Get Out: I, Tonya is more like I, Oscar as the nominations announcement takes Shape!

January 23, 2018February 16, 2018 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 2 Comments

Forget about the Government shutdown or any of those nimrods running this country like a second-rate car wash and prioritize what’s important: Tuesday morning’s Oscar nominations announcement! This year’s race has been all over the place and exciting because there’s not one movie running away with everything – the critic’s prizes have been all over the place so Best Picture isn’t necessarily sewn up just yet.

Forget Christmas or New Year’s – Oscar Season is the most wonderful time of the year! If you don’t agree then you can just Get Out? If you had told me a year ago that this little horror movie would be an Oscar nominee – I’d have told you to get out, but in just a few hours it most certainly will be! I don’t know if I’ll get a Best Picture nomination, but it’s a really great film that’s sure to be recognized tomorrow.

I’m not one to launch into a checklist of all the categories with who I think will be nominated because that’s boring and that’s typical and I am neither of those things. We’ll jump around, but let’s talk Best Director. Do I think Lady Bird will get a Best Picture nomination – definitely. Do I think Greta Gerwig will get a Best Director nomination for it? I’m really hoping that I’m wrong, but unfortunately, I’m leaning towards no. Not because she doesn’t deserve it or she shouldn’t be nominated; I want to be wrong on this but I’m leaning towards no based on Oscar history. At this point, I don’t know that there’s anything to stop Guillermo del Toro from winning for The Shape of Water, but the Director’s Branch doesn’t go with the popular vote for their nominations and that’s especially true recently.

It may seem odd to overlook the front runner to one of the most talked about films this year, but there are only five spots and this is an old boys club that might just stick with the veterans like Spielberg and Ridley Scott over newer directors like Greta Gerwig or Jordan Peele. Also, there have only been four women nominated for Best Director and only one female winner. In 90 Years – how is that even possible? That fact in itself is hard to ignore and pushes me towards a Gerwig snub Tuesday morning…

If snubbing Greta Gerwig seems absolutely crazy, remember that this is the same Director’s branch that didn’t give Martin Scorcese a Best Director Oscar until The Departed in 2006! Take that in folks – Eminem was an Oscar winner for 8 Mile years before Martin-effin-Scorcese! Shameful as that is, Christopher Nolan has never even been nominated for Best Director – this nomination for Dunkirk will be his first! This is one branch of the Academy that doesn’t seem to go with emotions or what the public does like the acting branch. In fact, in recent years the Best Director hasn’t even lined up with the Best Picture winner which, historically, was never the case.

Remember how great it was when Kathryn Bigelow stormed the stage for The Hurt Locker to win Best Director? That was an anomaly. She was snubbed for Zero Dark Thirty shortly after in the same year that be Affleck was snubbed for Argo – which actually won Best Picture! How the hell does the film winning Best Picture not get a nomination for Best Director? Affleck’s snub was the best thing that happened to Argo; it made them the underdog and they ran on a “shame on you for not nominating Ben Affleck” campaign which gained momentum and won the trophy. That could certainly happen with Lady Bird if Gerwig isn’t nominated tomorrow – it would up the chances in a race that’s not over by a long shot and march Lady Bird right up to the podium!

Along with the snubs are the surprise nominations that come along every now and then; there are always a few head scratchers that seem to just come out of nowhere and I love them. Last year, Amy Adams was snubbed for Arrival which I didn’t love and then her costar Michael Shannon came out of nowhere and got nominated for Nocturnal Animals which he could do again with The Shape of Water. It’s a film that everyone has seen so he could possibly hear his name called if the film builds momentum. It’s extremely doubtful for so many reasons but just know that if he hears his name, Woody Harrelson or Armie Hammer definitely won’t.

Both The Shape of Water and Three Billboards will have three acting nominations but Sam Rockwell – it’s about damn time! Three Billboards will be the first film since Bugsy in 1992 with two supporting actors nominated for the same film. Those nominations are givens, but although quite unlikely, it’s entirely possible for Jessica Chastain in Molly’s Game to sneak into Meryl Streep’s The Post spot and Daniel Day Lewis might not get the love people are expecting for Phantom Thread leaving an open spot for Daniel Kaluuya for Get Out.

My big wish for the nominations is to see some love for Mudbound and The Big Sick and not just because I met Kumail Nanjiani and he’s awesome. I don’t think Mary J Blige is gonna make the cut for a Supporting Actress for Mudbound, so I’m rooting for her in the Best Original Song category! Mudbound is a great film, with a great story and a great cast that just happens to be written and directed by Dee Rees and I hope it gets the recognition it deserves. It should land a screenplay nod tomorrow, but getting a Best Picture nomination would be amazing, but it’s a very long shot.

If you think the race is over, consider that final Oscar voting closes on February 27th and the ceremony isn’t until March 4th – that is a lifetime away from now in Oscar campaigning and although Three Billboards has momentum right now, it’ll be hard to maintain that for the next month; I, Tonya could club the competition and surge up to a prime spot between now and then.

CelebriTuesdays: Robert Kirkman – Don’t be a Jerk-Man! The Walking Dead has gone to his head!

November 29, 2017 / www.immodiumabuser.com / Leave a comment

You know all of those gracious stars I talk about meeting and taking terrible selfies with each week? This isn’t about one of them. I didn’t realize how lucky I’ve been to have gotten so many encounters with so many people until Elisabeth Shue’d me away and now Robert Kirkman turned into a real Jerk, Man.

If you’re like me, you’re googling to find out who that is because Robert Kirkman isn’t a household name like the Immodium Abuser. He created The Walking Dead based on the comic book series he wrote and, full disclosure, I didn’t know who he was when I saw him. I don’t watch The Walking Dead because honestly, if I wanted to hear about the end of the world and zombie apocalypse I’d tune into CNN when they discuss The White House. When I saw him get out of his car, I thought he might be “somebody” heading into Sirius for an interview, but I didn’t know who it was right away. My interest became piqued when he started covering his face with his arms saying “NO, NO” as if he were Taylor Swift getting mobbed by fans. That’s the best part of it – he’s unrecognizable to the average person on the street and there was NO crowd waiting for him or mobbing him to take pictures. He strolled by our stalking spot while we were waiting for someone else with his hands up which tends to get you noticed.

