor could it possibly be of any interest to me. When I ask you "How was your night?" or something similar, I don't need a rundown of your goddamn recipe. Any response that starts with something like, "Oh it was awesome! I went to the market and picked up some cayenne peppers and curry powder to make my..." is not acceptable. Guess what? - you're not an Iron Chef. You're not even that Food Network bulldike with the crazy spikey blonde hair. And you never will be. Tell me you made dinner, read a good book, cranked one out, and went to bed, then we can move on. I don't fucking care about the minute details of what you made or how you made it. Nobody does.

VI. Wait, What the Hell Am I Saying?

I'm guessing this happens to everyone, but have you ever found yourself kinda thoughtlessly singing along to a song you've heard a million times, but on the one-million-and first time, you realize just how crazy/disturbing/ridiculous the lyrics are? If you've ever sang along to "Too Close" by the group "Next" in the 90's, this has happened to you...

...But I bring it up now because I have a particularly disgusting example to share. And as usual, by disgusting I mean funny. So, my favorite rock band once covered an early metal song by a group of British nincumpoops who called themselves "Mercyful Fate." That's the disclaimer...

So I'm sitting in my car in a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot in Cranston, RI, enjoying an early afternoon cup of coffee before my next customer appointment, and I was relaxing and singing happily along to some old school metal CD I found in my glove compartment. The weather was nice, so my window was down, and the passers-by could definitely hear the music coming from my direction. I didn't mind because I'm not the guy who rolls his window down just so others can hear how loud I like my music. Still, they could hear it. And specifically, here's what they heard me obliviously crooning as I daydreamt with my coffee.....:

"And I'll be the first! to watch your fuuuuneral. And I'll be the laaaaast! To leeeeeeave! And when you're doooown!, beyond the groooound! I'll dig up your body again (YEAH!), and make love to shaaaaaa-aaaaame! Oh, lady cryyyyyy, and say good-bye! (GOODBYE!)"

I rewound it a few times, dumbfounded that I never realized just what the fuck I had been singing since 1998 when I first heard it, and then promptly sped away from the parking lot to avoid eye contact with the horrified stares that were aimed at me. Fortunately, I didn't spill a drop of my delicious coffee.

People in Cranston just don't understand music I guess...Haha.

VII. Quick Hitters Part Two

- Leather interiors often, not always but often, come with a douchebag driver.

- My favorite drink is Jack Daniel's. Yet only recently did I discover the apostraphe in the name. Thus, it seems odd to me that the person responsible for it was named Jack Daniel. Like, without the "s" on the end. Weird.

- Scrotum skin looks kinda similar to elbow skin. But don't pinch a scrotum. Cuz unlike elbow skin, we can feel it. And it hurts.

- You know the classic Christmas cartoon "Frosty the Snowman?" Yes, of course you do. Have you ever noticed that, during the scene in the school yard when the kids are trying to decide what to call their snowman friend, one dumb little skank suggests they name him "Oatmeal"?

- I can't really think of any definitive examples, but for some reason, I feel like girls who have ONE Asian parent are almost guaranteed to be hot, especially if the other parent is a minority.

- Why does my dentist insist on asking me questions only after he's pried my mouth open and has a drill inside of it?

- I've heard that pregnant women, at certain stages, can get extra horny. I suggest that this happens because they're fuckin' for two.

- Also, the answer is yes. Having sex with a pregnant woman should be considered a threesome.

VII. Your Mouth is Full of Spiders, You've got Garlic in Your Soul, Mr. Griiiiiiiiiiiiiii-INCH!

Other than the fact that it's Christmas-related, that title has little to do with this final item here, I just love that song, and I love the Grinch.

First off, before I get goin', suffice it to say that I'm not breaking out my violin, I'm not looking for sympathy, condolonces, etc. I figured it's perhaps just appropriate to pass along a genuine sentiment given the time of year. And so here it is:

2011's holiday season will bring with it the first Christmas since 2002 that I haven't had "someone" with whom to share it. You know what I mean. Of course I'm still lucky enough to get to celebrate it with my family on the actual holiday and with my friends during the days that precede and follow it, and I certainly don't take that for granted/wouldn't trade that for anything.

Still, this is an odd feeling. There's a pretty severe and painful emptiness that comes with being "alone" during Christmas. It's fuckin' awful. This is the time of year when people/couples put aside what are often referred to as "petty" differences so to concentrate on and revel in the gift that is each other's company and love for each other. As remarkably cheesy as that sounds, that's really a fantastic thing. I know what that's like and how good it feels - I'd done it for eight straight years - and so it doesn't surprise me that this year, I'm kinda just waiting for Christmas to come and go as swiftly as it can. Well, if I could freeze the few moments when my family does the whole gift-exchanging thing, I would, but other than that, it's not the same, so I'm sayin' let's just get on with 2012 already.

My point - and I realize that I just spent a nice little while diminishing the value of cliches in my first item here, but I'm about to use some right here - is that if you ARE lucky enough to have "someone" with you this time of year, take absolute full advantage. And make sure every single day is spent wisely. Putting up the tree, decorating your home, buying presents, going to family functions and listening to an endless barrage of Christmas carols in the car on the way to and from there, doing all the preparations and all kinds of other shit - it's all more important than you give it credit for. If you don't believe me, do it by yourself next year and see how ya feel.

Again, don't mistake this for an intentionally sappy, woe-is-me sort of diatribe. It isn't, or at least it's not supposed to be. Instead, it's intended to remind people to stop and smell the ros...err, holly. And the mistletoe, of course. Christmas, when all the running around is all said and done, is about your family and your "someone." Make it fucking count.

('Sorry, but that waaas a little sappy. Still, one of the nicer thoughts you've had. Good for you. Merry Christmas, DJ.' Merry Christmas, invisible demon critic).

See you all in 2012, unless of course I get drunk and anxious over the holidays...

Oh, one more thing. I almost forgot!....

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke!,

DJ

Just a Few Monday Quick Hitters

Hey everybody, so I have previously stated that I'd be posting more frequently, and therefore to a somewhat abbreviated extent. I think that after approximately two and a half years, it has finally dawned on yours truly that it's just more convenient for everyone to check back for a few minutes every couple days than it is to undertake a novella's worth of bullshit once a month. And so here we go, consider this substantially curtailed post a sign of things to come. Here we go, bitches:

Scream 4: How Does the Ghostface Always Know Everyone's Schedule?, And Other Thoughts

This movie actually wasn't all that bad. I enjoy how it was almost a satire of itself. Wes Craven is nifty like that. Also, Neve Campbell looks like shit, and Courtney Cox's face looks like it's made of play-doh and condoms. She needs to stop or she'll no longer have a place in Cougar town (zing).

