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!




Another Step Closer

I reached another step on my long road to becoming the Deli Devil. (If you have no idea what I am referring to, read my previous post: This Actually Happened – October 15th) Step eight: have some experience killing the same type of thing, repeatedly.

In my case, I have been an insect serial killer for at least a quarter century; this is a step that I have plenty of experience with. I also have the natural ability to spot any insect regardless of the environment. I can spot a chameleon in the most inconspicuous hiding place.

For some reason, I will instinctively stop watching television and spot a spider, hidden in the corner of my bedroom. Once I see an insect, the desire to kill it immediately washes over me. The problem is I have never been one of those people who touch insects, so I have to come up with creative ways to kill them without actually coming into contact with the critters.

One major concern about moving to California was the knowledge that warmer climates produce larger and a wider selection of insects. Thankfully, I rarely come across the creepy crawlers. Unfortunately, insects are not yet extinct in the city of Los Angeles. Every so often, I will find an insect in the apartment and I will kill it as soon as possible.

Since I do this regularly, I consider myself an insect serial killer. I even have a reliable instrument of death. MY TRUSTED BROOM! First, I use the broom to sweep the insect to the ground, if it is on the wall. Then I use the broom to sweep the insect into the wall at a high speed. The key is I feel absolutely no guilt!

The result is quick and fatal. The insect dies and I use the dustpan to dispose the dead critter into the waste basket. Sometimes, I leave the insect on the floor for an hour or so, just to send a message to any other insects who may be thinking of entering the apartment.

In a way, I am an evolutionary serial killer because I do it for the environment. In fact, the way I see it people who do not kill insects, found inside of their homes, are doing the planet a disservice. Charles Darwin’s Natural Selection will weed out the dumb insects and help to evolve a new super insect that will be smart enough to stay away from killer humans. Through the process of evolution, earth will be a place where humans and insects will be able to coexist, without having to interact. As long as you allow the dumb insects to continue living, you are slowing down the evolutionary process!


     Please don’t get the wrong idea; I’m not some sadistic individual who gets pleasure from killing insects. I don’t want to share a living space with them and the murders are necessary and not gratuitous! The fact that I don’t feel any remorse is because I was able to rid my mind of the guilt-ridden religious theological teachings. (I don’t foresee experiencing any guilt when I move on to become a “real” serial killer!)

***I placed the word real in quotation marks because killing insects is real!***

     Since I’m on the subject, I do have an enemy insect. I despise the centipede. I guess it’s the fact that they are extremely fast and they can kill humans. (I know it is rare for a centipede bite to kill a human, but I’m not taking any chances!)

Although there are people who believe centipedes are a helpful since they prey on other insects, I don’t want them anywhere around me. I have and always will hate centipedes. I will share too experiences which caused me to hate the centipede.

Other than storage space, the basement of my childhood home was only used to wash clothes. Every time I went down to do laundry I had to be on centipede alert. It was terrifying. Originally, the basketball hoop in my backyard was located near the gate and we had problems with unwanted guests. At the end of the summer, we took down the hoop and planned to relocate it to a more desirable spot. When the spring arrived, a cousin of mine was helping me retrieve the hoop so we could re-cement it in the new location. As we carried the backboard up the stairs it got stuck and while we attempted to figure out the best way to loosen the hoop, my cousin spotted a large black centipede. My escape route was blocked by the hoop and I as stuck in the basement with the massive killer. I don’t remember much of what happened next, but somehow I managed to survive!

It was a little wider and longer than this one!

     There was another incident that happened during the summer, about fifteen years ago. We often hung out on my friend’s stoop, but the place was a centipede hot spot, so I was always uncomfortable to the point that my hatred for the insect became a known fact. One day, I jumped off the steps after spotting a centipede. My friend grabbed the insect and chased after me. I hopped on my bicycle and got the hell out of there. I peddled so fast and out of control that I almost crashed. After an hour of being chased from the street, my friend finally told me that he was terrified of centipedes and would never touch one. I was still a bit apprehensive when returning to the stoop, but I ended up trusting him and he was being honest. (That was one of the scariest experiences of my life!)

This post is sponsored by Orkin!

This post is a cry for help. I don’t want to become a serial killer!


A Look Inside

This post is a look inside the inner workings of my mind. There is an ongoing battle between me and my mind, each night. I attempt to go to sleep and my mind wanders into the land of random thoughts. Unless I’m extremely exhausted, at least an hour goes by before I fall asleep. Thankfully, I keep my phone within arm’s reach in case I need to write down an idea or two. (This post originated during one of my nightly battles!)

