Terrifying Brown

     I do not have a reason for my absence; I simply allowed my laziness to take over. I’m not sure how frequently I will post, but I felt the urge to write an entry, today, so here goes.

     On a recent flight to Boston, I brought along a book of short stories by Stephen King. I guess you can say he inspired this post, but the truth is I had the crap scared out of me. For those of you, who frighten easily, do not continue reading.

     The move to Burbank has been absolutely wonderful, UNTIL this morning. I’m not like the typical person; I don’t hate Mondays and I don’t look forward to Fridays. I guess you can say I don’t hate my job. I woke this morning and did what I always do; I checked the forecast, in order to prepare a proper outfit. (Just kidding! The weather in Southern California is always great!)

     My morning ritual is basically the same each day; I jog a few miles to the summit of the Verdugo Mountains. Luckily, I always seem to reach the peak just before sunrise. There is no better way to start the day! Once I receive a sufficient amount of solar energy, I head east, towards the local food bank. I’ve been blessed by my lord and savior and it is only right for me to return the favor by helping out the needy.

     I’m sorry; I definitely confused my morning ritual with someone else’s. I get ready, hop in the car, and hit the highway (I apologize to my fellow Californians; I meant to say freeway!) with my head on a swivel, watching for cops, as I speed my way down Interstate 5! (I don’t know why I thought I was a jogger!)

     The day began like any other, until I reached for a shirt. I don’t know if there are real superheroes in the world, but I definitely have superpowers. Unfortunately for me, it’s a gift and a curse. No matter where I am, I can spot any trespassing insect.

     Utilizing my hyper-sensitive peripheral vision, I noticed a creepy crawler walking up the wall. Although the lighting wasn’t optimal, I had no trouble spotting the intruder, since the closet walls are white.

     I moved in closer, in order to identify the trespasser; a brown spider. I’m not a native of Southern California, nor am I a herpetologist or one who studies arachnology, so there was no way for me to determine if this was a full-grown arachnid or an up-and-coming killer. (FYI: Herpetologists are not people who have sex with those infected with Herpes in order to understand the disease. People who have sex with those infected with Herpes in order to study the disease are sick!)

     I know I should have simply asked “god” to forgive me my trespasses as I forgive this spider who trespasses against me, but I’m an atheist, so I know there is no “god” to assist in these circumstances. Furthermore, I am a certified “spider serial killer.” I see a spider, I kill a spider. (There was one recent incident where I allowed a spider to live, but that was outdoors. Initially, I wanted to kill “god’s” eight-legged creation!)

     Once I assessed the situation, I was certain that this spider deserved to die. (To avoid any confusion, any spider located inside of my living space deserves to die a horrible death!) I grabbed my Adidas slippers and prepared to deliver the death-blow. (Ironically, all I could think was, “Just Do It!”)

     That’s when the most unimaginable thing happened. The Mother-F-ing spider jumped from his perched position, halfway up the wall, onto the carpet.

     I couldn’t freaking believe it!

     I know what you are thinking, “What’s the big deal?”

     I’ll tell you what the big deal is. The dumbass spider, a known killer, was brown. My freaking dumbass carpet, chosen by my landlord who is clearly trying to kill me since she apparently never got over the East coast West coast rap beef, is the same exact brown. Coincidence? I think not; I WAS DEAD!

     All I could do was channel my inner Nancy Kerrigan and yell out, “WHY ME! WHY ME!”

     Seriously, what the hell just happened? We’re not even in Los Angeles so why the heck did this spider decide to turn into Blake Griffin?

     I did all that I could to locate this amazing half-spider /half-chameleon, part-time dunk champion, but there was nothing I could do other than to come to grips with the fact that this trespasser was preparing to launch a nighttime attack, later that evening.

     Defeated, I prepared to leave the house, never thinking about the safety of my cousin, who was asleep in the other room. The way I saw it, “better him than me!”