There's a scene near the end in which one character gets clocked over the head with a bedpan, at which point I thought that it should be an unofficial Hollywood dictum stating that whenever anyone in any movie is struck via bedpan, they should have to scream something ironic, like "Oh, shit!" as it happens. Anything relating to what typically goes into a bedpan would suffice. You can imagine the possibilities.

Also, how come nobody ever thinks to block the bad guy's phone number after the first call? Ya know, the one that always ends up with the dumb bitch saying "This isn't funny! I'm calling the police!" and hangs up? Right then, block the goddamn number that just called you. How has nobody thought of that? And if you have a landline, disconnect it! What's the mystery? I know, it's a "Scream" movie, so I shouldn't devote much thought to it. But this movie is otherwise surprisingly thorough and well thought out, so these unresolved, hanging details irk the shit out of me.

Lastly, there's one token black character in the movie. It's a cop, aaaaand he gets stabbed in the forehead after no more than five minutes of screen-time. It's nice to see Wes Craven still abides by at least one of the staples of horror-movie production. Ha.

Remember What I Said Last Time About Ketchup in Diners?

So. Friggin'. Depressing....

#ThisShitHastoStop

See what I did there? I started a Twitter trend.

Actually, in reality, no I didn't. Guess what people - whenever you put a hashtag in front of something you post on facebook, in an email, or whatever, chances are it's not gonna become a "thing" on Twitter. Nobody gives enough of a shit about your #TriptoVegas!, your #NewPuppy, or your #WorkKickballLeagueChamps pictures to stop what they're doing, go on Twitter, and join the legions of followers you have regarding this subject (italics to indicate sarcasm). All you're succeeding in doing in pissing people off; people who don't feel like having to slowly pick apart the four or so words you mashed together to form one woefully uninteresting phrase. Essentially, you've added unnecessary punctuation, and you've eliminated spacing. Congratulations, you're a douchebag.

What's even worse is when people use the hashtag in front of a single word, then treat it as if it's just a regular word in a sentence. Let me illustrate with one I've been seeing quite a bit of recently - "Heading downtown to watch the #Flyers take on the Devils!" Really? You feel the need to remind everyone that the Flyers are a trend on Twitter? That's atrocious. Just say "Flyers" please, will ya? And if you have a problem with that, you can find me at @Idontgiveashitwhatyouthink. Thank you.

Oh, last thing - it's a friggin' pound sign. Not a hash tag. Jesus.

Making Up Words is Still Fun

This one isn't even my own thought, buuuuuut I'm gonna pass it off like it is, anyway.

Movie trilogies - there's the original, the sequel, and....what? The "third installment?" The "conclusion?" What do you call it? It's hard to put an appropriate descriptive label on these movies. I mean, "third installment" makes it sound like it's a brainless piece of garbage thrown together just to make a studio a few extra bucks (Ahem, Matrix Revolutions, ahem). And "conclusion" doesn't always work because if it's any good, chances are there will eventually be another one, thereby invalidating said term.

While on that subject, many times, that fourth movie will be a backstory that takes place before the original (an idea for which George Lucas was a genius for creating and a moron for poorly executing), and we all know these movies as "prequels." Good. Fine. This still doesn't solve the riddle of the third movie in the trilogy...

With that in mind, I humbly suggest "trequel" as the term applied to the third of three related movies. Don't ask me where the word/spelling came from. As I mentioned, it wasn't my personal idea. I just heard it blurted out recently, and I decided I liked it. And so there you have it - "Return of the Jedi" is the best trequel ever, though not as good as the sequel, which is also better than the original and all of the horrible prequels. Boom.

Here's Somethin'...

How do you tell when an Asian is high?

Also, what do Asians do when they have trouble seeing things that are far away?

Just some things this round-eye was thinkin' about just now.

Language!

It's legitimately interesting that the older I've gotten, there seems to have been a shift in the hierarchy of offensive "curse" words. For example, there are two "f" words that people generally don't like. I still use one of them when I get fired up about something. You can guess which one that is. And I used to think it was generally considered the most deplorable word one could say.

I now think I was wrong, for the other "f" word is the one that seems to bother people a bit more (the gay slang). It's just interesting how I used to treat this particular word as if it were the word "the," in that I'd use it without even thinking it was a big deal. I've come to realize over the past couple years though that this one makes people just about as uncomfortable as they can get, it's really a particularly cutting insult when directed at someone, and so I've essentially eliminated it from my vocabulary, which I think is a good thing.

Ya Know Who's a Huge Fag? - Tim Tebow

Zing! That's an awful joke, I know. But come on, I'm kidding. I just wanted to make you shake your head at my apparent hypocrisy for a second. But I do have some thoughts on football, and so...

Football Thoughts!

It's funny how, for years, everyone loved getting after Alex Smith for being a huge bust. He had a different offensive coordinator every single season to complement a host of bad head coaches, but still people crucified him. Now that he has calmly engineered the 49ers to a 7-1 start (one Tony Romo pass away from being 8-0), nobody is making a peep. That's bullshit. I know he's not a pro-bowler, and he'll never be Hall of Fame material. But come one, give the guy some credit. He has a good system and finally some good pieces (Gore, Davis, Crabtree, Edwards, etc.), and so he's winning, albeit in a weak division. But still, good job Alex Smith. You deserve some mention.

I won't hurl any legitimate gay slang at him, and I know he's 2-1 this year, but still, Tim Tebow is the worst fundamental quarterback I've ever seen. Watching his mechanics as he throws a pass is like watching two obese people try to have sex. It just looks uncomfortable, nobody involved really enjoys it, it's just generally nauseating, and it usually ends with someone overexerting themselves and falling down. But Tim Tebow is jacked out of his mind, and the man can run, so why they don't make him a Tight End is beyond me.

What is it with New York Giants huge running backs? They seem to begin their careers on fire, then a few seasons later, almost instantly become a liability. I know Brandon Jacobs scored against New England, but generally, he stinks. And nobody in New York really trusts him anymore. It's weird because he was once - briefly - such a beast! Smell like Ron Dayne all over again, doesn't it? What's the problem up there with those kinds of guys?

Some Notes on Flies

I heard that the fruit-fly only lives for about 10-15 minutes. I didn't verify this, I just took it as fact because I'm lazy. But assuming this is true, that's also remarkable, and I don't understand how any of them get anything done. I mean, they have to be born, become acclamated to their bodies, learn from their mothers what their wings do and how to use them, practice flying, meet some friends, go look for food, eat, go on a blind date with a girl fruit-fly, wait the obligatory three days before calling her again (which, in fruit-fly time, I'm guessing is, like, 45 seconds), keep courting her, have sex for the sake of reproduction, then enjoy retirement before dying. That seems like an awful lot for 10 minutes, doesn't it? And for the females, you'd figure they also have to tack on giving birth and instructing their children, so as usual, females make things even more complicated.