My mind is like the IBM ThinkPad that I bought in 1998; it will shut down eventually, but there will be a long wait. Last night, I mistakenly thought I was going to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but this is the journey that my mind decided it wanted to share with me.

I can’t remember what I was thinking about but eventually I ended up thinking about pizza. Immediately, I recalled the old Tombstone Pizza ads on television in which people are asked, “what do you want on your tombstone.” The question got me thinking about my tombstone and I actually arrived at a great epitaph. (I’m not sure if this quote is what I actually want on my tombstone, but it’s what I came up with!)

***Here lies Peter. Don’t believe a word he says!***

This is what I really want on my tombstone, as of today.

I have no idea where the quote came from, but I decided that my tombstone would read, “NEVER HAD TO PAY FOR AN ABORTION!” (No offense to anyone who had to pay for an abortion; I’m just stating a fact!)

Most people may be repulsed by such a quote, but I feel it is perfect for several reasons. After the initial reaction wears off, all types of questions will enter one’s mind. This is why I love this quote; it confuses people. (In the future, anyone who reads my tombstone will be filled with bewilderment!)

“What the hell does that mean?”

Assumption 1: I think when this guy was alive abortions were commonplace and he wants people to know that he never had to pay for one? He must have been some kind of hero!

Assumption 2: This guy probably got a lot of women pregnant, but he always managed to avoid paying for the abortion. He’s either a smooth talker, or a fugitive from the law.

Assumption 3: Maybe this guy is just letting everyone know that he never had to secretly pay for an abortion.

Assumption 4: I think this guy was accused of paying for several abortions and he doesn’t want anyone to believe the rumors.

Assumption 5: This guy probably got a bunch of women pregnant, but he never paid for the abortions because he had some kind of hookup!

Bonus Assumption: This guy is some idiot whose last request was to have a controversial and shocking epitaph on his tombstone. What a jackass!

I’m sure there are plenty of other assumptions, but I think these get the point across, like a trapeze artist without falling! (Feel free to share any assumptions that may have popped in your head!)

I didn’t think of any other assumptions because my mind shifted a little. Out of nowhere, I began to wonder if this quote would serve better as a tattoo. At first, I thought it was a great idea for a tattoo, but it is a horrible one. The reason the quote works better as an epitaph is the fact that I will be dead. If I get a tattoo that reads, “never had to pay for an abortion,” it may turn out to be a lie.

What if something happens and I slip one past the goalie causing me to have to pay for an abortion. (When it comes to abortions, I’m all for them; especially mandatory government forced abortions! I just think there should be a list of criteria which has to be met before allowing any idiot to bring a child into this world! No offense to any horrible parent!)

There is also a chance that I may have to pay for an abortion that I had nothing to do with. What if a friend or family member got some random one night stand pregnant, but he didn’t have the money to pay for an abortion. I may have to step up and contribute.

I’d rather not have children, but what if my teenage daughter disobeyed me and ended up getting pregnant by a boy who goes to church every Sunday? In that situation, I would have to pay for an abortion.

I’d rather not have a tattoo that is an outright lie, so I’ll stick with the tombstone idea!

I know what people are thinking; “you can get a tattoo removed or covered!” True! Tattoos can be altered, but I don’t believe in removing tattoos; they are meant to be for life. Altering the tattoo is not a horrible idea. I actually already have a basic idea of how I would do it. The “N” will have to be altered; possibly turned into an asterisk, and the exclamation point turned into a question mark. The tattoo will them read, “*EVER HAD TO PAY FOR AN ABORTION?”

That would be an awesome tattoo! Except for the fact that my new nickname would be Inappropriate Question Tattoo Guy or IQTG for short!

[The sequence ended once I gave myself the new nickname.]

That’s what I deal with on a nightly basis. Actually, this is how my mind works throughout the day as well!

***I don’t think I’m crazy!***


It’s The Law

When it comes to driving, the only thing I hate more than people who can’t drive is the seatbelt law.

     I don’t believe the government has a right to decide whether or not a woman can have an abortion, but they definitely cross the line when they try and tell me that I have to wear a seatbelt. (Is it offensive to compare the seatbelt law to abortion?)

I finally have a license plate, so I have less anxiety when I see a police cruiser; I no longer have to worry about being pulled over. That being said, this seatbelt law has me on a constant lookout for police officers; I really don’t want to get a ticket for something as arbitrary as not wearing my seatbelt. (The way I see it, Jesus never wore a seatbelt so why should I?)

