No post tomorrow. President Reagan has saved the day and I’m heading off to Boston. As all travel experiences are essentially consequence-free, here are some weekend goals:

1) Get blackout drunk
Chance of happening: 90%

2) Spend less than $300 total (food + booze)
Chance of happening: 40%

3) Make-out, preferably with a woman
Chance of happening: less than 5%

4) If #3 doesn’t work, slow dance with a woman, preferably to the song, “A Kiss to Build a Dream On”, as sung by Louis Armstrong
Chance of happening: less than 1%

5) Soil myself or my buddy Joe’s apartment or myself in my buddy Joe’s apartment
Chance of happening: 95%

6) Hit on my brother’s friends (if he has any) to secure my “creepy older brother” reputation
Chance of happening (provided he has friends): 80%

7) Say to at least 2 attractive women: “You know, I got tested for STDs this week, and I’m totally clean.”
Chance of happening: 100%

8) Then say, “I’m just kidding! I didn’t get tested. I have no idea whether or not I have any STDs and to be honest, I really don’t want to know! You know what I’m talking about, right?”
Chance of happening: 50% (they’ll probably back away slowly after #7)

9) Say to at least 1 attractive women: “I’m sorry if I’m not acting like myself. I stopped taking my anti-depressants earlier this week, and I’m all loopy. Also, I really want to steal a car and kill a hooker. Do you ever get that feeling?”
Chance of happening: 60%

10) Fall in love and get married
Chance of happening: n/a

Have a good weekend. And remember, with every weekend that passes, you are one step closer to real responsibility and ultimately, death. So get out there and get yourself a fucking story – not for me, but for President Reagan.

Love you Ronnie.

As of Monday, I have started a diet. It occurred to me that I will be going to the beach in less than a month, so that means I have only one month to lose 30-40 pounds and completely reshape my body. While I’m at it, it’d be nice if I could make my peni

What the MTA/subway operators did to those on the 4-5 trains this morning was abuse, pWhat the MTA/subway operators did to those on the 4-5 trains this morning was abuse, plain and simple. The trains were packed with people, the air conditioning was off, and I could have run to work faster (well, not me, because I can’t run at all, but you get the point). The train was stopped frequently, and when it did move, it crawled.

And it stunk in the train. Literally: it smelled like B.O., morning breath, and eggs all rolled into one. I felt like I was on one of those ferries in Southeast Asia – you know the ones that sink every other week, drowning like 400 people, and then the remaining 200 people get eaten by sharks? Not that that’s funny, but you can’t fit 600 Thai people on a ferry meant for 200. Come on guys. Let’s be honest with ourselves here.

Anyway, that’s what this train was like. Thank god I wasn’t hungover, because I surely would have died. I have no doubt about it – my heart would have stopped somewhere between Grand Central and Union Square, and honestly, I don’t think anyone would have noticed.

And now my day is completely ruined, as I sit here sweating, agitated out of my mind. There was a guy standing in front on me in the train, who most girls would say was “good-looking” (I’m secure enough in my “masculinity” to say so), and dressed in a very sharp suit. He went to check the time, and I noticed he was wearing a watch with a calculator on it. A fucking calculator watch, like we had in the 80′s. I almost punched him in the basement right then and there. What a fucking asshole.

I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but the point is I am really pissed off.

Mother fuckers. lain and simple. The trains were packed with people, the air conditioning was off, and I could have run to work faster (well, not me, because I can’t run at all, but yo