     Just when I thought I was a dead man walking, the idiot spider made a fatal mistake. She (I might as well make this villain a woman!) crawled up the wall. There was no hesitation, this time. I attacked with deadly force, catching the spider on the left temple. (Yeah, I’m a spider killing ninja assassin!) The spider died on impact, and I was free to live another day.

     I was victorious on this occasion, but I am prepared to do battle once again. If I don’t survive, know that I fought with everything I had.

     My only reservation when choosing this apartment was the carpet, but I could never have imagined how much the floor-covering would negatively impact my life; I now know what lies beneath. Don’t make the same mistake I made; brown carpets are certified deathtraps! (No, the drapes do not match the carpet. We are men and we do not have drapes!) It’s definitely time for a change. Does anyone know which color best works against spider-chameleons? (While you think, I’m about to call eight-hundred, five, eight, eight, two, three, hundred, Empire, TODAY!)

     From this day forth, getting a good night sleep is completely out of the question. I’m sure most people are familiar with the UPS ads, in which potential customers are asked, “what can Brown do for you.” As of this morning, not a goddam thing!




Little Caesars Is Dead To Me

I will never purchase anything from this company for the rest of my life. (Unless they repay me for my horrible experience!)

To be honest, the pizza isn’t good. (I know this may sound like the opinion of a disgruntled customer, but the only reason I went to the place is because of their “Hot-N-Ready” pizza which only costs five dollars and can be purchased with no wait. I am generally impatient so the quality of the food was less important than the quantity of time I saved.

Banning myself from this franchise may seem like an insignificant thing, but I was actually excited when I found out that Little Caesars wasn’t extinct. Once upon a time, while living in Boston, I enjoyed walking down to the local strip to purchase video games from Kmart. (I find it strange when “grown” men get excited about video games. They were a big part of my life, but like most childish things, I grew out of that phase. Maybe I’m wrong, but I just don’t have any desire to get involved in “gaming!”)

The only Little Caesars in the city (As far as I can remember) was located in the Kmart. [The Kmart is now a Target. I was also elated to discover that there are three Kmarts fairly close to where I live. I don’t have any desire to shop there, but it’s nice to know that Kmart is alive and kicking!] After a few years, the shitty Little Caesars was removed from the Kmart and replaced with something else. (I admit, that was a jab at the company!)

The Horrible Incident:

Like I stated before, I didn’t mind the shitty pizza because of my lack of patience. To the best of my knowledge, this horrible incident happened during my third visit to the establishment, located in North Hollywood; a stone’s throw from our previous apartment. (I said I didn’t mind the shitty pizza, but I prefer to eat good food, so I only went to this place as a last resort, because the quality was pretty low and my only mission was to get some crap inside my belly!)

I drove down to the Little Caesars and decided to skip the Hot-N-Ready crap and hope the regular pie (Can you tell I lived in the New Jersey!) was of a higher quality. I ordered the Hawaiian because pineapple is the world’s number one pizza topping. (If you don’t like pineapples on your pizza, you’re probably a dumbass!) The friendly pizza technician informed me that there will be a fifteen minute wait. I accepted her terms and handed over my debit card to complete the transaction.

Two minutes after placing my order, the girl who “helped me” ended her shift and left. Five minutes crawled by before I almost lost my mind. Thankfully, “god” worked in a mysterious way and sent an angel to perform a miracle. My pizza was ready, ten minutes early, and it tasted like one which was flown in from Italy and created by Anna Maria Garoscio. (Google her!)

Just kidding! “god” doesn’t exist and the story is a complete fabrication. Although, If it was written in the bible, a billion people would accept it as true!

I turned to my right and noticed a wondrous site; a Seven Eleven. (In Boston, Seven Elevens are rare, but in Los Angeles, you can’t go three blocks without driving past one!) I walked towards the convenience store and bought some drinks. I also decided to by a two dollar scratch because the person who gets paid to place products in the best location to increase sales knows me all too well and I couldn’t resist. (I don’t have a gambling problem, but I typically buy a scratch every two months or so.) I walked back to the Low-Quality-Pizza-Mart and sat down.

