If you haven’t already seen it, Delmon Young throwing the bat at the ump.

Class act, Delmon.  Class all the way. 

(I’d would say more, but I’ll just leave it at that, lest I spend the afternoon writing 3000 words about this.)

(Happy Friday!)

I have received this link about thirty times, both from friends and readers, since I got into work this morning. 

But there’s a problem: this is a scam.  Or at least, it’s not genuine.  You see, the proprietor of this website is repeating himself.  Let me explain.

Part of my responsibility of being an Internet Famous Person is that I get probably 200 emails a week that just deal with different links.  It is my duty to click on these links, no matter how stupid they might be or how much time they might waste, in order to give you, the reader, anything that I think might excite you.  And I mean that sexually and otherwise.   

Over a month ago, I started getting the above link about a guy who made a bet with his girlfriend that stated if he could get two million hits on his crappy website, she’d have a threesome with him.  I clicked through, thought it was a good idea, and was going to post about it, but then I didn’t need to – the guy got his two million hits.  Actually, he got his two million hits, if I’m not mistaken, in about three weeks.  The first day I saw it he was at about one million, a few days later, he was at three million.  He updated his progress with little comments at the bottom of the page, writing in to congratulate readers (and himself) at watershed numbers and thanking everyone for their support.  The site even had a message board, where ... read more

I am shitting myself over here as I try to meet my deadline. Of course, it will all work out in the end, but in the meantime, this is going to be a long, long week. We are easily going to break the record for "Most Conscious Hours in One Week, Non-Amphetamine Category" as I’ll be getting about three hours of sleep a night, spending my days hopped up on Diet Coke, snapping at friends and co-workers. I ordered chicken parm for dinner last night and when I took it up to my apartment, I noticed that the little Central American or Black or Whatever Man forgot to put bread in there. So I chased him down the street and threw a (plastic, 20oz) bottle of Pepsi at him. I missed by a wide margin and I don’t think he even noticed, but whatever. Fuck him. At least some tourists applauded. Point: this is not a good week to be around me.

I warned you that posting would be light this week, but I feel like I have an obligation to you. And by "have an obligation to you" I mean "have to procrastinate like a mother fucker." So below are ten things that you can do to pass the time this week as I slowly (or rather, rapidly) slip into psychosis.
(Also, I can’t wait to have sex when this is done. Oh no, wait – I can’t have sex. That’s right. Not only ... read more

I am a big sweaty man who takes his deodorant very seriously. 

I hate gel deodorant and don’t understand how anyone likes it.  I already sweat enough under my armpits; I don’t need to apply some cold, wet goo under there.  I mean, fuck. 

Sprays and roll-ons do nothing for me.  I might as well spray Pam under my pits for the protection that most spray deodorants offer, and roll-ons are for girls.

I don’t even mess around with "deodorant" proper.  Though slick, scented nicely, and colorful, it doesn’t work for me.

No, I wear anti-perspirant, the chalky white stuff.  I have to cake that shit under there, in order to clog up those sweat glands.  The negative is that 15 minutes into my day there is a nice paste of deodorant, sweat, and armpit hair accumulating like a snowball under my arms.  But that’s ok, because this is better than any of my other options and at least I don’t have body odor.

I’m particular about brand of deodorant, too.  For years, I wore old school Right Guard.  I’m talking ten or so years here.  It never failed me, properly clogging my sweaty pores and allowing me to choose from many different scents, from everything from Musk to Spice.

Then one day, it was gone.  Or rather, changed.  Right Guard remade the deodorant, made it hipper looking, and changed the formula.  And I sweat right through it.  Soon I was getting live; by 3pm, my office would have a faint pit smell emanating from ... read more

It’s been a while since I’ve answered any emails on here, mostly because I’ve been terrible at keeping up with them.  Because I now have to work 50 hours a week, write a book, and write a TV show, I had to free up some time somewhere.  Therefore, spending an hour or two a night responding to emails was sacrificed.  I’m sorry about this, and it doesn’t mean that I love you any less, but I’m this close to become a complete cokehead in order to make it through the day.  And with my heart in shambles, that’s not a very good idea.  So I stink at emails now. 

But here’s one from Tim in Philly that I thought required a thoughtful, articulate, lusty, misguided, and completely unhelpful response. 

Jason,

A while ago I broke up with my girlfriend, and neither one of us had really moved on.  We stayed pretty good friends and would make out a little when we saw each other and neither of had dated anyone since.  I always kinda thought we would get back together.  Then about three weeks ago I found out she had a date and it was with a girl.   I was put off a little but not too upset.  You know, I was thinking to myself.  How serious can it be?  She’s probably just lonely and experimenting.  Man this could be pretty hot and maybe I could get my self involved etc…   Then this week I found out that she has ... read more

My hunt for an apartment has ended.  I’m not moving.

I spoke to my landlord and because I have only bounced one rent check and have the words "Senior Analyst" in my title at work, he has agreed to lower my rent a little bit.  I can continue to live in my humble abode in the ChiLiTa section of Manhattan - by myself - so that I finally have my own apartment in New York City.  And as I predicted, as soon as the landlord and I shook on the deal, his tight Italian alpha male handshake wrapping around my clammy tentacle-fingered hand, I immediately regretted it.

(I think.) 

First and foremost, I am essentially kicking my roommate Brian out on the street.  I told him shortly after moving into this current place that once the lease was up, I’d be looking for my own place.  He thought too that it was time for a change, admitting that he was surprised when I agreed to live with him in our current apartment, thinking I’d struck/striken/had strucked out on my own a year ago after moving out of the Upper East Side.  So this is not unexpected.