I honestly don’t understand how politicians refer to America as a free country, but I can’t drive down the street without having to keep my head on a swivel in order to avoid Johnnie Law and his evil book of pain. (Am I the only one who considers this law to be a mild form of communism?) I get it, people believe wearing seatbelts will save lives; I just don’t care. I don’t like wearing seatbelts, I never liked wearing seatbelts, and I will never wear seatbelts. (Unless I feel my wallet is at risk!)

There are some instances in which seatbelts may prevent you from escaping a car wreck and I don’t want to take that risk! “In some cases, wearing a seat belt could cause further injury during specific types of collisions.” *This quote was taken from speeduptraffic.org* (The picture below was also taken from the site!)

     First of all, I lean my seat back too far for the seatbelt to work properly so I’d probably die in an accident. I already survived a near fatal accident without wearing a seatbelt and I will continue to “live on the edge.” It is perfectly legal for me to smoke a carton of cigarettes while drinking a gallon of whiskey until I am in a coma, but I can’t drive to a block without wearing my “safety belt.” (I love living in a free country!)

I think my biggest complaint about wearing seatbelts is the fact that they wrinkle my shirts. I take the time to iron my shirts and I prefer for them to remain wrinkle free for at least a few hours. It should be illegal for people to walk around with wrinkled shirts! (I’m kidding but I wouldn’t be surprised if “BIG GOVERNMENT” enacts a new wrinkle-free law!)

I also don’t like the fact that seatbelts are constricting. I haven’t been diagnosed, but I’m pretty sure I am claustrophobic. Me no like confined spaces! Plus, wearing seatbelts is eerily to having a noose around one’s neck. I would rather not be reminded of slavery every single time that I enter a vehicle. (Call me crazy!)

People may find it weird that I had no problem breaking a hundred, yesterday, but I almost crapped my pants when a police officer pulled up behind me for a couple miles; I anticipated the siren and lights going off, but thankfully there was a compassionate human being inside of the patrol car and not some asshole with an ax to grind. (I thought about pulling over and acting like I arrived at my destination, but I fought the urge and my wallet remained intact!)

Obviously we need laws to help govern the roads, but forcing motorists to wear seatbelts is a bit much. I understand the drunk driving thing, because other people are at risk, but what I do in my car to increase comfort-ability is my business. (Fine, I won’t use my cell phone, but I’m not backing down on this seatbelt matter!)

I definitely need to get some tinted windows so I can ride without a seatbelt without alerting the officials of my “criminal” behavior. Seriously, what’s next; a suicide fine? Will family members of those people who decided to pull a Seau be forced to pay an exorbitant amount of money as restitution for breaking the law? (Officer friendly is starting to piss me off!)

***For the record, I do not plan on wearing a seatbelt so if I die in a car accident, don’t blame it on my “outlaw” ways; the seatbelt would not have saved my life. If anything, the accident will be a suicide, committed in order to force my family to pay the new suicide fine! (If I have to go, I might as well piss some people off!)***

Why do they call it a seatbelt anyway? The damn thing goes around your shoulder: it should be called a shoulder belt or “annoying shirt wrinkling apparatus!”



Originally, I planned on waiting a week before writing this post because I wanted people to read without allowing emotions to cloud their judgment. Upon second thought, I realize that emotional people will always be emotional, so there is no point in waiting. I also don’t mind being called emotionally dead! (For more of my thoughts on suicide, read yesterday’s post: Sui Caedere.)

First of all, let’s get one thing straight; Seau was a San Diego Charger; period. All of you Patsy fans can stop with the nonsense about him being a former member of your crappy team! (He played in only New England in the twilight of his career!)

     I’ve decided that people who commit suicide do not get to be honored. If you take the coward’s way out, we don’t have to respect them.

I’m aware of all the excuses that people are throwing out in order to explain why it was ok for Seau to take his own life, but it’s all a bunch of nonsense. We have to stop making excuses for the weak. Being too proud to seek out help is not a sign of manliness; it’s a clear sign of weakness. Pride is ridiculous and will lead to the downfall of the idiot. I believe judge Milian of the people’s court refers to such “caveman” behavior as “Quien es mas macho!” (If you don’t know what that means, Google it!) Hiding your pain and putting on a brave face has no Redeeming quality.

Honestly, can anyone think of a more selfish act? I was happy to hear a few of the radio personalities on ESPN talk about Seau’s decision in a negative light. I hate when people die and they are made out to be a hero. If Seau was murdered, then this would have been a great American tragedy, but people who take their own lives are never to be celebrated. They are the poster children for how not to solve problems.