I can see if this was the crowd waiting for you, but come on…

The only thing missing is the crowd to hide from…

Let’s cover two things here: A) Nobody was even that jazzed up to see him or rushing to snap a pic – not even that crazy lady in the Pokemon shirt and she’s always jazzed up. I only started taking pictures when he started blocking them because I thought he was being crazy for no reason. B) If you’re gonna make such a fuss about people seeing you on the street, then you should enter through the garage or walk up casually and NOT covering your face like Blanket Jackson. Most importantly though, for God’s sake – don’t carry a lunchbox. Just a thought here, but you know who carries a lunchbox, Dude? Children, mentally impaired adults or eccentric weirdos do that. If you’re a high functioning adult still carrying a lunchbox, at least have some self-respect and get a cool Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle or Star Wars themed one. Truth Bomb here, you’re worth twenty million bucks – let’s hire someone to carry that lunchbox around for you immediately!

Apparently, if you ask my brother or his wife – The Walking Dead is amazing and he’s a big deal. Granted, this is from the same people who didn’t like Manchester by the Sea – so their opinion of good quality entertainment is somewhat skewed. That movie tore me up and haunted me for weeks after seeing it, but I was afraid they might have been dead inside after they told me they hated the movie and didn’t feel anything after watching it. Come to think of it, it actually makes sense now: they literally might actually be dead inside and part of the zombie apocalypse. I’ll have to make sure and be careful at Christmas or next thing I know, my sister-in-law will be tearing up our gathering with a barbed wire baseball bat like Negan does on the show if I get mouthy again.

I full realize that no celebrity owes me anything and I don’t expect any of these people to want to waste their time with me and my terrible selfies, but you can be nice and at least smile when you’re going by people! I get it that you were in town for ComiCon and were maybe getting mobbed by Walking Dead Heads, but let me just lay this out here now: when I’m worth twenty million bucks like this schlub – they’re gonna have to chisel the shit-eating grin off my face because I won’t be able to NOT smile.

Guillermo and his Amazing Dreamcoat

July 18, 2017December 1, 2017 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 1 Comment

As I was sweating my balls off in this ungodly heat today on Metro North, I started dreaming of winter and how refreshing the cold weather can be and it made me think about a former colleague, Guillermo, and his winter wardrobe.

If you’ve never seen a hustlin’ seventies pimp in real life before, head over to Accounting to take a gander and you won’t believe your eyes. If only Ben Affleck had consulted Guillermo for wardrobe ideas before they started shooting The Accountant, the movie probably would have done a lot better. He’s short, mid-fifties, wears big glasses and looks like Super Mario’s brother Luigi. I don’t want to be mean and say he was fat, but when the police eventually draw his chalk outline, it’s going to be a circle….Now add a huge fur coat on top of this and he looked like a cartoon character. Forget Joseph’s Technicolor Dream – he wore a fur coat and matching hat that made him look like the product of a hot three-way between Luigi, Huggy Bear from Starsky & Hutch, and an actual Grizzly Bear.

Our Accounting Team

As the seasons turned and the winter breeze crept into the air, it’s normal for most people to gradually work longer sleeves and sweaters into their wardrobe, but not Guillermo: he went balls out straight to the fur! The best part was his matching hat which made him look like a Yeti covered in fur head to toe. You just couldn’t look at him with a straight face. At first, I thought that he might have accidentally worn his wife’s coat, but day in and day out, he rocked it like a Hurricane. My wife has informed me that normal and mature people don’t stare or make comments in situations like this, but I’ve never been mistaken for normal or mature.

Guillermo was a nice man, but I couldn’t get past the coat. I had to know where he got it and why he wore it and how the hell he wasn’t sweating like crazy in it. I have very lite self-control in situations normally, but this was putting me over the edge. He felt like people were making fun of him (Newsflash – we were!) and didn’t like to talk about the coat, but curiosity was getting the better of me and I just knew that had to try it on. I’m OCD and the thought of being inside that pelt skeeved me out big time, but I knew I needed to step up here and that it had to be done.

Guillermo Namath

I was leaving the company to work at another company and I knew it would be my only chance, so I casually started talking about the coat and was leading up to me trying it on for a picture. He randomly told me the story of how a homeless man attacked him on the subway trying to steal it, yet he fought him off with all of his might causing the left arm to be ripped off the coat. It took his tailor three weeks and the skins from two raccoons and a squirrel to mend it, but apparently it was good as new. I was picturing his subway Fight Club in my mind as he was telling me, but all I could think of was the Wampa cave scene with Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. Apparently, G isn’t Star Wars fan…

At first, he was playing hard to get and didn’t want to let me try it on. “Stop it, now give me that coat” I said which forced him to explain to me what his hesitation really was: apparently, not every man can wear fur because not everyone has that certain swagger needed to pull it off. AS IF! “G, are you asking me to wear this down Fifth Avenue? OK, now it’s on!” With that I put on the coat and we headed for the elevator!

Now this is swagger!

What I failed to realize, was just how heavy the coat was actually going to be. It was literally as if I had crawled up inside a bear’s ass and then walked around carrying the bear. It was also hotter than the sun inside that coat by the way. I felt like Han Solo when he cut the Taun Taun open for him and Luke to sleep inside and keep warm. I mean, I sweat excessively in just a t shirt and shorts, but I didn’t have that coat on for a full minute before I was soaked right through. I don’t know how the hell he wore that around and didn’t pass out! It gets cold in New York, but for Christ’s sake – global warming people…you don’t need fur! Forget about mistreatment of animals and that it’s wrong to wear fur or that it’s just mean; what’s mean is making a person sweat like that from a coat!

G looked at me and said “how does it feel?” as if I were test driving a Ferrari and I’m not sure if it was my spirit animal literally engulfing me right there in the office, but I said “it makes me feel like this!” It was at that moment that I chose to jump on the conference table and pose like Burt Reynolds in Cosmo and show him who had swagger. While the ladies in my office thought it was hysterical, Guillermo felt I was crossing line and was now being disrespectful to the coat as if that point hadn’t been passed long before. With that, I told him we’d take it to the streets and we headed for the elevator so I could prove my swagger on the streets!

Swagger to spare!

The winter Holiday scene in the lobby of our building had a nice display featuring polar bears, snow, and penguins – the perfect winter scene scape for me in the fur! I proceeded to do what every sensible person does right about then and get into the displays and frolic with the wildlife until security sent us on our way.

I did rock that coat and prove my swagger, but he was right – not every man can pull of a fur coat. I probably could and should have gotten one of my own just to spite him, but I’d have died from heat exhaustion like I do on Metro North each day I commute, so no fur for me. I did get a few strange looks, but being that it’s NYC, no one cares about this idiot strutting around inside a carcass. The moral of the story is be careful what you wish for or you’ll end up hot and sweaty on your knees with a bunch of penguins and not the good kind of hot and sweaty either!

