I have someone subletting my apartment because why not? I love couches.

Currently I’m sleeping on a grayish green sectional in Dumbo. It’s the perfect length for my toboggan-like physique and firm like the buttock of a California governor. The best part is the disgustingly cute Burmese cat named Fredo that lives there. He wakes me up by licking my nose. “Hee hee, stop it Fredo, that tickles, okay okay, I’m up, jeez.” Every morning.

My last couch was a pull-out in Carroll Gardens. No cat but a free NY Times delivered every morning in a blue plastic bag. Nothing like photos of angry Iraqis first thing in the morning to get your blood flowing. And who gives a shit about the Metro Section? Am I right New Yorkers?

Before that, I was staying with a good friend also in Carroll Gardens. While there we slept in the same bed. She’s a girl! We slept in the same bed! AND she slept bra-less! But with a sweater. Nothing happened. We were like two spoons on opposite ends of a silverware drawer. Me a soup spoon and her a spoon without a bra.

Before that, I had a Queen-sized bed and my own room in a paid-for luxury apartment. It was okay.

Thursday, I move back home after four long months. Back with my cat who doesn’t lick my nose in the morning but has soft stripes and a pink nose. There really is no place like home. Except for the places that aren’t your home.

BTW, I’m glad baseball season is over.

My mother lives in Southern California and was forced to evacuate her house last night because of the wildfires. (more…)

My friends find my constant name-dropping to be annoying, but I just can’t help it. Halle Berry. I really can’t help it. John COCKSUCKING TRAVOLTA!! I have NDT: Name Dropping Tourette’s. I don’t even like half the names I drop, but I DANE COOK drop them anyway. I hate this stupid FISHER STEVENS condition. KATIE Crrrrackhead C-C-C-COURIC! Sometimes when I legitimately try to drop a name, my NDT will kick in and I’ll end up dropping the wrong Harry shhhhitballs Connick DOUCHEBAG JR. name, which makes me look like an idiot. FLEA! For instance, I went to Peter Dinklage’s wedding. For Randy Jackson real. When I tell the story of the wedding, and how Peter married BRUCE VILANCH a very lovely girl named Rosie O’O’O’O’Beeatch ..Erica, I don’t tell it coherently. I end up shouting other PHIL friggin’ MICKELSON names out, which totally confuses the MITT God Damn ROMNEY listener as to who the famous person getting married was and who he was SONUVA b-b-BATMAN marrying. I hate this Sting Sting stupid Sting condition. Joey Fatone. Sting.

A couple years ago, a provision in an unresolved spending bill by Congress gave legislative aides access to individuals’ income tax returns. Who was responsible for writing this insane provision, and how did it almost go unnoticed? I do not have the answers to these questions, but one of my Washington sources recently came across a copy of this 3-thousand page spending omnibus bill in a Congressman’s dumpster, and I read it. Let me tell you, Congress peeking at your tax returns should be the least of your worries, America. Take a look at some of the other unsettling provisions I found in the bill:

-“Members of Congress may enter your home and fiddle with your thermostat.”

-“U.S. Senators may cheat at solitaire and take credit for a win.”

-“Congress has the right to determine defense spending ironically.”

-“Every four years, Republican Senators will lead the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with their balloon: ‘John Murtha in a Bikini.’”

-“Education will be funded with loose change from illegal immigrants’ couches.”

-“Senate Majority Leader decides who will be the Last Comic Standing!”

-“Congress has the right to veto rock with scissors.”

-“The last Eggo always goes to the House.”

I want to congratulate Ashley Bellingham, a sophomore at Auburn University, for winning the “Write the Last Scene of The Sopranos” contest. (more…)

Some of my favorite phobias:

(these are all real)
Cathisophobia- Fear of Sitting. “Window or Aisle?” “AAAHHHHH NEITHER!!!”
Lutraphobia- Fear of Otters. “1 bdrm avl. Aug 1. Non-smoking, single, male. Must hate otters.”
Ithyphanllophobia-Fear of Seeing, Thinking about, or Having an Erect Penis. “Lap Dance?” “Not unless you want me to shit my pants.”
Consecotaleophobia- Fear of Chopsticks. “I’ll have the hot & sour soup and…a fortune cookie.”
Metrophobia- Fear of Poetry. “Roses are red, violets…” “You say another word, I yell rape.”