Now, a total of seventeen minutes had elapsed. The new counter girl asked if I was ready to order and I informed her that I was waiting for my Hawaiian pizza. She went to the back and it seemed as if no one knew about my purchase. The manager, who was in his early thirties, seemed to be more interested in the sexual lives of his high school employees than ensuring that I was a satisfied customer. (I don’t want to call this guy a pedophile, but I’m almost certain that he was working to pay tuition at the local seminary! ***With all the money that the pedophiles collect each Sunday, you would think seminarians wouldn’t have to pay tuition, but the Catholic church is a well-oiled money making machine!***)

The girl returns and informs me that my pizza would be ready shortly. I was pretty sure that they were just about to start making it. After another ten minutes of torture, I lost my cool and decided to leave before I voiced my obscenity-laced-opinions.

That’s right; I took the loss and went home, sans crappy pizza. The way I see it, it only cost me eight bucks to discover that Little Caesars is a horrible business. For the rest of my life, I will never spend another cent in any of their locations. The good news is the 20 bucks I won when I scratched the ticket. (Thanks magical lottery deity!)

I guess the real point of this post is for me to say “FUCK LITTLE CAESARS!”



Independence is a funny thing, especially in the United States of America. The recent celebrations during the Fourth of July confused me. I now live in California and I was stunned to see all of the festivities. Massachusetts earned the right to celebrate Independence Day, along with the other original twelve colonies (Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, and Rhode Island), but who gave the other states the right? (The nerve of some people!)

Don’t get me wrong; I love living in California, but the state has been a member of the union for less than two hundred years. (States should have to put in at least two centuries before earning the right to celebrate!)

I also find the South to be particularly confusing when it comes to independence. Don’t get me wrong; I’m definitely against slavery, especially since I would have been on the losing end of that deal, but what gives the Union the right to force the Confederate states to abide by their rules? Wasn’t the point of the Declaration of Independence issued in order to rid America from English rule? I guess the freedom of independence is only for some people.

Speaking of freedom, what about the US Territories? Do those citizens not deserve to have their own Independence Day? When will Puerto Rico be allowed to become an independent country? The American government can claim Puerto Rico as a territory but the island is not a part of the US. They have their own national anthem for Pete’s sake! If the country can send athletes to the Olympic Games, they should have their Independence! (The least that can be done is allowing the country’s citizens to have voting rights in the Presidential election!)

The same goes for Guam, the Virgin Islands, and any other “territory!” I, for one, will not accept these “territories” as American until the government forces PeterPan Bus Lines, Amtrak and South West Airlines to collaborate on a $69 ferry boat from Miami to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Furthermore, I want a Pacific Ocean ferry to Guam and the other stolen islands. (I don’t know anything more American than a great deal!)

Maybe these “territories” should follow the example of the United States and take their Independence by force! (This might turn out to be a bad idea, since America used atomic bombs in the past!)

I guess the purpose if this post is to point out that Independence is a confusing concept. I’ll probably never understand it!

     RANDOM QUESTION OF THE DAY: I wonder if “Independent women” celebrate their Independence on the fourth of July. If not, I think September 7th is a perfect day.

“Why September 7th?” You ask.

It’s pretty simple; that’s the birthdate of Queen Elizabeth I of England. She was an Independent woman, in fact a virgin, who didn’t need any man to help her rule the world. (She must have done a lot of horseback riding!)

The term “Independent Woman” always reminds me of my favorite inappropriate joke. “What do you say to a woman with two black eyes?” NOTHING; SHE’S BEEN TOLD TWICE!  


Twitter Is Back To Being Fun

When I first signed up for Twitter, I found the site to be a great place to read random unfiltered comments from funny people. Sadly, things changed and the site became a place where one can actually witness society’s downward spiral; reverse evolution is real. (There was a time when self-respect was important!)