Sister, please tell me about the Baby Jesus…

December 10, 2015 / www.immodiumabuser.com / Leave a comment

Pretty the Kitty sends her holiday wishes to everyone!

For the past week, I’ve been talking about my sister and it feels just a little bit wrong in a way. Not wrong because I wrote nutty things about a crazy person, but wrong because I held back and like Vanessa Williams: Went and saved the best for last. When talking about my itty-bitty, cray-cray sister and celebrating her Birthday Week, there is no more accurate portrayal of her in anything I’ve ever written than the famous Baby Jesus post! It would almost be irresponsible and selfish of me not to share it with you!

Once again, she was causing bedlam in the bathroom and although this was one of the few times that no cats or walls were shit on, it also outlines her stint as a local vigilante worthy of the Master himself: Guardian Angel Curtis Sliwa! That’s not even to mention the time we were driving in the back of a parking lot one night and came upon a drug deal and she started holding the horn down, flashing her brights, and shouting out the window! I did what any real man does in that situation – I dove into the back seat and ducked for cover on the floor screaming like a little girl. Curtis, put her on patrol man, she’ll clean up the streets in no time.

I was in Home Depot last week and saw a nativity set that I almost bought to revisit Kim for a reenactment, but didn’t because my sister is pretty sure she’d press charges this time. Either way click here for The Famous Baby Jesus Story and hear a most amazing tale about me, my sister, and the absolute true meaning of Christmas!

The Famous Baby Jesus Story

If you’re laughing at this, my wife probably isn’t – Part three: Does it still count if it’s her aunt I mount?

July 9, 2013 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 36 Comments

I got a comment from Celtic illumination, aka the loveliest pair of legs in Ireland about something I mentioned off-handedly in this post. Those legs are off on a secret cabal to become the Master Candle Maker in the world and considering that the double top secret world of candle making is extremely cutthroat, I’m offering support where I can. There are way too many pairs of legs gyrating through Ireland to blindly classify one set as the loveliest, but I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt here and choose to believe my new friend. Anyway, here’s the comment she left:

You mention ‘accidently mounting your aunt,’ are we talking taxidermy here?

Shame on me for assuming that the term that “mounting” was universally understood. I thought that people would realize that when I said that I “mounted” her it was pretty clear that I ended up straddling her. I know it’s hard not to think of straddling as a sexual thing, but this truly wasn’t that kind of story. When I read the comment to my wife, she laughed out loud and I said “who would think I was trying to stuff your aunt and mount her on the wall?” to which she replied “Please don’t try to stuff my aunt!!!” which definitely had a sexual connotation to it and not the intended taxidermy slant.

So, to clear up any lingering confusion, here is the official non-taxidermy related version of the incident. It was my wife’s family Christmas luncheon and we were at her Aunt Lynn’s house. There was about fifteen of us scattered around, but the majority of the group were having drinks and catching up in the living room. The kids and my wife’s grandmother were opening their gifts when her aunt gave us a gift (even though we weren’t supposed to be exchanging). Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t raised by animals so I got up to go over and say thank you while my wife was walking towards the kitchen to refill drinks for everyone.

Her aunt was lying on the couch across her mother and grandmother as I walked over to her. They were positioned like this: her aunt’s head was on the throw pillow at the end of the couch and her legs were stretched the length of the couch on top of my mother-in-law’s lap and my grandmother-in-law’s lap. As I leaned down to give her a kiss, I said “I really want to thank you…” and that’s when it all happened in an instant. As I was bending down to her, her uncle Gary (who was walking by me at the time) pushed me. This normally might not have been a big deal if I hadn’t lost my balance from the nudge he gave me and ended up right on top of her. When I say I was on top of her, I mean that I was now straddling her. If that is not any clearer, I mean to say that my junk was lined up with her funk! She was, of course, caught off guard by this strange way of being thanked at a family gathering and she said “Oh…your welcome” as she was laughing at me.

Uncle Gary immediately helped me even further by shouting “Hey, get off my sister like that!” which in turn made my wife spin around to see me still on top of her aunt. She looked at me with that all too familiar look of puzzlement/annoyance that I have come to know and love after all these years as she said “Get off my aunt like that!”

As I tried to gently dismount her and regain my composure, I tried to explain that her uncle had pushed me and that I wasn’t just some pervert looking for a little something to fill my Christmas stocking. It wasn’t like I was the crazy one in this situation, but needless to say it was another family gathering that I made an impression at similar to the game of Cranium when I was paired up with my wife’s grandmother and had to hum “Like a Virgin” to her. When I realized the next clue I had to draw for her was nipple I gave up with no hopes of winning that game. Sometimes you gotta know when to cut your losses if you can’t win. At least it wasn’t like the time I got punished and was forced to leave the table during Thanksgiving Dinner and sit upstairs alone, but that’s a story for another time…

Keep those comments coming! I have a tendency to ramble on like a yenta and have been known to go off on incoherent tangents from time to time…

Forget the Mountain, she Brokeback Christmas?

December 28, 2012December 28, 2012 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 11 Comments

This time of year always makes me think about the close family and friends that may not be with me in person any longer, but are never far from my heart. That being said, I thought I’d honor the memory of my Aunt Margie in the only way I know how!

She was very special to me and I loved her dearly…If she were still with us, she’d be celebrating a birthday and the holiday this December yet she’d say the story that I really should be sharing is when my Aunt Beanie Vote ruined her Christmas.

The Holiday Season was upon us and it took Aunt Margie weeks and weeks and weeks of looking through many many many stores in order to find the perfect artificial tree and yet mere minutes for Aunt Beanie Vote to crush the woman’s Christmas Cheer. The tree was all assembled and we took a step back to admire it – but it was slightly slanted. We cocked our head from side to side to make sure, but it was definitely crooked. I thought it might be the stand or the fact that it was on a carpeted floor, but Aunt Beanie being The Christmas Tree Whisperer saw the problem immediately: The mini tree that fits into the pole and rests on top of the tree to form the peak was ever so slightly slanted off to the side. She grabbed a hold of that tree and started to Bend it like Beckham. A little to the left didn’t do it, a little to the right didn’t seem to straighten it a bit and then one bend too many snapped that mother right in half. I’m not saying she was a little to rough with the branches as I’m not a Christmas Tree Whisperer like she is, but maybe she shouldn’t have gone all Rambo on the tree topper…

Aunt Beanie Vote takes down another one
“I wish I knew how to quit you!”