Also, I do not endorse the expression, "You have the patience of tsetse fly" (Yes, "tsetse" fly, which you people probably thought was "teensy fly"). Anyway, as the name might suggest, these insects are rather small. However, since when does physical size have anything to do with patience? For all we know, tsetse flies might be the most laid-back, patient members of the animal kingdom. It's pretty ignorant that we assume that they have no patience just because they're small and buzz around making weird noises. Ya know what else does that? - midgets. Midgets looooove running around and squawking in incomprehensible phrases, sounding like they just sucked in a few balloons' worth of helium. So are all midgets impatient? That's a pretty rash assumption, isn't it?

And to take it a step further, am I to assume that I can generally estimate levels of patience simply by looking the physical size of all people? For example, I'm 6'2". Does that mean I'm more patient than my 5'6" sister? Well, actually yes, I am because she's a crazy person, so that's a bad example. But you get the idea. Tsetse flies - you get a bad rap. Midgets - I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell ya. Buy stilts, I dunno.

Alright, I'm outta here. Post a comment. Check out the poll on the right side of the page. And as always, f*ck 'em if they can't take a joke.

DJ

God, I'm So Metal ("Metal" means "Awesome" if You're a Complete Geek Like Me)

Hi everybody, it's good to be ba....wait, what's that? You absolutely love that new logo at the top of the page? Yeah, me too, it rocks. For the record, I realized that both my last name and the name of my favorite rock band of all time (if you don't know who that is at this point, just stop reading and get the fuck off my blog site) both begin and end with the same letters during my freshman year of high school. We're talkin' 1996 here, people. But I guess this just shows you how helplessly lazy I can be that it took me 15 fuckin' years to make something this insanely clever and tangible from that happy lettering coincidence...(Your use of the three period dots just now makes me feel like you're going to transition into a secondary item about this new logo thing by employing weak, exclamatory segue)

HOWEVER! (And there it is) There's more. Not only did I get artwork made up for this stunning piece of aesthetic and artistic genius, I've already thrown it onto t-shirts! That's right, motherfuckers, the dago has crossed into four-digit readership (And in just a shade under two and a half years. Congratulations, jackass), and I've decided to commemorate said mini-milestone by merchandising. Take a look at the pic on the right (and click on it for a larger view! Yeah!). You know you want one. Come on, you know you do. And when you come to grips with that, just lemme know and a t-shirt you shall receive.

Alright, enough of this shit. Let's go discuss inconsequential things like usual, huh? Sound good? I thought so. Off we go:

I. STARTING OFF WITH A VERY, VERY, VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION

Soooooo, is Casey Anthony still technically a milf?

Think about that one for a minute. If you're disgusted, my job is done.

II. IN THE END IT'S ALL "FINE"

I think "fine" may be my least favorite word in the english language. It used to be the word "no," but when women kept saying that to me, I eventually just decided to start hearing the word "yes" instead, and everything, ya know, just kinda works itself out, usually because I'm physically stronger than them (Just checking - joking? Yes, joking. Jesus, relax).

Anyway, so speaking of women, they're actually the sole reason that "fine" isn't fine at all. In other words, guys listen up, if/when you get to that point of your relationship with your lady friend where she starts to regularly and abruptly end your arguments or acquiesce to your preferences by using this word, look out. She's nearing the end of her rope. An example:

- Dude: "Babe, remember I told you a week ago that I told the guys I'd play poker with them this Thursday, just like I do every Thursday?"

- Bitch: "Oh.... but I thought... maybe... Ya know what, nevermind."

- Dude: "What's the matter? Are you angry?"

- Bitch: "No. It's fine. I'm fine. We can do my thing next Thursday..." (walks out and slams door)

- Dude: "Wait but I'll be (door slams) playing poker next Thursday..." (hangs head and takes deep breath)

See what I mean? She's nearing the edge, motherfucker! You can tell! On the other hand, if she had just responded by saying something like, "Oh, right I forgot. Well hey, can you skip it this one time? It'd mean a lot to me", like she would have during the honeymoon phase, I guaran-damn-tee you any boyfriend in the world worth his salt would drop the poker game and hang out with his lady.

I'm tellin' ya. "Fine" is the beginning of the end. And it starts popping up everywhere... "Work was fine," "No that's fine, let's go see Wolverine," "You want me from behind? Again? Ok, that's fine," and maybe the worst one is when you try to make compromising plans - "It's fine, let's just go!" If you've heard anything like this over the past month or two dudes, get your shit together and brace yourself. You're about to be back on the market.

III. A FEW SHORT SNIPPETS OF DIALOGUE

Kate: "Deej, can you remember a long number for me?"
DJ: "As long as it isn't pi, yes."

DJ: "Yo, how many people do you think left the theater after seeing 'Inception' saying "(gasp), Oh my God, so the whole thiiiiing was a dreeeeeam!!!"
Bill (shaking his head in disgust): "Too many... and most of them were women."

IV. THE SMALLER JUNGLE CATS DONT FEEL SHIT

Think back to the last time you were at the zoo. Hopefully it wasn't all that long ago because the zoo is awesome. Animals, by and large, are hilarious (Are you giggling while reminiscing right now about the staring contast you had with the giraffe who was trying to chew a tree branch? Yes. Yes I am), and beyond that, you're almost guaranteed to learn something new and interesting every time you go.

What I learned last time is that there's something fishy going on in the wild cat section. And I'm gonna get to the bottom of it. Let me ask you something - what do you notice about all the caged animals (reptiles excluded) whenever you're at the zoo?.... They're all clearly drugged up/tranquilized to a degree/sedated/whatever, right? Right.

And it's easy to see. There's no other explanation, really. I mean, when I was growing up, I was always taught that kangaroos routinely like to jump/bounce. Therefore, it was rather disappointing to discover that the Philadelphia kangaroos spend their days laying spread-eagle on their backs, drueling, weezing, and obviously struggling to breathe. The most I ever get out of them is a sort-of peripheral gaze that seems to say, "Hey, you with the eyebrows. These bastards gave me the elephant's dosage of sedative today, and I can't move. If you could go get me a Kit-Kat, chew it up for me since my jaw is numb, then drizzle it into my mouth, that'd be great. Otherwise, get lost." Saddened by this virtual exchange, I typically choose to get lost...

And the rhinos are so fuckin' stoned that when they locate you and walk toward you at a pace of about one yard/hour, to them it actually feels like they're charging full-speed at you - "I'm gonna geeeeeeet yoooouuuuuu, heeeey wheeeeere'd you gooooooo?"