But I never thought it would go down like this.  I assumed I’d easily find some overpriced shithole in Manhattan and he’d easily find some moderately overpriced shithole in Brooklyn, we’d help each other move, and then never see each other again.  But now it looks like only the last of those are actually going to happen. 

... read more

[Short week, since I'm heading out of town for the Easter break, so you only get a short compilation post.  I will probably post over the break, but, let's be honest - more than likely you won't hear from me until after the weekend.  I'm not neglecting you; I just think we need some space.  And I'm really fucking busy.]

I’m not against forwards, per se.  Anything that will help me waste time during the day is ok with me.

But I am STRONGLY against stupid forwards.  Of course, as most people don’t have as refined a taste in forwards as I do, so more often that not I get "treated" with a stupid ass forward, which makes me wonder what compels a grown, rational person to promulgate such idiocy on the internet.

(Wow – talk about irony.  Me, coming down on those who support stupidity on the internet.  Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.)

For some reason, the dumb forward below really got to me.  A female friend recently sent this to me and about 60 other people.  I have copied the text below, in all its annoying glory, to give you an idea of how absurd it is. 
 
GAS WAR – an idea that WILL work

This was originally sent by a retired Coca Cola executive. It came from one of his engineer buddies who retired from Halliburton. It’s worth your consideration.

Join the resistance!!!! I hear we are going to hit close to $4.00 a gallon by next summer and ... read more

Hear me now: I am about to make a huge mistake.  I am on the verge of getting my own apartment.

Yes, after living in four different apartments in five years – all with roommates – I’ve decided to strike out on my own.  For better or worse, I am going solo. 

My roommate Brian and I are parting ways after four years of living together.  I won’t eulogize our roommateship here, but I mention it now only to convey that we are ending it amicably, without bitterness or resentment or debt and only two punches thrown in four years (both from him punching me, both aimed at my neck, both misses by a wide margin).  Not too shabby.

The impetus for our split is my desire to live alone, which is rooted in no reason aside from, "Well, I just want to."  I’ve never lived alone in my life and I’m at the point where I can (barely) afford to do so, so I’m going to do it.  And then I plan on immediately regretting it.  

The first negativo about living alone is that I’m going to be lonely as a mother fucker.  I am a pretty social person, so I like being able to come home, eat some shit meal, heat up a pint of ice cream, and shoot the shit with a roommate.  This, of course, doesn’t mean I’m a good friend or anything like that, but that I need someone around who will listen (or pretend to listen) to me talk.  So I know I’m going to be lonely when I’m on my own.  Hell, a few weeks ago, Brian ... read more

At 12:19am on April 1, my month-long flirtation with vegetarianism came to an end.  And it was not a moment too soon.

I wish that I could say something positive about not eating meat (fish and other seafoods were allowed), but I’ve got nothing.  It didn’t make me feel any better physically.  It’s not like that by cleansing my body of meat products I became a better athlete, worker, lover, or person.  This is probably because I replaced protein and vitamin-rich meat not with fish and vegetables, but pasta and pizza.  LOTS of pasta and pizza.

I didn’t feel morally better.  As I’ve said, I firmly believe that God put animals on this earth for us to dominate, eat, and perhaps train to perform simple household chores.  So I could care less if I saved a few chickens or cows.  They’re born to be eaten, so if I felt anything, it was guilt about not taking advantage of the plentiful bounty that God has provided us (especially when so many of His children can’t). 

I didn’t feel sexier.  A lot of women readers wrote in and said that I should try to use my vegetarianism to impress women.  The women who suggested this obviously don’t know me very well.  Any sex appeal (and I use that word in the loosest possible sense) I have is based on being a man, a real man, an alpha male.  I have a beard and lots of body hair; I’m fat and have fat boy strength; I like drinking ... read more

For those peeps in Philly, I am mentioned in today’s edition of The Philadelphia Inquirer.  I don’t have a hard copy (since I’m in NYC and all), but it’s on Section D at the bottom of the first page (this is what my mom tells me, in between saying, “My God, you’re so much better than your brother and sister” over and over again).  It’s basically the hard copy version of what was written up in their blog yesterday, but here’s the link.

It occurs to me that I’m going to have to get a semi-normal picture of me for these things.  They asked for one and I sent them the moustache one and the boner jacket one (the first and third pictures on my MySpace profile) and they went with neither.  Totally understandable, since I look like a moron in both.  So if anyone in NYC is willing and able to take tasteful, semi-nude shots of me, please let me know.

(Oh, and for free.)

Hopefully more to come later today.

I was planning on taking time today to discuss the end of my vegetarianism, but there is a much more pressing matter at hand: boobies.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am a breast man.  I wish I could explain why I am so enamored with breasts instead of only saying things like, "They’re awesome and look nice" and "They are fun to touch" and "I like it when they bounce," but I can’t.  I don’t want to get all Freudian, because that’s just nasty.  I am damn sure that that’s not the root of it. 

Alternatively, my first serious girlfriend, my first serious everything, was very, um, gifted in the boobs department; the kind of girl that sprouted breasts when I was still eating paste and pissing myself in class.  Perhaps that has something to do it; I am forever search of boobies to match the first I ever became acquainted with.  My lust for large mammories is a manifestation of nostalgia, not specifically for the girl, but generally for my past.  But that seems almost too easy.

And even before that, as soon as I knew they existed and that girls were pretty, nice breasts have been important to me in a potential mate.  Nay, not just important, necessary.  I immediately can and will disqualify a woman as a possible life partner based on the size of her breasts.  This is so shallow that I’m shocked to even write it, but it’s true.  I admit: I require ample boobies in a lady friend.  This doesn’t necessarily mean DD’s, ... read more

At least somebody loves me.

More later today (mostly about boobies, so be warned).