Here are some more hilariously sad conditions…
Defecaloesiophobia- Fear of Painful Bowel Movements
Arachibutyrophobia- Fear of Peanut Butter Sticking to the Roof of your Mouth
Zemmiphobia- Fear of the Great Mole Rat
Dextrophobia- Fear of Objects at the Right Side of the Body
Aulophobia- Fear of Flutes

And of course Panophobia- Fear of EVERYTHING. Guilty!

Here’s to a healthy state of mind.

I found what I call a “cinnapretzel” (pretzel with Cinnabun baked into center) at an AMC 12plex concession stand in Escondido, California.

I’ve waited a long time for this. All I want to know is what was the hold-up?

I want to know why in-house chefs at movie theaters don’t exercise creativity like this on a regular basis. I mean, popcorn with butter, nachos with cheese, Milk Duds with box. I’m over it! When I’m watching Will Smith shoot alien rat-donkeys, I want both sweet and salty sensations together in one god damn bite. I’m an American god dammit!! I don’t have time to alternate popcorn, Twizzler, popcorn, Twizzler. What do I look like, a friggin’ snack juggling clown?? I want salty dough and frosting- BAM! in one shot. Is that so much to ask?

More suggestions for great salty/sweet combos at the movie theater:

-Glazed Salmon and Caper Donut
-Curly Fry Ice Cream
-Raisinette Chowder
-Cinnabun baked into Pork Chop
-Jock strap Cupcake

There’s a new asshole in town. They call him the Douchebag and he’s here for the long haul.
Some people think that assholes and douchebags are one and the same. Not true. The word “asshole,” becoming prominent in the late 60s, refers to a person, typically male, who intentionally behaves like…well… like an asshole. Whether he’s the guy cutting you off in his Beemer, your delinquent ex-husband or Donald Trump.
The word “douchebag,” employed by sophisticated linguists since the early 80s, is fairly new to the mainstream and casts a wider net than the word “asshole.” A douchebag is by nature an asshole but takes being an asshole a step further. A douchebag can also be someone clueless of his own douche-y behavior. You’ll see him singing along to Mony Mony, attaching a spoiler to his IROC-Z or starring in The Real World: Denver. Basically, all assholes can be considered douchebags, but all douchebags are not exactly assholes.
It’s time for everyone to accept the word “douchebag.” The earth is packed too tightly with idiots to be limited to only one major pejorative moniker. And I realize that some of you are uncomfortable saying “douchebag” because of its literal definition, but think of what “asshole” means literally. You don’t have a problem throwing around that expression at a hockey game. We’ve gotten used to the term “asshole” and we’ll get used to “douchebag.” Our modern-day vocabulary demands it. Join me in utilizing it to its full potential.

I’m calling for the Bloggers Guild of America to strike immediately. It’s time we as bloggers unite as a people and demand compensation for the posting of our daily reflections. Three, sometimes four times a week we blog to a vast audience consisting of ourselves, parents and bored friends at work all over the world (wide web). Literally tens of hundreds of people skim over our half-thoughts every year and we’re not given a dime! I’m tired of being on my computer every other day, slaving over personal musings for a measly 2 comments per month (thanks Randy). Comments aren’t worth shit! Can you pay your gas bill with comments? Ever buy a lap dance by remarking to the stripper, “You’re writing really brightens my day (-:”??   NO!

Bloggers should not only insist upon base compensation, but residuals for content reuse as well. How often has someone repeated something from your blog to a co-worker for a good laugh? At least once! The blogger should be reimbursed for that laugh. Even if it was a nervous laugh because the co-worker had just stolen a case of binder clips from the supplies closet. A laugh’s a laugh. Bloggers are being cut out of a very lucrative equation. And what about DVD royalties???

I am personally striking the moment I finish this hilarious entry. I’m sick of being taken for granted. My friend Albertina doesn’t feel the same. She thinks blogging is just a way to familiarize the public with your work and become more disciplined as a writer. I think she’s naive. I’m an entertainer, like Dane Cook or Paula Abdul. I do the same things they do, but they drive Porsches and I get carpal tunnel syndrome? No more! It’s time for change. The blog stops here.

I’m OUT!!