(Ummm, are you gonna relay to us what you think every animal you mention is saying? Yup.)

You get the idea. It's the same all over the zoo......except for where they keep the fuckin' pumas and cheetahs and the other, swifter jungle cats. Always, always, always when I walk by their glass enclosures I can feel the message in their lurid, yellow death-cat eyes - "You DO realize that the only thing stopping me from eating your lungs out through your asshole is a few inches of glass. Get the fuck away from me, hairball...Right now." And I usually obey and carry on.

The few times I do stick around a few seconds more, I just end up confirming my suspicions. If I stay and look around, and even so much as approach the glass, they start moving. Then sometimes the fangs come out. That usually coincides with when pee comes out...of me, that is. And then I run.

It's curious then, when I next get to the lion and bengal tiger areas, they're all, "Heeeeeey, duuuuude, it's you again! What's been goin' on, buddy? I heard you just pissed off Carlos the puma again. Man, he wants to eeeeat yoooouuuuuu, hehehehe. Don't worry. Just hop on over the fence and come on in here with us. We were just thinking of ordering some chinese and watchin' a 'Queer Eye' marathon for a few hours....No? You gotta go?Aiiight, man. Take 'er easy."
They're all tame because they're all drugged.....except the fuckin' pumas. And also I can tell what they're all saying.

V. QUICK HITTERS PART ONE

- Using the term "dee-lish!" to describe something sexy/sassy/etc. is gayer than two guys having sex.

- I have always hated and will always hate the phrase "rough and tumble." It doesn't make any fucking sense. It's consistently used as a singular thought to describe someone or something. Words that describe things are called adjectives. "Tumble" is a fucking verb. And it's not hyphenated, so it's can't be perceived as a singularly descriptive term like "rub-and-tug" (love those, by the way). So...I mean....what the fuck? You can't use that word to describe anything! Imagine if you tried? - "Hey Deej, what do you think of that Tom Hanks fella?" "Hmmm, good question. He seems pretty tumble to me. And I like that. Such a tumble guy, Tom Hanks." I know...fuckin' retarded.

- If someone with a camera came up to me as I was drinking my morning Dunkin' Donuts coffee and asked me, "Hey, what are ya drinkin'?", I'd look at them incredulously, look down at my cup, look back the person, and scoff, "Coffee, asshole. What do you think I'm drinkin'?" I sure as shit wouldn't smirk happily and say, "Hey, I'm drinkin' Dunkin'!" Those commercials are stooooopid.

- Whoever is the stand-in/stunt-double for Edward James Almos on movie sets should call himself Edward James Almost.

- So, Roger Ebert didn't care for the latest Transformers movie. Well, guess what - Roger Ebert doesn't have a face anymore. It's just mangled mush. So he can go ahead and stick his "two thumbs up" his fuckin' ass. Autobots 1, Dickface Ebert 0.

- I heard in some cheesy motivational/self-help advertisement recently that it's good to "be friendly with yourself." I thought to myself that I'm never friendly with myself, but many times when I'm alone I get downright romantic with myself.

VI. THE AMBIGUOUS ORIGINS OF SOME SAYINGS

Have you ever thought about where some universally understood and frequently used anecdotes/sayings came from? I have. And I often end up confusing myself because I can't figure out how many of such expressions have come to symbolically/metaphorically imply what we all understand them to imply today.

Let me clarify. Everyone knows where the term "jumping the shark" came from and what it means. But in case you don't, it came from an episode of "Happy Days" wherein the Fonz literally jumped over a shark while on water skis. And from that moment on, the show began to wane. That moment was the show blowing its load, and from then on it continuously declined in popularity until it eventually just ceased to be. So now, whenever a show/movie/anything, really, reaches a point where it tops out and you know it can't get better and in fact will actually start to regress from that moment on, that thing has just jumped the shark. Everyone got that?

Ok, so that's an easy example of how a seemingly impossibly relatable situation has taken on a very mundane meaning. I get it. But, there are others that give me much more pause. For example, "bought the farm" I don't quite understand. How can it be possible that the once literal purchase of a plot of land eventually became such a significantly fatal transaction that the phrase now simply means to die? I would really like an explanation here.

But more interesting, or perhaps disturbing, is this one - "screwed the pooch," which we all understand today to mean "made a stupid and costly error." Am I really to understand that at one point in time, there was apparently a person who literally started butt-fucking a dog and immediately afterwards thought "Ooooo, ya know what? This was probably a bad idea having anal sex with ummm...with this dog." And assuming so, how fuckin' crazy is that?!?! Though, I can certainly see how such an occurrence would be memorable enough so as to become immortalized in metaphor. In other words, that's probably not something you forget, so you might as well apply some meaning to it, right?

On the other hand, maybe back whenever this originally happened, "screwing" was also meant to be taken literally. Maybe someone just took a screw-driver and mechanically fastened a dog to a wall or something, thereby essentially "screwing the pooch." We can only hope that this much more civilized possibility has some truth to it....We can onlyhope.

Clearly, this is just the type of blog item that practically begs and screams for innovation/creativity. By that I mean, if you're feeling saucy and feel like commenting on this post, I urge you to do so as it pertains to this section. Offer up some new ones. Take a bizarre and/or uniquely funny or embarassing situation from your life, describe it, then tell me/us the life lesson you gleaned from it. I bet they're almost all innately funny to some degree, and who knows, maybe it'll catch on, right? If nothing else, I promise that if its any good, I'll work it in to my next post without disclaimer or explanation...ya know, just to fuck with people.

A quick example to get the ball rolling... I once accidentally shit my pants while driving my car on the way to a date (Accidentally? Meaning there are other times you 'intentionally' shit yourself? Good point, no. All pant-shitting is accidental, I suppose). See, I thought it best to get out all the farts I could before sitting down to a meal with a lady, so I was just lettin' em rip. I had plenty of air fresheners and a good 20 minutes of windows-down speeding on I-95 ahead of me, so I figured any/all "aroma" would be long gone by the time I picked her up. Anyway, I was already running a little late, so after my mobile-shart, I decided to pull over at a gas station and have a look-see. Clearly, there was bad news in my skivees, so in the fuckin' trash can they went! Then, after a quick wash of the hands and forced blockage of short-term memory, I was back on the road. But now I was rollin' commando....And I hate commando.

So the rest of the night, though I wasn't actuall naked, I felt naked. I felt exposed, and it ruined everything. I was trying to make small-talk/jokes, but all I was thinking about was how hopelessly pendulum-like my balls were. Unhoused, involuntarily undulating...annoying. So naturally, my jokes, my attention span, my general ability to converse pleasantly, they were all underwhelming.