As these situations usually do tend to bring out the best in me, I fell onto the couch laughing like the immature child that I still am all these years later. She stood there holding those branches aloft not daring to turn around and make eye contact with Aunt Margie, who was definitely not laughing…Despite her Meryl Streep in The River Wild physique, Aunt Beanie Vote really doesn’t have super-human strength or anything. She just bent the top part of the tree a little bit too far and it just so happened to snap. It was so random that she probably couldn’t do it again if she tried, which makes me all the more glad for witnessing it.

My helpful grandmother (who was always one to generously stir the pot) took in the attack on their tree like a champ and in her beneficial way yelled at me “Come on, don’t laugh or she’ll hear you!” I guess she didn’t realize that since Aunt Margie was actually standing right next to me she could already hear me laughing. She was about two feet from me and had already seen me collapse into a hysterical mess onto their couch before she stormed into the kitchen for her black coffee and cigarettes without a sound…

To be fair, Aunt Beanie Vote was the one who drove her to all those many many many stores and spent weeks and weeks and weeks taking her to look at countless trees and never got frustrated or mad. She was much more patient than I would have been. I’m not even sure what the difference was in any of those trees since they were all green and pretty much looked the same, but Aunt Margie would know “The One” when she saw it. She knew she would find the perfect tree; there was a voice calling to her like the one Kevin Costner heard in Field of Dreams except she wasn’t building the tree and Beanie Vote was no James Earl Jones. Her voice was apparently trying to warn “If she bends it it will break” but you know how unreliable the voices can be…I say this not to make fun of her, but to stress the point that Aunt Beanie Vote was the absolute last person in the world who thought it was funny that the tree broke because now she’d have to pack up the pieces and go back looking for a new tree with my aunt all over again so she wasn’t laughing either.

Aunt Margie did get over it eventually and this happened a hundred years ago when I was seventeen, but I can still hear Aunt Beanie Vote gasping and see her standing there after that tree snapped all these years later and it still makes me laugh hysterically…

That’s the shortened version, because you know how I don’t like to embarrass anyone or blow up their spot…Love ya Beanie!!!

This one’s for you Aunt Margie!

CLICK HERE FOR TRIBUTE!

SPECIAL ELECTION DAY REPOST ABOUT THE REALLY IMPORTANT ISSUES FACING US!

November 6, 2012 / www.immodiumabuser.com / Leave a comment

No photo retouching at all – this is all Jimmy!!!

I am not just reposting this important message because there is an Election Day Party with Jimmy McMillan (The Rent is Too Damn High guy) tonight and I am not reposting it because I’m going to see him at that party tonight. I’m reposting this because he is informed, he has a clear vision, he is smart…Who am I kidding? I’m reposting this because he is freaking hysterical and if you don’t know who he is, go and look him up right now! Seriously, you’ll thank me later and your life will be a little brighter because Jimmy is in it.

No on really cares about the Republicans or the Democrats or the ecomomy or unemployment – all the other campaigns skipped right over the most imortant issue of all. Click HERE to see the really important topics that no one else has covered and see why Immodiumabuser.com is vehemently supporting Jimmy MacMillan in this and every election!

https://immodiumabuser.com/2010/10/20/the-no-means-nose-hair-movement/

Tell my wife that I’ll pretend to be surprised, but I’d really like to see this under the tree this Christmas: My very own Jimmy McMillan action figure. Forget G.I. Joe, I want the real American hero action figure! (Click here and buy one for that someone special on your list this Holiday Season)

Forget G.I. Joe, I want the Real American hero Action Figure!

Someone help me – I’m afraid of turning into my father!!!

April 4, 2011July 11, 2011 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 22 Comments

Unlike The Incredible Hulk who changed immediately, one of my greatest fears is that fate will sneak up on me and I’ll undergo a slow and painstaking transition into a heightened version of my father. Some people might think this is a compliment, but I’m not sure the world is ready for another one like him. To know my father is to laugh because he is crazy and hysterical (even if it is at and not with him), but for people that don’t know my father, let me explain.

This might as well be my father's Birth Certificate.

To say that my father is one-of-a-kind is to do a disservice to unique glacial formations created to bring beauty to the world. My father was actually created in another era from spontaneous combustion. He was one of ten children and called Baby Boy at the hospital. They literally named him Baby Boy. Every time he presents that birth certificate, there’s an issue. I guess if you have ten kids, who cares what you name them after a while, right? It’s not like you can remember all of those names anyway. We all think it’s funny, but The Department of Motor Vehicles never got as much of a kick out of it as we did.

Patience was never his strong suit either. How being the father of five kids that should have been caged and tranquilized at times didn’t teach him patience, I’ll never know. I don’t know how or why, but one of us always did something that would force him to clasp his hands outward with disgust while chewing on his tongue and chanting “You Kids…” For instance, “You Kids…Always go out of the house with a wet head-you’ll be barking like as dog”, You kids…think it grew legs and walked out on its own? “You kids…Always think I’m supposed to remember to come back and pick you up when I drop you off somewhere…”

I will say that my father unwittingly taught me the best quality that I possess: the uncanny ability to laugh in someone’s face. He didn’t teach me that skill outright, but he put me into situations which instilled in me a sense that it was something that just couldn’t be helped. Don’t even get me started on his car either, because it was crazy. It was a Navy Blue Diesel Mercedes that you had to plug in during the winter nights. Imagine how awkward it was to go over to someone’s house after dusk and have to ask them for an extension cord to plug it the car in with. That car was always a very sore topic with him anyway; Hit one gas pump and then two parked cars in the middle of the night looking for alcohol all in the span of one week and he brands you a bad driver for life…

Speaking of that car, anyone who knows my father can see where this is going. One day, my sister and I were sitting in it (more than most likely making fun of him) as he was adding more air to the back tire at a gas station. He was always convinced that it was “riding low” whatever that meant. Don’t you know that as her and I were dancing around and being stupid (No, we weren’t young kids – I was twenty and she was seventeen) my father looked away from the inflating tire to peek into the back window and yell at us to stop horsing around. No sooner did he turn back to the tire before it exploded in his face. BOOM!!! Seconds later, we were immediately laughing hysterically, and then looking at each other with that knowing glance which said that in his version of this story – somehow this was going to be our fault. All of a sudden, this bald head launched up into my window like a jack in the box and screamed “IT BLEW!” as if we wouldn’t have heard the boom. Talk about thanking God for a strong bladder – those are actually the moments Depends were created for. Needless to say, we were steps away from walking home because he didn’t find it half as funny as the two of us did. His response (with hands were clasped outward and chewing on his tongue “You kids…Think everything’s a fucking joke…”

My father always says that things aren’t made the way they used to be and he means it; Proof of this being the pair of brown pants that he has worn to every family function since 1978. When I said earlier that patience wasn’t his strong suit, I meant it. Those brown pants are his strong suit! Birthdays, Christenings, Backyard Barbecues, Anniversaries, or Card Games there hasn’t been one function that those pants haven’t been invited to. The OCD part of me likes a good ritual as much as the next guy, but when it becomes a uniform something is wrong. When actually confronted with this query, my father swears that he’s never worn those pants. Apparently, all the pictures from over twenty family functions in the past three decades while wearing the little brown knickers isn’t what he would refer to as “proof.”