Scrolling down through my old timeline was an adventure down heard it before lane. All I read were tweets about hating one’s job and looking forward to days off in order to party. I may be out of touch, but I’m pretty sure there is a lot more to life than drinking and smoking marijuana. (By the way, if you don’t live in a state with legal medical marijuana, you probably shouldn’t tweet about your illegal drug use!)

Furthermore, it shocks me that most of the worst offenders are so called believers. These degenerates must think their “all-knowing lord” is incapable of reading their tweets. Obviously, there is no need for anyone to panic because we all know that there is no “god;” feel free to continue the tomfoolery. (Just be advised that Twitter is nothing like Vegas; what happens there will follow you for the rest of your lives!)

In an effort to improve my Twitter experience. I decided to follow some atheists. Boy was that the right move. I can now scroll through my timeline and find examples of people who actually get it. (It’s quite refreshing!)

I thought I kicked the habit!

     It was great to follow Jerry DeWitt, who is the first graduate of a project which helps religious leaders leave their respective faiths, once they arrive at the realization that “god” doesn’t exist. Jerry served as a Pentecostal minister for 25 years in Louisiana before becoming an atheist. (The great thing about Twitter is the ability to tweet back and forth with anyone!)

***I suggest following Jerry: @jerry_dewitt***

     Another person I enjoy following is @SexySkeptic. Not only is she knowledgeable, but she’s also attractive. “How hot?” You ask.

Let’s just say, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating a bag of chips without a napkin!

Who knows? Maybe one day I will meet a nice atheist woman to settle down and start a family. We could produce intelligent atheist offspring and maybe a couple dogs. (Just kidding about the dogs; children are enough of a responsibility!)

I can picture it now. My wife and I would send our first born, a boy named RePete, to the finest Parochial school in the country. Understandably, RePete would refuse to conform to the mandatory prayer demands from the faculty, which would eventually spark a massive lawsuit. (I would continue with this storyline, but that life seems like it would suck and I definitely wouldn’t force my child to attend a school which teaches about a mythical fatherly wizard and his magician son who could outperform Chris Angel any day of the week!)

To be honest, my preference would not be to date an atheist. I’d much rather find a woman who is extremely religious. I’m talking about a woman who has trouble sleeping because as she puts it, “tonight is the night that I will share Jesus’ suffering and experience the stigmata!” (She wouldn’t be crazy; just religious!)

“Hey, what’s the difference between crazy and religious?” You wonder.


I’d also want the woman’s parents to be religious freaks. (I’m not talking about amateur porn stars who dress up in priest and nun outfits!) When I say religious freaks, I mean people who meet with the priest in the church’s media room in order to go over film of the mornings’ proceedings. (I haven’t been to church in a while; people do that, right?)

The reason I’d prefer to marry a religious woman is solely for the purpose of creating a never-ending awkward situation. Her parents will think that I am a worthy suitor, except for the fact that I am an atheist. It will just eat at him each and every moment until he finally gives in and accepts his little atheist grandchildren. The best perk would be the ability to teach RePete (Yeah, that name is definitely happening!) to tease his grandfather about his faith. (Why else would anyone want children?)

Each time we visited my future in-laws, RePete would ask his granddad to tell him one of his great Jesus the magician stories!

I know all this talk about RePete may cause people to assume that I want children, but I don’t! (To read why, click the link: You Can Keep Your Legacy.)

Romance talk aside, Jerry DeWitt posted a tweet that intrigued me. I followed the link to an interesting article, which I will discuss tomorrow!


I Almost Forgot About The San Andreas Fault

While living on the east coast, anytime someone mentioned living in California one thought immediately came to mind; earthquakes. I just couldn’t grasp the idea of making a home in an area where you are at a higher risk of dying. To me, the only thing worse than living in California, was if I decided to call the mid-west’s Tornado Alley home. (I understand it is silly to expect people to move from Tornado Alley since it encompasses almost a third of the country, but it’s not for me!)

As you can see, the quake wasn’t too close!