At the end of the night, after dropping her off, I said to myself, "God, why did I force that fucking leftover meatloaf this afternoon?" I knew the meatloaf I had for lunch was the reason that I sharted. Meatloaf always gets me like that. But I remember thinking that day that if I didn't eat it now, it would be wasted and eventually tossed, so I ate it. And I paid for it.

So, from here on out, whenever you find yourself in a situation where you feel generally uncomfortable, exposed, naked, aesthetically embarassed, etc., please feel free to say you"forced the meatloaf" on that one. Are you a girl who forgot you shouldn't wear white to a wedding until after you arrived? - you forced the meatloaf. Did you only pack the one bathing suit you own but haven't worn for over a year on your vacation, then realize when you put it on at the beach that now the waist is so tight that you're a fucking muffin top? - you forced the meatloaf. Did you wear an ascot because your uber fashion-concscious slut of a girlfriend said you should dresss more like Ashton Kutcher? - you forced the meatloaf. Get it? Good. Give me some more examples.

VII. QUICK HITTERS PART TWO

- It' interesting that you can't say that a dog "ruffs." it doesn't actually ruff, it barks. You can say a dog goes ruff, but you can't say "I walked past a dog and it ruffed at me." Conversely, while you can say a dark "barks," you rarely hear someone say that a dog "goes bark." You can't say "I walked past a dog and it went bark at me." This is all interesting because dogs are unique in this regard. Other animals generally have one noise that applies in both contexts. For example, a cat both "meows" and "goes meow." A pig can oink or "go oink." Cows can moo or "go moo." Why is it this way? And don't even get me started on "bow-wow." Only bassett hounds make that noise. No other dogs do, so why is it generally accepted?

- It's toilet "paper," not toilet "tissue." It would be tissue if my butthole sneezed into it, but it doesnt. Because its a butthole, not a nose. And buttholes get paper. And that's that.

- I don't know when it happened, but it's also interesting these days to notice that buying something offline and buying something online are really the same thing. Seems like they should be antonyms.

- I had something that wasn't quite a dream, but I don't think I was completely conscious either when it occurred to me. Anyway, it was an idea for a Saturday morning cartoon show. It would be called "Roller-Bears!" (exclamation point is part of the title), and it would feature grizzly bears on roller-skates (not rollerblades, but rollerskates) going around and stopping bullies from picking on people. The bears would have helmets and would skate very, very fast. The theme song would mimic the melody of the 80's cartoon "Gummy Bears," and ya know what that's it for this item because I'm already bored of it.

- I used to think not laughing at farts anymore was the most obvious sign that you're old. But now I think that actually occurs when you find yourself reading the obituaries every morning just to see if one of your past friends or coworkers is dead yet. That's when you know you're old.

- There are few things in life more depressing that going to a diner and finding that they feature plastic bottles of Hunt's ketchup on the tables instead of the glass bottles of Heinz. That seriously sucks.

- I recently described former Rams wider receiver Torry Holt as "smooth." When I was then asked "how smooth?" I replied by saying, "the clubs he goes to always feature some soulful R&B, probably heavy on the saxophone. He always wears a cool hat that I could never pull off. There's always classy women sitting with him on plush suede couches. And I bet he always drinks drinks that are NOT martinis but that DO have olives in them." I was proud of that description, and I felt validated when my conversation-mate said "Wow, that's fuckin' smooth." Damn, right. Big Game rocks.

- I recently heard someone explain that he got from point A to point B by taking a "random ass path to get there." But his inflection/emphasis was kinda skewed. He put the stress on the word "ass" instead of "path" as I had been expecting. And emphasis is a tricky bitch. It can completely change how you interpret something. In this example, due to the shifted emphasis, I found myself wondering if his path was random-ass, or if his ass-path was random. See what I mean? And if its the latter, what the fuck is an ass-path? Say it all aloud if you don't follow me here.

VII. THE PERFECT DRUG.

I wish I was the guy who got paid lots of money to come up with the seemingly arbitrary brand names from drugs, like Claritin, Paxil, Cialis, Valtrex, Prilosec, etc. Shit, I make up jibberish words all the time!, so I think this would be just truck-loads of fun. Now, I've heard whispers that the finished product names are derived, at least in part, from the names of the chemicals in them or some shit. Whatever, I don't buy it. They're all just conjured from thin air, I'm convinced. And I think I should have that job. And to take it a step further, I want to star in the commercials for it, because said commercials are unbelievably funny 100% of the time. Consider the following:

(Cut to a scene of DJ sitting in a canoe gently rocking atop a peaceful lake that's reflecting the light from the sun on a beautiful, cloudless day. There's no sound save for a few birds chirping somewhere in the branches of the surrounding evergreens, and DJ and the beautiful woman seated next to him cast the single fishing line they're sharing into the water before they sit back and smile at each other. Then, DJ looks at a camera that is somehow also in the canoe...)

"Ya know, three months ago my dick didn't work. But then I asked my doctor about Shmaggleporf. And now (looks at woman, who looks back lovingly), let's just say that's not the last rod she'll be handling today (smirking/giggling, then smiling and lightly nodding at the camera with a mixed expression of relief and naive optimism). Thanks, Shmaggleporf."

See what I mean? Awesome. God that would be fun.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that'll do it for now. Feels good to be back again. Ask me about my goddamn t-shirts already, will ya please? Thanks.

Dago out.

Startling Revelations

Hello again everyone. Intros be damned, this post is long enough as it is. Settle in. Off we go. Oh, actually, wait a second. For some reason, this site has been acting up, and I can't always control the spacing between paragraphs. No idea why...Alright, you've been warned. Nooooow I can say off we go...So, ummm, off we go:

I. MANDATORY BIN-LADEN NOTES

I like to add levity to almost all situations - good, bad, peaceful, violent, offensive, touchy, etc. - and so with that in mind, I say we have a little fun with what should henceforth be considered a national fucking holiday. Ready? Here we go:

- MENDENHALL NEEDS TO AMEND-ENHALL (GET IT?!?!) HIS TWEETS.

In case you have been doing your best Bin Laden impression by living under a fuckin' rock for the past few days, you've undoubtedly come across what Pittsburgh Steelers running back and recent Super Bowl loser Rashard Mendenhall had to say about all this via Twitter. To paraphrase, he said that we should not celebrate Bin Laden's death since we don't really know his side of the story, and that we'll never reeeeeally know what happened on 9/11 because it's just so hard to believe that airplanes could actually cause buildings to crumble.