This is actually the very first of many, many pictures of my father in the brown pants...

My wife actually owns the pants now, believe it or not. Two years ago, my family did a Secret Santa Yankee Swap gift exchange and my father (never one to be thought of as funny) really rocked the Yuletide Spirit. Not only was he wearing a new pair of brown pants, but he wrapped the classic brown knickers as his Secret Santa gift. My wife opened that box and did everyone a public service by taking one for the team and retiring their number. Now if only I could get her to stop wearing them when we go out…Apparently her and my father are in a sisterhood of the Jimmy Carter pants!!! Talk about a pair of pants lasting a long time! Hit me with an Internet High-Five below if anyone in your family has clothes that are older than you…

One thing that my father has never been mistaken for is sentimental. One only needs to ask my brother Angelo to repeat the conversation he had with my father in January to illustrate this.

Dad: “I don’t know if I told you this, but this year was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Everything just couldn’t have been better”

Angelo: “Dad, I wasn’t even fucking there! What are you talking about? (Angelo was bedridden at home with the flu when we got together)

Dad: “Either way, it was the best one I can remember in a long time…”

He’s never been one to worry about feelings or to not kick someone when they’re down I guess…

I am omitting the incriminating and obviously embarrassing parts of his insanity for everyone’s benefit. Does anyone need me to tell them about my father’s uncanny ability to fart on command and he will do it no matter where or when it is? Your friends are in the house, there he goes. You’re in the church for a christening – oops, he did it again! You get the point – the less said the better. How about I put the next part this way? I’m not saying that this actually happened, but if it did – this is how I imagine his response to be: If he were to start selling illegal cable boxes (I’m not saying he did, just projecting here) and I asked for one to take with me to college, I imagine that he’d reply “That’s 250 bucks – we’re not doing this to make friends!” Shortly after that, I’d find out that he sold one to my friend Annie for 200 bucks. So much for a family discount!!!

How it doesn’t chafe a testicle I will never understand, but the waistline of my father’s pants rides so high that his belt could actually be mistaken for a choker necklace. Upon first glance, you scratch your head because you can’t tell if his shirt collar is sagging or if he just got an atomic wedgie…It defies explanation and just cannot be comfortable. I guess after all these years it must seem normal to him, but Oh God if it isn’t a conversation starter for the people passing by. My wife and I actually have an unwritten pact that if one day she sees me going to leave the house and my pants are pulled up past my nipples like his always are, she will euthanize me immediately!!! People wonder how I turned out to be so crazy – No need to look any further than the chap in the faded brown pants for the answer to that one…

Remove the glasses and jacket and this is my father!

As a postscript for this post, I promise that I will record an audio version as well because a lot is lost in the text. You need the inflection and overall, the insanity translates much better with audio…

My relationship with St. Patrick’s Day: It’s nothing to shake your shillelagh at!

March 16, 2011March 16, 2011 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 10 Comments

I am the proud owner of a festive little green speedo, but circumstances have forced me to stop using it to show off my shamrocks on March 17^th. As a side note, the Metro North conductors have also stopped me from showing off my lucky charms in it. I was almost charged with assault in a crowded train car when my Irish polka combined with the speed of the train didn’t mesh well last St. Patrick’s Day. My jig went horribly off-course and I almost did polka an old lady in the eye with my shillelagh when I lost my balance. Tea bag one old lady on the train and suddenly no one is proud to be Irish anymore.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to carry tokens for the subway dressed like this?

In as much seriousness as I can muster, I am kidding about the above paragraph. Anyone who has seen this body in motion knows that I have rhythm and smooth moves like Justin Timberlake and will not hesitate to compete in a dance off on a train if challenged. That being said, I am serious here – I’m not going out on St. Patrick’s Day; I just can’t do it anymore.

When I was Studying Abroad in London, two of my friends from college were on the same program. While that often lends a sense of familiarity to the proceedings, it might have been too much for me. Baby M (not THE actual Baby M from the 80’s, but a close second in my mind.) was always a cool bean. She is a calming presence at all times except that one time when that hairdresser snapped some of her hair off of one side and left her with an awkwardly short sprout pointing upwards. I could describe her to you with words, but a cartoon character has her down pat, so I will just show you:

She doesn't knit, so pretend the yarn isn't there. Other than that, Gwendolyn is the spitting image of Baby M.

Yes my friends, she has the absolute sheer fortune to look just like the Gwendolyn character from Wallace and Grommit. I actually had to buy the keychain in the photo above when I saw it due to the uncanny likeness. As little as she appreciated that, she would get even more annoyed when I would show people in the bar and ask them if anyone in here looked like the keychain I was holding and nine out of ten people would look around and point right at her. The other person would usually run off because Baby M would see what I was doing and scream across the bar that she didn’t look like that. Her reaction always encouraged me to show more people when they asked about the yelling. I might have dropped it after a while if her mother hadn’t gotten her a stuffed version of that doll that Christmas. Far be it from me to argue with your mother (I actually love her mother – she’s a cute little peanut) but if she says you look like the doll, then you look like the doll!

The wild card was always Mary because she is insane. I’m not kidding and I didn’t change her name for two reasons: One, she is a LUNATIC and doesn’t mind people knowing it. Two, every woman of any age that I have ever met with the name of Mary has been crazy. No lie – show me a Mary that’s not crazy and I’ll show you a Mary you don’t really know. This Mary, Motown Mary, ZXO Mary, Old Lady Mary that looks like Stefano Dimera from Days of Our Lives, – they’re all nuts.

My friend Lisa from college. She would fill up on green beer before French class and all of a sudden she was fluent!