     Prior to my move, I wondered how I would adapt to constantly living on the brink of death; I wasn’t sure if the threat of an earthquake would remain in the back of my mind on a daily basis. Although it was a concern, I never thought about backing out of the trip and I was surprised to discover that earthquakes are pretty irrelevant in Los Angeles. (It’s nothing like Boston where people can’t go a day without mentioning the weather!)

***Quick Tangent***

{I met this woman who thought it was cool that I lived in Boston. She always wanted to live in a city with four seasons. I confirmed that Boston does have four seasons, but all Bostonians know that the downside is the fact that there are times when you can experience all four seasons in one day!}

     Since moving, I rarely think about earthquakes and I never hear anyone talking about any experiences or fears. I basically expected living in California to be one long earthquake evacuation drill with scheduled breaks allowing for people to work and be with family. (Part of me was sad to learn that no one performs any evacuation drills or tactical survival training!)

I didn’t hear about earthquakes when signing the lease for the apartment, not while I purchased car insurance, and not even during the job training. (It’s almost as if these native West Coasters are completely oblivious to the fact that they live on the San Andreas Fault!)

Thankfully, Los Angeles is a few miles west of the fault lines so I think we’re safe. *FINGERS CROSSED!*

The reason I bring up earthquakes, is the fact that a 4.1 magnitude quake struck Southern California, yesterday. The epicenter was in a place called Yorba Linda, located in the O.C. about an hours’ drive from our apartment. I’m happy to report that I survived my first earthquake experience. It’s not what I expected; the incident was like a veteran porn star having sex with a man from Yakutsk, Russia; I didn’t feel a thing! (I figured living in a place as cold as Yakutsk, a man would definitely experience some major shrinkage!)

Great! Now the news stories are about being prepared for the “Big One!” The anchor just reported that there were another seven small earthquakes in SoCal within the last 24 hours! (Thanks for scaring the crap out of me, hot, surgically enhanced, news anchor lady!)

I’m not scared since these things happen. People will always die because Mother Nature is an evil cold-hearted bitch! I know some people may believe that the earthquake was part of “god’s” plan, which is fine. But if that is the case, I have one question about the location of the quake which was felt in Anaheim. What the hell is “god’s” problem with Mickey Mouse? You can destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, but I will not stand by and watch Disney Land be attacked.

This post was brought to you by Quaker State Motor Oil! (I actually got an oil change this afternoon!)


Capitalism At Its Most Evil

Every now and again, I’ll come across an interesting tweet. Yesterday, I came across one that made me proud to be an American. I don’t remember who wrote the tweet, but it was about the price of one can of 7up in the extreme North West of Canada.

(Here is a link to the article: This Is How Much One Can Of 7UP Costs In The Remote North Of Canada.)

In California, I can walk into most major grocery chains and purchase four 12packs of 7up for about ten bucks. That amounts to less than a quarter per can. I don’t know about you but that seems like a great deal to me. (USA! USA! USA!)

Unfortunately, this is not the case in all corners of the globe. Apparently, a can of 7up has become a luxury item to the unlucky residents of Canada’s Extreme North West region, more commonly known as “why the hell would you live in that cold ass place!” (Talk about a place that is in desperate need of a Wal-Mart!)

According to the article, a can of 7up costs $5.25. (You didn’t read that incorrectly!) The locations of most of the towns are difficult for distributors to reach, which allows store owners to charge whatever the hell they feel. (Too bad the devil doesn’t exist, because these are his kind of people.)

     I know what you are thinking; “I don’t need any fancy soda. I can survive with water.” I agree; water will definitely get the job done, but there is a catch; the price of water is unaffordable. One reader replied to the story with the actual price of bottled H2O; a 24pack of water (about three dollars in California) costs an astronomical $104.99. (I believe the name of the store is Bob’s Inflation Station!)

       I believe a local rapper’s most popular song is called Poppin’ Bottled Water. (That’s what I call BALLIN!’)