I'm not making this up folks. This is what he said, and in no uncertain terms. I guess you could say that he doesn't fumble over his words like he fumbles the fucking football in the end zone during the Super Bowl (zing!). Apparently, this absolute buffoon believes that all the internet broadcasts of Bin Laden relaying his direct intentions over the years do not accurately convey "his side of the story." And apparently the abundance of video footage of the planes smashing into the World Trade Center and the awful aftermath just isn't conclusive enough to determine "what really happened." Ya know what, thousands on facebook and other social media have already said it in far more creative a style than I have the ability to employ while I'm this worked up. Rashard Mendenhall - you have hereby (far) surpassed Brett Favre and his adulterating, cock-photographing habits as the most deplorable human being in the history of the NFL, if not all of professional sports. And one final note, anyone caught wearing his jersey from here on should be shot in the head twice and dumped into the ocean.

- SURVEY: WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE SAID?

If you have even a passing interest in commenting on this post, I urge you to do so primarily by answering this question: if YOU were the military officer/soldier who - for lack of specific detail - broke down the door and put Osama Bin Laden in your crosshairs at point blank range, what would your specific/choice words have been? I mean, I can't imagine anyone in their right mind who would NOT want to say something epic, dramatic, or 80's/90's Schwarzenegger-esque to Bin Laden's face seconds before sending him to the other side. Then again, maybe some of you would be too amped up and excited to think on any coherent level at that point and would just instantly cap his sandy ass.

Personally, I can't decide. Part of me would want to say something as profound and enduring as Neil Armstrong did when we landed on the moon. But, as alluded to above, I bet in an effort to do so, I would inevitably collapse into Shwarzenegger or Stallone voice and end up sounding cheesy and ruining the moment. For example, if I burst through the door, put him in my sights and shouted either "Prepare for justice!"/"Justice...at last!", or "You brought America to its knees. Now we're back on our feet, so you can read the words on the bottom of my boots when you look up at me from HELL!" (note: that sentence is to be said with the exact same inflection/emphases as Friar Tuck from the Kevin Costner Robin Hood movie just before he pushes that evil witch out the window), or if I shot him first, stood over his corpse and said "I just red, white, and blew you away, asshole!", or "No dialysis machine can save you now, motherfucker!" See? All of those sound like they're trying to be awesome, but I'm thinkin' they actually sound wholely stupid.

There's a part of me that would want another soldier to shoot him; someone who knew a victim of 9/11 on a personal level just so he/she could say "This is for (victim's name), you son of a bitch!" That would work. That's good. But I feel like it wouldn't completely encapsulate what all of America would want to say to him given the opportunity...

And so I'm left confused/undecided. And I come to you, my diminutive readership. What would you say to Osama Bin Laden before killing him? What would be the best approach? Would you scream it? Whisper it in his ear? Would you shoot him in the feet and knees a bunch of times first and rhetorically and sarcastically ask him "what's the matter? Is the wittle tewwowist baby gonna start cwying?" before finally ending it? Would you even have used a gun, or would you have slowly pressed your bayonette (do any guns still have those?) into his stomach while making unflinching eye contact with him at so close a range that you can actually feel his beard against your face while you smile like the fucking Joker, just so he can see how much you're enjoying it? I think that would have been pretty neat.

Actually, I have decided at least that much for myself - I wouldn't have used a gun. I would have used a blade of some kind. And I would have done it niiiiiiiiiiiice and slooooooooow. I'd want him to see what most of his internal physiology looks like strewn about the floor before the gray-rain curtain of this world rolled back for him.

Your thoughts are highly encouraged here.

- BACK TO FOOTBALL FOR A SECOND

Remember when a bunch of Eagles fans abandoned the team in favor of the Pittsburgh Steelers because they just couldn't support a franchise that employs Michael Vick? HA! What do you have to say for yourselves now? Your quaterback is a rapist and your running back is an abject disgrace of a human being. Have fun with the black and yellow. You deserve each other.

- THE UNFORTUNATE TEMPORTARY NATURE OF THINGS

It's a shame that the sense of fierce patriotism currently coursing through my veins and through those of so many other Americans these last few days is ultimately fleeting. A few weeks from now, the American flags that are once again flapping in the Spring breeze will be folded up and placed back in the trunk in the basement, the stickers on the bumpers of the cars of the commuting American workforce will be either peeled off or replaced with a "Philadelphia Flyers, 2011 Eastern Conference Champions" sticker or something like that, gold-trimmed "USA" pins will be taken off our lapels, national anthems at sporting events will once again be echoed in the stands with the usual disinterested monotone, and everything will go back to the comfortable way it was before May 1st. In other words, I'm glad we're celebrating this, and I bet we'll remember what happened every May 1st for many years, but I'm just saying - wouldn't it be nice if people were this overtly proud ALL the time?

II. DESPITE WHAT MY BROTHER TELLS ME, I'M NOT ADOPTED...

In fact, I can say conclusively that I am indeed the biological offspring of Anne and the judge. I know this because my parents have recently taking a liking to regaling me with detailed stories about their sexual encounters in the early 1980's. Relax, I'm kidding ('Nice to see you haven't lost any of your, ummm, charm.' Thank you). Actually, though Bill (my older brother) occasionally still insists that I am the product of my mom's mysterious relationship with the mailman, I know I'm really the fruit of the judge's loins because with each passing day - and at a much more accelerated pace over the past year - I am noticing that I am undoubtedly transforming into my old man. Sadly, this is not exactly what I had in mind when I always said I wanted to be a transformer.... It's fucking crazy, but it's noticeable in all aspects of my daily life. Allow me to illustrate with some examples:

- Laughter: I used to make fun of people who snort when they laugh, so you can imagine the fun I've had over the years at the judge's expense since he never actually "laughs;" he only snorts. The louder and more rapid the snorts, the more amusing/funny he finds the joke/situation. It's weird... And wouldn't ya know it, over the past six months or so, I've noticed that when I'm laughing really hard, I occasionally experience snorting fits, sometimes so violent that I sound like a congested pig trying to ram lines of cocaine up his snout...That's right.

- Snoring: If this were an Olympic sport, the Mazzola house would be a gleaming, golden beacon of victory. Again, it used to be funny to me that I could hear him snoring in his room. Now, you might think that this is no big deal as many people can hear others snoring in their bedrooms. Yeah, well what I didn't tell you is that I could hear him snoring while I was still down the block playing basketball and he was passed out in the living room watching "Horatio Hornblower" (again) on A&E or some shit... Predictably, for about a year now, I've occasionally woken myself up to the unfortunate sound of my own "labored breathing," as the judge likes to put it. When this happens, I typically whisper "I can't fucking believe this just happened again," and I pass back out immediately. Ironically, passing out immediately is also a habit mastered by the judge.