So, we went out for St. Patrick’s Day and as is my habit, I started talking to all of these randoms in the bar. One particular guy that we met was named Mohammed and he was apparently very wealthy. He was buying us drinks because he thought we were funny and then he actually let Mary use his cell phone to call our friends in college. She thought nothing of using his cell phone to call Upstate New York from London and what it would cost. We hung around with him and a bunch of others for a few hours and then as we were about to leave Mary came busting up, grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me around:

“Did you tell that Arab guy Mohammed that I was your girlfriend and that I would go home with him for Fifty Pounds? Why would you tell him we’re going out? Why are you trying to sell me again?”

“Mary, it’s not like I’m not going to split it with y…“

With that I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before she hauled off and punched me in the face. Literally, close fist, punched me in the face like she was Marky Mark in The Fighter. She doesn’t look it, but that bitch is strong!

Marky Mary regulating big time in London!

No sooner had she struck me before she switched personalities, forgot the assault and then said calmly “Come on, we’re leaving!” As I might have mentioned before, I have actually never been in a fight before and don’t count this incident as one but I always stand a little further away from her since that day. Also, this is not me being demeaning to women – this is me being a friend: friends try to sell their friends to Arab men. It’s what we do!

If I had known it would result in her giving me a pop to the chops like that, I would have held out for a hundred pounds from Mohammed. She was more offended that I said we were dating than me trying to sell her. Needless to say when she announced that we were leaving, he tried to follow us out and come too, but she gave him the stink eye real bad and he beat a hasty retreat. Probably a safer bet for him than going home with her if you ask me because that bitch was strong and left marks!

As an isolated incident, one might veer towards taking Mary’s side of the situation, but not anyone that knows her. I will go into greater detail about her at a later date and link back to here because that girl is a force to be reckoned with and should have reality cameras following her 24/7. She is mucho loco and wears her straight jacket like it’s from Prada.

I couldn’t decide between this and another St. Patrick’s Day incident, so I split them into two different posts. Come back on Thursday and read all about how I tasted a brick wall sandwich and then mistook a family gathering as my intervention and you’ll understand why I just will not go out on St. Patrick’s Day again!

Just for the Holiday Season: My Famous Baby Jesus Story

December 27, 2010December 10, 2015 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 7 Comments

I am not one to start with a disclaimer, but this post might need one. Some people get really crazy about Religion and what should and shouldn’t be done with iconic religious figures, so let me say right now that if you are the type that gets easily offended by the inappropriate misuse of a religious figurine by an absolute moron – STOP READING THIS NOW! Otherwise enjoy and don’t say that I didn’t warn you…

As you get together this week and surrounded yourself with those animals that you call Dad or Mom or maybe they’re your brother, sister, or even the housekeeper serving dinner – remember the spirit of the Holiday Season and what it was intended to be about: The Baby Jesus! I’m not kidding – I’d like to share a little something that happened to me the year that a little plastic baby named Jesus came into my life.

I was on winter recess from college and the insurance claims company where my sister Marlene worked needed temporary help for the holidays. I wasn’t really the working type but I figured a few extra bucks couldn’t hurt, so I signed on for a few weeks.

The office was in the basement of the owner’s house and besides him and I, there were only women working in the office. They were all crazy, but of particular note was the Office Manager, Kim. She was nuts and I do say that a lot about people, but with her it was actually true. She was dating my brother Angelo and if there was ever a person that should have been force-medicated because she was oh so crazy – it was Kim. She was a nice girl and all and no offense to my brother, but there was something really wrong with the water in that well if you know what I mean. Something was off and this is coming from a person that is a little “off.” If I know one thing for sure when I see it – it’s another crazy person and that bitch made me seem like a calm breeze. More about her later.

The office was about twenty minutes away from our house and Marlene and I had just left work and were heading home. We were driving along talking about nonsense as usual when I looked out the window and saw it. It was dark out and partially concealed, but I could see clear as day. They don’t call me Eagle Eye for nothing. (OK, no one actually calls me Eagle Eye, but what a cool nickname that would be – right?) I started screaming “Stop the car – Stop the car right now!!!” and Marlene swerved to the right, cut someone off and slammed on her brakes landing her hooptie halfway up the curb. I bolted out and ran down the sidewalk and as quick as a bunny I was back in the car cradling two plastic Baby Jesus figurines from a lawn manger. They were both life-size and in perfect condition, but one was painted to look like a real baby and the other was completely white – like a poor little albino Baby Jesus. I just knew in my soul that he wasn’t painted to remind me of the hardships and sacrifices in life and to remind me to give back and think of others…Or maybe the factory it came from ran out of flesh colored paint, which is far more likely.

It was January and Christmas was over, but someone had disgracefully thrown the Baby Jesus into the trash pile. Is it Baby Jesuses? Or is it like “The Gift of the Magi” and they’re called the Baby Jesi if there are more than one? Either way – You don’t do that! Just like with the disposal of a damaged American Flag, there is a certain protocol for the disposal of religious figurines. I am not sure exactly what that protocol is and Father John has been ignoring my calls since my Stigmata scare turned out to be a false alarm (OK, maybe I jumped the gun a little and got a little nervous…but it sure seemed like Stigmata to me) a few months ago but I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be in a heap of garbage and my Catholic guilt couldn’t let the Baby Jesus go out like that.

I was trying to buckle the Baby Jesus and his albino twin into their seatbelts in the back (Don’t roll your eyes, obviously, I didn’t know I would be picking up two babies or we would have brought car seats – sometimes life throws a curveball at you and you gotta duck) when Marlene went all kinds of crazy on me.

“Are you kidding? You almost got us into an accident to pick those fucking plastic dolls out of someone’s garbage – what’s wrong with you?”

“Lower your voice right now! They can hear every word your saying and they’ve been through a lot! I whispered back at her harshly.”

“What are you even going to do with those? Why did you take them out of the garbage Fred Sanford?”

Me in the Red Sweatshirt and Marlene in the Robe

“I guess that makes you Lamont then…DUNT DUNT DUNNIT…” and with that we were laughing and heading home. If you’re reading this and don’t know the theme song to Sanford & Son call your mother right now and tell her that I said that you were raised by animals! Then go to Best Buy immediately and get the Season DVD sets because that show is hysterical!

In actuality, I think Marlene was more annoyed at herself than me for stopping the car. Usually, her ninja-like reflexes kick in when she stops the car short and this time they just didn’t. In case I failed to mention this before, Marlene thinks she’s Curtis Sliwa in the Long Island Chapter of the Guardian Angels.