I just can’t bring myself to feel sorry for someone who lived a pampered life. Seau was a star at USC, and a star in the NFL; he made millions of dollars and was loved by millions of fans. I get it; he never won a Super Bowl, but you don’t see Dan Marino playing Russian Roulette with a shotgun. If Seau didn’t feel he deserved to live, I say good riddance! (I know money doesn’t solve problems, but there are plenty of poor people going through a lot worse and they continue struggling for survival on a daily basis!)

Seau was said to be a great ambassador for the NFL, but his legacy is tainted; he set a poor example by committing suicide and it is the responsibility of all parents to teach their children that it is wrong to run from their problems. All of the stories about his great character and leadership abilities mean nothing because his final message to the world is “quitting is ok!”

This former superstars’ children did not ask to be born. He had a responsibility to be here for them. Yes, he may have left behind a vast wealth, but who will walk his daughter down the aisle and who will his children turn to in times of hardship. How will his offspring find the strength to face adversity when the one person who was supposed to set an example failed them?

People say that it’s wrong to talk negatively about the dead. “Let Seau rest in peace.” They say. They couldn’t be more wrong. That is a terrible approach; we cannot allow suicide to become the an accepted act. We have a duty to set an example for the future generations. It is important to call out the cowards in order to send a clear message to anyone who is going through a period of suffering. SUICIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER!

There are those who say, “the use of the word coward is too harsh.” What would these people have me call such a man? I can’t think of a more appropriate word!

To make matters worse, this is actually the second occasion in which Seau attempted to take his own life. He drove his car off a cliff in 2010 after a fight with his girlfriend, but survived the “accident.” I guess the old adage is right; second time was the charm. When someone attempts suicide and they survive, it’s easy for the individual to lie and say that it was an accident. Twice? That seems like someone who really doesn’t want to live. Seau had two years between suicide attempts. That is more than enough time to seek out help; there are no excuses for his lack of determination. (“Fool me once…you fooled me; can’t get fooled again!” misquoted by George W. Bush!)

When you are going through tough times, stay the course and you’ll persevere; don’t pull a Seau!

No mother should ever have to go through this!


Sui Caedere

I have a lot to say about the recent death of a NFL Hall of Famer, but some people are starting to believe that I am emotionally dead, so I won’t discuss the specific incident. Obviously I am not emotionally dead; the truth is people allow their own emotions to cloud their judgment and I simply focus on facts. (You’ll have to forgive me for not caring that a multimillionaire couldn’t deal with his problems and decided to take his own life!)

***The previous comment was made under the presumption that initial reports are correct and the incident was in fact a suicide.***

     To me, suicide is the quintessential cowardly act. (There is an exception; child suicide is completely different. To read my thoughts on child suicide, click on the link: Bullying and Suicide.)

There are literally billions of people on this planet who live below the poverty line. There are millions of people who die from different diseases. There are millions of newborn babies who are born with the HIV virus and many other suicide inducing life dilemmas; the answer is never taking one’s life. (Unless “god” wants you to take your life!)

Although taking one’s life is arguably the most difficult thing a human being can do, I still think it’s the cowards way of dealing with a difficult situation. Life isn’t supposed to be easy; there will be many curve balls thrown, and just when you learn to hit the curves, life will throw you a slider. The fit will survive and the weakest will quit. Don’t be a quitter by killing yourselves. (I apologize to any creationists for referencing Darwin; obviously, all science, and his work specifically, was inspired by the devil!)

I know; I know! “If someone in your family committed suicide, you would feel differently.” Not a chance. My uncle committed suicide and I spoke to him on a regular basis. We talked all the time and shared many laughs. When he took his life, the only sadness I felt was for his wife; she deserved better. My uncle had some challenges to deal with, but nothing that comes close to justifying his actions. I honestly feel that he took the cowardly way out.

Please be advised, if I am found dead and the police determine that I took my own life, act like Flava Flav and don’t believe the hype. I enjoy living and I’ll be here until my luck runs out! Find out which child of “god” decided that they were ridding the world of an evil being and alert the authorities. (If my murder assassination isn’t at the hands of an overzealous believer, please look into who is listed as the benefactor in my will and you got your killer!)

Please do me a favor and stop crying when random celebrities, who have absolutely no connection to you, die! (Especially if the individual takes a self-inflicted fatal shotgun wound to the chest!)

***If you are going to mourn the loss of a random celebrity because you feel that it makes you a caring human being, the least you can do is write your RIP comments on a post-it note and stick it to your fridge; not everyone on Facebook gives a shit!***