- Phantom head-itchiness: This goes hand-in-hand with the snorting laughter in a way, but I think it's sufficiently funny to warrant its own section. In other words, when the judge launches into pig-junky laughter time, he also routinely starts to aggressively scratch the top of his head. Not because he's befuddled, but seriously just to give his left hand something to do while laughing. With that in mind, I've never stopped laughing so abruptly as I did the first time I realized I was doing this as well. While I can't remember what I was laughing at, I can remember feeling my eyes widen as they tend to do when you experience a shocking realization, and I remember slowly removing my hand form my head, bringing it down in front of my face, and just staring in disbelief at my open palm. This singular act really made me start to feel like maybe, just maybe, the mailman wasn't involved in my conception at all....

- Hobbies: Recently, I've discovered that there aren't enough crossword puzzles on the fucking planet to satisfy me. In related news, guess who else would love nothing more than to have an endless supply of crossword puzzles at his disposal?...

- Mannerisms: Speaking of crossword puzzles, and really any intellectually stimulating activity at all that can be done sitting down, the judge loves to bounce his legs while doing them. You know what I mean; it's the same action the proverbial grandpa does when he's bouncing his young grandson on his knee. Yeah, that. He does that. Sometimes just the left. Occasionally just the right. Most of the time it's both, and when it's both, half of those times he alternates right and left, and the other half the legs are bouncing in exact synchronization. Now, I've actually been doing this for quite some time - I can even remember a time in grade school while taking a test I noticed an irritating squeaking noise. It wasn't until several minutes later when I couldn't stand it anymore that I looked up to find that my foot was bouncing on one of the legs of the desk in front of me, causing the noise. So I've had plenty of years to come to grips with this one, no problem.... The part that gets me now is that the judge, when thinking hard, and sometimes simply when reading, will put the tips of four fingers (all except the pinky) of his left hand on the top left corner of his forehead and keep them there indefinitely. Typically, there's a pen wedged between two of these fingers, and the hand is only removed so to write in another crossword puzzle answer. Naturally, I now find myself doing the same thing, albeit occasionally with my right hand instead of my left. By the way, in case you were wondering, while sitting here thinking about writing this blog post, both my legs are bouncing in unison at a furious rate, and when I take a minute to proofread the paragraphs I finish to ensure they're worded they way I like - thereby giving me a chance to remove my right hand from the keyboard - you betcha, four fingers right on my fuckin' forehead. And lastly, the big one....

- Argument Style: Now, one could fairly suggest that this is something that is just as likely assimilated via a lifetime of direct communication/interaction as it is a product of genetics, but I think the fact that our faces become contorted in exactly the same way, our involuntary hand motions are identical, etc. strongly suggest the latter. Either way, the similarities here are almost eery. We both get loud without realizing it, we are both absolutely relentless when we feel the need to be ('AKA all the friggin' time'), and we both have that annoying tendency to persist until the opposing party acquiesces, shuts down, or otherwise admits defeat - even if we're wrong, which is an almost unfathomably rare occurence. However, the judge's win percentage in the sport of playful debate has dipped considerably in recent years as yours truly has become equally proficient at it. In other words, the proverbial student has long since been the master. Still, despite this, the judge will inexplicably engage in debate with me when I pay he and Anne a visit, and....well...long story short, that's why his win percentage has declined.

A final note here, I realize that this lengthy blog item has essentially amounted to one light-hearted and ringing endorsement of my old man, which is a sweet and tender idea. The only problem is that I'm not nearly that sweet and tender. With that in mind, allow me to point out that I'm way better than the judge at everything from crossword puzzles to accurately quoting Lord of the Rings to raining justice down upon the wicked. I just choose sometimes to afford him the luxury of self-confidence, which is why he remains in the eyes of many a scholarly and sometimes intimidating pillar of knowledge and justice. That's right, you all can thank ME (and Bill to a degree as well, but I see/verbally squash the judge more frequently these days) for your lofty opinion of him. If I were to remind him that he's not even on the same intellectual plane as me, it would crush him. Like Gandalf did to the balrog, I would smite his ruin upon a mountainside.

And so that's how I know I'm not adopted....Actually, wait, all I've done is confirm that I know who my old man is. And since I'm becoming so much like him, I haven't even noticed that I'm not becoming more like Anne in any way. Shit, suddenly I'm not so sure Anne is my real mom. Dammit!

III. QUICK HITTERS

- "Wunderkind" is a word I could seriously do without. First, it just sounds stupid, and if you say it with any kind of regularity, I'm betting that you're stupid as well. Second, and just as frustratingly, there are so many dumb people in the world who will hear this word said aloud for the first time, convince themselves that the speaker of the word must have said "wonder kid," misunderstand this phrase as an acceptable conversational term, and will then proceed to sound like a shmuck for an indefinite amount of time. And that just fuckin' irks me. Real bad. Like when people say "let's play it by year" or something like that. There isn't a word in existence that adequately conveys how much I want throw people off a cliff when this happens.

- I recently had a sore throat, so I took Chloraseptic for the first time in my life ('Really? First time ever?' Yes, that's what I said!). It wasn't until several minutes after I used it that I read the directions on the bottle; specifically the part that tells you to "spray once" and "not to swallow." I really wish I had read that beforehand, because then I possibly could have avoided spraying five/six times, swallowing it, then stomping, quickly fanning my face with my hands, and making incomprehensible whining/baby noises like Buddy the Elf when he tries the fruit spray. Because that's EXACTLY what happened.

- I am such a pathetically loyal Philadelphia sports fan that I realized if I had both a Delorian and the sports almanac from Back to the Future, I'd go back in time and STILL bet on the Eagles to win the Super Bowl. Ya know, just in case. Like I said, pathetic.

- Am I the only one (other than Jenn) who watched that show "V" on abc? Ya know, the one about alien lizards that disguise themselves as exceedingly sexy women? Sounds like such a cerebral show, I know... I think Jenn and I might be the only ones who watched it religiously though, honestly. Either way, the first season just ended with a pretty serious cliffhanger, but unfortunately it looks like the show isn't going to be renewed, leaving me with an irritating bevy of unanswered questions to which I would really like to acquire some sense of resolution lest I eventually claw my eyeballs out wondering what would have happened ('You'd seriously wonder about this?' Yes, I would. Otherwise, how are we gonna know what to do when the REAL aliens invade?) So, with this in mind, a plea: if you've watched the show - hell, even if you haven't! - please submit to me a possible resolution so that I may eventually convince myself that whatever you say is indeed what would have ultimately happened. I just need something. Help me. Whatever you say I won't get mad, for "I am of peace...always."

- During a pre-game tailgating "block party" before a recent Flyers game, I asked a woman on stilts if her boyfriend likes to go up on her. I thought this was funny.