All she needs is a red beret and Marlene is can be an official Guardian Angel!

She’s got a baseball bat in her trunk at all times just in case something happens; all she needs is a red beret. True as I am typing here, one night she and I saw a kid getting jumped on the street by four other guys. She stopped her car in the middle of the road, popped the trunk, got her baseball bat out of it and went running down the sidewalk faster than TJ Hooker after a suspect. As she was out there, I did what any sensible person would do – I screamed like a little girl and then dove into the driver’s seat, rolled up all the windows, locked the doors and slipped that mother into drive to get the hell out of there. I was carrying on like someone was chasing me in a Scream mask and figured it was every man for him or herself. Sister or no sister – out there on the streets – you’re on your own! Unbelievable as that was, she chased four guys away and when she helped the guy that got jumped up off the ground – he actually started yelling at her that he could have taken them. That’s when Florence Nightingale herself told him she hoped they came back and kicked the shit out of him again – she’s all heart that one.

So as we drove towards home with the babies safely tucked into the back seat – there was almost an explosion in the car. Like the stick of dynamite that went off on that cold Thanksgiving night when I drank half a gallon of apple juice – Marlene was in gastric distress. Believe it or not – this time there was severe stomach pains, sweating, cramps and a 98.6% chance of someone shitting their pants in the car and it wasn’t me! That’s what we call dramatic irony folks!

All of a sudden, Marlene shot across the highway and made a break for it down a side street. Kim, the crazy Office Manager that my brother Angelo was dating, lived close to where we were stuck in traffic so she headed that way. Kim lived in a basement apartment on a very busy street and as we pulled up in front of it, Marlene just slammed on the brakes and ran towards Kim’s door. This wouldn’t have been a big deal except for the fact that she almost got hit by at least two passing cars as she got out because she stopped short in the middle of the street. The car in back of us almost rammed us along with the cars screeching to a halt and lining up in back of his car. I got out of the car and tried to explain to the driver holding his horn down and cursing at me that she was having bad stomach pains and then just as I got to his window and tried to apologize, he leaned out and started screaming “Move that fucking car right now you Asshole!” Well, excuse me for trying to let you know what happened sir! I finally got the car out of the street and as I parked – it came to me like a vision: I knew exactly why the Baby Jesus had been brought into my life that cold dark night…

Do not ask me what possessed me over those next few moments, but I can still see it playing out in my mind’s eye in slow motion. When I got out of the car, I unbuckled the painted Baby Jesus, took off my jacket and wrapped it around him and I went running off into the night like a flash of lighting.

By some Christmas miracle, Marlene actually made it into Kim’s bathroom seconds before shitting her pants. I guess abandoning the car in traffic was a good strategy because she got there right in the nick of time. She ran in and went straight into Kim’s bathroom leaving the front door half open. Kim was on the telephone with my brother Angelo making plans to meet up later that night as Marlene bypassed any form of small talk.

Like a SWAT team busting up a meth lab, I kicked that half-opened door and came crashing through. I was cradling the wrapped-up Baby Jesus and hunched over so that you couldn’t really tell what I was holding as I burst into the room. I started screaming at the top of my lungs “KIM, KIM, – OH MY GOD KIM– THERE’S A DEAD BABY ON THE FRONT LAWN! THERE’S A DEAD BABY – CALL 911 – THERE’S A DEAD BABYYYYYYYYYY!!!” and with that, I thrust the Baby Jesus right up into her face as I was screaming.

The look of surprise, fear and confusion on her face was such that it will forever be embedded in my memory like a tattoo. As I went in screaming at the top of my lungs, it was loud; possibly a little louder than I should have screamed, as I think about it in hindsight. Kim was normally a very nervous person and a little on edge, but screaming frightened her… As I went rushing in like I was on fire, she threw the cordless phone (with Angelo still on the line) and immediately started screaming and freaking out, I mean FREAKING THE FUCK OUT! She was running around in circles crying and screaming and throwing her arms around. When I pushed it all up in her grill and she came face-to-face with the frightened Baby Jesus, she actually swung at it to get it away from her as she threw herself to the floor and collapsed into a heap. It might not have been as bad if immediately after she hit the ground, the Baby Jesus landed on top of her and then rolled off and settled right next to her on the ground staring up into her hysterical crying face.

It was so low as she talked that it was like a little squeak in between her wheezing at first…”ge… ge… ge” “get” ”get out” “GET OUT” “GET THE FUCK OUT!!!!” as she tried to crawl towards the telephone that my brother was screaming through “WHO THE FUCK IS IN THE HOUSE…WHAT HAPPENED?…WHAT’S GOING ON?…I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU TOUCH HER!…WHO’S THERE?” (He said later he thought she had been assaulted or attacked for sure with the way she was screaming and it happened so fast that he didn’t know if he should get into the car and head over or stay on the line.)

I would like to tell you that I was a mature person and sense finally came over me during her outbreaks and then subsequent breakdown immediately following my entrance, but alas that isn’t me…As she was alternately screaming, crying, and crawling towards the phone to try and recount to Angelo what had just occurred…I was crying laughing and on the floor trying not to pee my pants. I guess in hindsight I can see how she might not have thought it was funny, but in the moment – I really thought she might laugh at the absurdity of it all. Not the case.

As she tried to talk into the receiver it was a mess…”The…Baby…The Baby…Dead Baby…the Baby Jesus is in my house…” of course it made me laugh even harder and Angelo was trying to decipher what the hell she was talking about. She was then up on her feet screaming at me to get out again and calling me every curse in the book, heavy breathing/gasping for air, and still crying while my brother started screaming again “IS SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE?…WHO’S THERE?…WHAT BABY? TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!” as she threw me out the door. If she could have mustered the strength – she might have punched me in the face.

As I tried to stop laughing in her driveway and wipe the tears from my eyes, I realized that my jacket was still either wrapped around the Baby Jesus or on the floor where he and Kim hit the ground – and the car keys were tucked in the pocket of the jacket. There was absolutely no way that I could go back into that house without getting a serious beating (maybe deservedly so, I’ll give her that) so I sat out on the hood of the car waiting for Marlene.

Marlene came out of the bathroom and found Kim slumped in a pile on the living room floor crying into the phone and still not being able to explain fully what had happened to Angelo. She saw the Baby Jesus staring up at her from the living room floor and realized that the screaming and banging that she heard earlier was from me. She didn’t need to ask, but could pretty much piece together the events of the last few minutes in her mind and just walked out the door.