     Anyone up for moving to Canada’s North West Territory, A?


Time’s A Wasting

I’m sure most Celtics fans gathered with some of their favorite people to watch game seven in hopes of seeing a big win; I did no such thing. I turned on the game with a little over 5 minutes remaining in the first half. The team looked as if they flew to Miami with a purpose, but I’ve watched too many NBA games to believe the game was over.

I had no desire to witness the meaningless third quarter so I waited for an hour to switch back to the game. After seeing the score I immediately turned the game off. Call me a fake fan if you will, but I am no longer superstitious so me watching has absolutely nothing to do with the final results. The Celtics lost and I had an enjoyable Saturday. (The way things should be!)

While Celtics’ nation watched their team’s season end, I watched reruns of Seinfeld; I don’t have to tell you that I laughed my ass off! (Sorry for telling you!) I guess I’m just not into the NBA anymore. That being said, I will watch some of the Finals in hopes of witnessing Miami lose.

While flipping through the channels, I found a great documentary, Stephen Hawking’s Grand Design: Did God Create The Universe? The brilliant physicist explained why the universe was not created by “god.” (Great documentary, but I didn’t need a genius to speak on the matter in order to arrive at that conclusion!)

The film began with the Vikings. (Not the mediocre team from Minnesota! Go Broncos!) It was interesting to see that the real Vikings believed solar eclipses happened when one of their gods attempted to eat the sun. The warriors would scream and threaten the starving god, which they believed would caused him to stop and the sun would reappear. (Silly, I know!)

When scientists discovered the laws of nature, the Church attempted to stop the progress by calling such thought “heresy.” After realizing that they were fighting a losing battle, the Church switched their views. Instead of denying the laws of nature, they decided that “god” governed the laws of nature. (How fitting!) I’m not going to get into every detail; I’m sure most people who have an interest in the subject will be able to find the film on the Discovery Channel.

I definitely agree with Hawking’s statement that the discovery of a heliocentric solar system and how it works is human kind’s greatest achievement. It’s amazing how many ridiculous notions have been disproved by science. The religions of the world should fear the future because soon, humans will look back and find it impossible to believe that people actually prayed to “god.” (The stars were once thought to be chinks in the floor of Heaven! YIKES!)

It was interesting to hear about a 1985 meeting between Pope John Paul II and a group of scientists in which the Pope said it was OK for scientists to study how the universe works as long as they do not attempt to seek out its origin. (I’m sure he was considering the Vatican’s vast wealth and thinking “god help us if they discover it’s all a bunch of bullshit!”)

I believe a world devoid of religion would lead to great discoveries. If people stop fighting over nonsensical beliefs and stopped wasting time worrying about being judged by “nothing,” we could pool all of our resources on earth and use them to search the universe. There is so much out there and we continue to retard our progress because there is a strong, albeit ridiculous, belief that the mysteries of the universe will be revealed by “god,” in the afterlife. It sucks that humans continue to waste precious time with such nonsense. We are so far behind in our goal of uncovering the mysteries of the universe, but I guess it’s better to be alive today rather than in the days when “the sun revolved around the earth!”

The conclusion of the documentary provided me with the answer I’ve been searching for. I realize that the universe created itself and I have a basic understanding of how energy works, but I always wondered what came prior; the answer was explained perfectly. Time didn’t exist before the universe. (The statement will make perfect sense after watching the film!)

“Asking the question: did ‘god’ create the universe, doesn’t make any sense! It’s like asking for directions to the edge of the earth; the earth is a sphere and has no edge. It would be futile to search for one!” – Stephen Hawking

The way I see it, I’m going to agree with the genius, but I understand if others decide to agree with a book that has two beginnings and an unknown number of authors, written over the span of a century, about three thousand years ago! Sadly, faith continues to be the biggest enemy of education!

If you earned a degree and you still believe in a higher power, you should contact your institute of higher learning and demand your money back; you may have passed but the professors failed you!