- I don't often remember my dreams, but I do regularly seem to recall that I have trouble running during them. Why is that? I mean, I've had dreams where I'm walking, jumping, driving, having sex, having sex while walking/jumping/driving, etc. So why can't I run? Is there something to all that? What does it mean? Does it mean that I should learn to slow down? Does it mean that there are some things I don't like in life that I can't outrun? Somebody tell me....And no, I have not had the dream where I'm falling.

IV. AN EPIC STORY

One morning, Gregor Samsa awoke to find that he had transformed into a giant bug. Realizing that whatever events could possibly henceforth transpire would make for a wildly overrated story that's so saturated with thick and unnecessary symbolism that you could actually choke to death on it, Gregor stayed in bed and decided to hold his breath until he died. THE END!

V. THERE'S A HIPPO IN MY BEER







Take a look at this picture. This was my view of my glass of Sam Adams Noble Pils. When I looked at it, I saw the head of a hippo. Can you see it?




VI. GOD IS A SQUIRREL
I don't want to sound like a dirty hippie trying desperately and in vain to appear psychologically liberated, overly free-spirited, or abstract or anything, but I had a (very sarcastic, almost frivolous) conversation recently about what comes next when we die. Both myself and my partner in dialogue - I think it was Bill, and I think we were on our way to a Sixers game - agreed that its overwhelmingly likely that no religion has it exactly right, and that whatever comes next (if anything at all) is probably so far different and beyond what we can comprehend that it's almost ridiculous to assume we, as humans, can ever acquire even a moderate understanding of it...

...But ending the conversation there, while perhaps logical, just isn't any fun. And so we kept talking. First, Bill wondered aloud, "Yo, seriously how fucked up would it be if the Muslims end up having it right? And when we die, we're addressed by a spirit who calls himself Allah, and the Quran is 100% correct, and there are all these dark-skinned virgins waiting for us, etc?" We laughed at this thought, and we both agreed that if presented with this afterlife, we'd both say something "Are you fucking KIDDING ME? Islam had it right the whole time? Hahaha, that's crazy! Get the fuck outta here! What's next, you gonna tell Han shot first?" (If you don't get the reference, go watch Star Wars). And then we'd laugh a lot both at our apparent ignorance and at the complete mind-fuck that awaits all our friends when they die. Then, I guess we'd go to a mosque in downtown heaven somewhere or something, or grow a big, gnarly beard, or go ride a camel, or learn why all crazy Muslims have three names - one of which is inexplicably always Aziz or Bin, - or whatever else Muslims do every day.

Taking it a few steps further, while Islam is just an objectively bonkers institution, I suggested that it would be just insane if God turned out to be a giant celestial squirrel in outer space. Imagine that for a second. During your mortal life, you inevitably wonder to a large extent about what the afterlife is like, what heaven is like, what God is like, if there are angels, if you'll see deceased loved ones again, etc. And you probably do so for at least a few minutes or so every week. Then you die, aaaaaaaaand woops, God's a squirrel. How would you react? Would you get angry and say something like "Jesus, all that fucking time stressing and wondering what comes next, and you're a fucking SQUIRREL IN SPACE!? Son of a bitch!" I bet that'd be a natural reaction.

After that, and after your head stopped spinning, I bet it'd be natural to ask questions like "Are you always a squirrel in space, or do you only appear that way for now to remind us newly deceased people that all of our earthly endeavors were/are "nuts" (zing!) in the grand scheme of things?" And if God replies that he simply always has been and always will be a squirrel, what do you do then? Do you just accept it and float around space with him forever? That'd be crazy, right? It's fun to think of things like this, and it's good for you too, because whatever you think comes next, I promise you you're wrong. So you're better off preparing for the unexpected/insane/unbelievable. Just don't say I didn't warn ya....Squirrels, dude. Squirrels.

Then we got to the Sixers game and got kinda drunk. Oh, and the Sixers won. Fuck Lebron James.

VII. DISNEY WORLD

I just got back from Walt Disney World, and I can say with no hesitation that it was one of the greatest five-days periods of my life. I'm not going to get incredibly sappy on you here. Just suffice it to say that if you were there as a child, it's worth going back. Also, if you just so happen to go there with somebody you love, it's that much better. You just gotta trust me here.

I'm not going to get into detail about what rides were cool, what sucked, which parks and attractions you should hit first, etc. I'll just tell you that the atmosphere there is such that you will find yourself helplessly, though gratefully, and relentlessly trying to, nay, forcing yourself to conjure the Disney memories from your childhood that you had previously believed were long gone and lost forever. And upon seeing/hearing/doing something that actually allows you to successfully re-remember one, you're then immediately greeted with a feeling of pure euphoria, exactly like the first time you lived it, if only for a period of time so brief that it feels like half of an instant.

In other words, to me as an adult, there may not be any objective appeal to the idea of a large series of fountains in Epcot Center that randomly spit out arking, snake-like bursts of water, but when I walked by them on Monday morning, put my hand in them, and saw a couple of actual six-year-olds playing in them, there was a moment - again, too brief to really describe - when I actually felt like it was 1989, and I welcomed the sense of uncorrupted happiness that suddenly washed over me as I remembered when I was the six-year-old boy playing in that very fountain, proudly sporting my brand new Donald Duck baseball cap and everything.

I don't know why it's so amazing/compelling, but it is, and definitively so, that all these years later, that same fountain is still right there doing the same exact thing. And so is Space Mountain. And so if the giant golf ball thing. And so is Muppet-Vision. And so is the monorail that takes you to the Contemporary Resort so you can have lunch with the characters. And so are the Mickey-shaped breakfast waffles. And so is Main Street USA in the Magic Kingdom. And so are all the other details you remember that once collaborated to bring you the best time/feeling of your life. Like they're all frozen in time. Actually, that's kind of what it's like when you're there - frozen in time. Perhaps that's why it so often felt like no time had passed; like I hadn't grown up at all. So many times I found myself just as enraptured by the enormity of it all as I was way back when. The only difference is that this time I didn't need mommy to hold my hand while daddy told me where to go and when I'm allowed to take a bathroom break....Well, that, and also this time I could get really drunk at all the different countries in Epcot.

And when it came time to go, I was just as upset as I was in 1989. Not because I had to go back to work, but just because I simply didn't want to leave it all behind again. Still, I managed to peel myself away and head back home, comforted by the fact that I know I can go back again, and everything will be as I left it... exactly as I left it. And I'll get to be six years old for a third time. I can't wait.

If you think this last bit here makes me soft, I humbly suggest you go fuck yourself.

Alright, that's all for now. 'Til next time, Rashard Mendenhall is a douchebag.

Dago out.