She came out to find me shivering from the cold but still laughing and then she got my jacket and we got back into the car. “Hey, do you think she’s going to give me back the Baby Jesus?” I asked trying to be serious and she just looked at me. “I can’t even right now…What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said and then we just busted out laughing…

As funny as Kim never found the incident and probably still doesn’t all these years later – Angelo tried not to laugh but he never heard the end of it from her. Needless to say, she was afraid to be alone there and he had to sleep over to calm her down because she was crying hysterically for hours.

The following Monday, she wouldn’t talk to me at work (OK, so maybe she had a right to be mad – I’ll give her that) and so I told her that I would “make it up to her” and go out to start her car and put the heat on for her as we were all getting ready to leave for the day. I went out and then came back to get Marlene. We got into our car, which wasn’t running and the windows were all rolled down. As I held my finger to my lips and told her not to say a word – I counted to about five before we heard Kim screaming at the top of her lungs out into the dark of night: “OH MY GOD – THE BABY JESUS IS IN MY CAR…WAAAAHHHH!!!” She started crying again and we got the hell out of there because I knew she would beat the shit out of me this time. As funny as she didn’t find it the first time, me putting the albino Baby Jesus in her car in a dark parking lot which scared her for a second time was worse. We didn’t even make it into the front door of our house before she had called my brother hysterical crying about the Baby Jesus again. He looked at me and Marlene and said “Enough with the Baby Jesus – How many of them do you even have?” and then he busted out laughing realizing how silly it sounded out loud…

I guess since time has passed I realize that it probably wasn’t something to joke about and it might have come across as mean…but it really was funny. She collapsed quicker than a Jenga game and I have never heard someone cry like that before or since. For the record, she never did give either Baby Jesus back to me.

I realize this might not be the Baby Jesus story you tell while sitting around your Christmas tree, but not a Christmas goes by that I don’t think about it and repeat around mine. I’m pretty sure not a Christmas goes by that Kim doesn’t think about it either…I imagine that if things had worked out between Angelo and Kim I might have grown to feel bad about it or been made to stop repeating this story, but like I said – she was crazy and they broke up – so here you go!

Happy Holidays to you and to all of the people in your life that would scare the shit out of you with a plastic Baby Jesus.

Is it really the thought that counts or what the f*ck were you thinking?

September 13, 2010December 4, 2015 / www.immodiumabuser.com / 7 Comments

People say that it’s the thought that counts when receiving gifts – but do you know who really says that? The people who don’t get the crappy gift! When you are the one who actually receives and opens the shitty gift, you never think “Oh, it’s the thought”…you think – “What a douche”…

If you don’t agree with that last statement then you obviously have never been given a bath towel that has a white side marked with the word Face and a brown side marked with the word Butt by your father-in-law for Christmas. He said he saw it and thought of me instantly. Not sure what that means exactly, but I never took it too personally because this is the same man who carried one of his wife’s old purses through Europe so he had all of his things at the ready on the plane trips. It’s not even like it could pass for an attaché case or a messenger bag – it was a God damn Coach pocketbook!

It’s not even like I got the matching soap that comes with it!

I’ve never been really good at faking my disappointment at bad gifts. I’ve never been as bad as my sister Marlene who once opened a crayola crayon sweater from an uncle and said “Are you kidding – I’m not wearing this thing.” She was justified when my brother Anthony told her he was sick of giving her bad gifts every year, so he would give her cash for Christmas instead. Come December 25th, she saw a big box with her name on it and sensed trouble right away. She knew that there was no way the box could be filled with cash and she gave him that knowing glance. that glance usually precedes a violent outburst at our family gatherings and he said “I know, I was going to just give you money, but when I saw this I just knew that you would love it.” She proceeded to open a pre-Sue Sylvester red polyester track suit, strikingly similar to the ones worn by those weird kids in The Royal Tannenbaums and she looked at my brother to see if he was serious. He had such a proud smile as if he just gave her the keys to a Range Rover and then she noticed the $14.99 price tag that he had left on it. She first checked the pockets for the gift card that would normally accompany a gag gift like that and then said “Are you fucking kidding me?” she offered – “What happened to you being sorry about always giving bad gifts, so you were going to give me money instead. You spent $14.99 on this.” He didn’t get it and tried to ask where her holiday spirit was, but needless to say that Christmas gift ranks up top with her just above the Island of Misfit Toys dolls that he gave her just two years earlier.

There is a difference if you give a bad gift with a funny intention or if the gift is truly funny. Last year for my Christmas grab bag at work, I put in a bright orange Mr. T Soap on a Rope. It was brand new, but when our admin opened it, she totally didn’t get it. Granted, she is brain-dead and is the queen of the blank stare, but that is a classic gift that people fight over. You just can’t get that everywhere! I gave it to Weezie for her birthday one year and she gave it the ultimate respect that it normally commands – she placed in right into the cleavage of her low-cut shirt and wore it for the rest of the night at the bar.

I usually put a ton of time into thinking what to get a person, but I too have fallen to the dark side and gotten a bad gift or two. Let me start out by saying that I am a whore for a compliment. I was in the mall at Christmastime and you know those kiosks in the aisles that always have the cute foreign girls coming up to you saying they just want to talk to you? They’re dangerous. All it took was two Armenian girls sweet talking me and I left their kiosk with four of The Original Head Trip Tingler Copper Head Massagers:

Copper Head Tingler – Who wouldn’t want to get this as a gift?

Needles to say when my sister unwrapped it – my wife started to laugh; She certainly didn’t expect to find one under our tree at home or one for her mother and sister either. She also didn’t expect that I would spend 100 bucks on shit that no one wants. I fall victim to a compliment from a pretty girl and believe every word – that’s why I can’t be left to shop alone. I once bought a ruffled white shirt that cost $150.00 because the sales girl in Kenneth Cole told me I looked cute like Usher when I tried it on. I, of course, bought it hook, line, and sinker and then got the jeans too because she told me they completed the outfit. I got home thinking how hot I would look and my wife then reminded me that I look nothing like Usher. In fact, I look more like Oprah than Usher – especially since I’m white!!!

arrives at the 52nd Annual GRAMMY Awards held at Staples Center on January 31, 2010 in Los Angeles, California.

The timing of this post might seem suspicious, but I don’t throw this out there now because my birthday is next week and I am afraid of bad gifts. I put this out there now because if you give me bad gifts, I am gonna let you know. And don’t get me a towel that says Butt on it – I didn’t need one, but I certainly don’t need two! And if you give me a bad gift – I will write it here!

Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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Hey Yenta - tell your friends!

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