viva la revolution or something!

A couple of months ago, Ari and I, being the proud parents that we are, submitted a picture of our dog Jack for a calendar of local dogs.

Of course Jack was selected because he’s fucking cute and if you don’t know him, you wouldn’t realize that he’s completely insane. We were very excited about him getting picked, until we saw the picture.

Here is the month, which is dominated by a huge picture of some idiot named Otis, while Jack’s picture is tiny in comparison.

Weak.

First of all, Jack is not Otis’ friend.  I’m sure Otis wishes he was Jack’s friend, but Jack is very popular among the dogs of Clinton Hill, Brooklyn who don’t mind being humped.  He must be selective.

And seriously, how is Jack’s picture not the center piece here?

Sears Glamour Shot.

Right?  Much better than Otis’ picture.

So Ari and I were all “What the hell?” and “Guess we’re gonna have to cut some bitches” about the situation.  Then as we scanned through the calender we noticed something: the dogs that were featured with big photos belonged to a neighborhood dog association!

Talk about dirty politics.

Since Jack isn’t a member, he got shunned!  Is this not America??? Do we not have equal opportunity for all dogs???

Sure Jack has lunged at more little kids than Micheal Jackson at a playground, but does he not deserve his chance in the spotlight like the rest of these Elitist Pups?

Well Ari, Jack and I have decided we won’t stand for this injustice.  I know right now you’re saying, “Uh dude, I’m not buying it, mainly because it’s March and you’re just now bitching about this.  Honestly, it sounds like you’ve been drinking.” And maybe you’d be right – but that doesn’t change the fact that we are going to stand up for what we perceive as a wrong!

Right after I finish this beer.

what the pilgrims should have done

This Thanksgiving was a strange one for me because it marked the first time I wasn’t with family to celebrate it.

With needing to rent a car because of Jack, it ended up being way too much trouble to get out of the city, so Ari and I went to a friend’s apartment to eat ourselves to the brink of death and drink so much that we did this when we got home:

more about “dance magic dance“, posted with vodpod

Did you watch that?  I know, I don’t watch videos on blogs either.  In fact I have a strict policy of only watching them if they are under two minutes.  But that video is only 35 seconds, and it is worth it.  Plus I even used Vimeo, which is somehow cooler than Youtube now even though I don’t really understand why.

A little background on that video:  Earlier in the day, I was browsing iTunes and realized that I had been a complete asshole until then for not having Elton John’s “I Guess That’s Why They Call it The Blues.”  So I downloaded it to my phone.

I really don’t know what I was thinking, not having this classic to listen to at any moment.  I mean, Stevie Wonder has a harmonica solo in it!  I repeat – a harmonica solo!  Stevie Fucking Wonder!  Well, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who lives their life without this song, so I got it and listened to it about five times before we went to dinner.

Naturally, when we got back, I decided to put the song on yet again and dance with Jack.  This was all captured by our other friend who mainly laughed at us but also had the presence of mind to document it for later viewing.

The highlights of the video include the song itself, which makes you A Better Person, Ari making some sort of concoction and declaring it “Pup Stuffing!” and me dancing with Jack, which really was just me whipping him from side to side, while singing along at the top of my lungs.

I’m not really sure, but that might have been the best Thanksgiving ever.

tell all the people

The wait is finally over.  Today we all get to vote and see who the next president of our Kinda Okay Country is going to be.

I already voted this morning, but if you haven’t, let me offer you some guidelines which I used to make my decision.

1) Vote for the candidate you’d like to bring to a party.  Think about if the guy you voted for called you up and was all, “Bro! Party tonight!”  At first you’d be excited, because well, the president just called you “bro.” But what if you showed up to the party, wearing your finest socks, only to find out that everyone at the party thought the president sucked?  No girls would want to talk to you and by the end of the night you’d be so upset for voting for the guy that you’d tell him, “Dude, I don’t even like your sweater.”  Even though you totally do.

2) Vote for the candidate that you think makes the best grilled cheese. This is self explanatory, but because I am An Educator, I will elaborate.  Everyone likes grilled cheese.  Everyone.  If you don’t, then please call your Mom and tell her you are a failure (if you haven’t already).  Since everyone likes grilled cheese, pretty much everyone can make it.  But only a handful of lucky souls – like me – are blessed with the talent to make it exceptionally well.  Now I ask you – would you rather eat an Okay Maybe That Was Good Grilled Cheese or a Damn Dude My Mind Just Exploded Grilled Cheese at 4:47 AM after drinking 32 beers?  Exactly.

3) Vote for the candidate that likes Bobby Brown’s classic from Ghostbuster’s 2, “On Our Own.”  I think we all know the reason for that.

Those three guidelines will lead you in the right direction, no doubt about it.  But if you’re still unsure, if you’re still one of those undecided voters, I will let you in on a secret. 

In times of great unceratinty, I turn to someone to show me the way.  When times are tough, and I think to myself, “Why am I so stupid?”  I know that if I just turn to this “seer” then he will show me the right way.

He is wise.

He is truthful.

He knows what you should do.

Educated voter.

two worlds

This morning when I took Jack out to pee, I saw a hooker standing across the street from me and when she noticed me she smiled and said, “Good morning.”

I nodded and mumbled “Good morning” back, but it struck me that my definition of a Good Morning and her definition of a Good Morning are probably pretty different.

At that point in my day, a good start to me means that I got Jack to piss right away, I caught all the highlights I wanted to see on Sportscenter and I didn’t curse the heavens when I was trying to get my tie to cooperate.

For the hooker, I imagine it’s a slightly varied version.

In fact, for a hooker to have a Good Morning, it means that she had a Good Night, because that’s when all the action happens.

It must have meant that she got at least three guys to have sex with her, and maybe if she was lucky it was all at once – much more time efficient.

After that was done, she probably had some time to kill, so maybe she made a visit to the local crack dealer and got high while listening to The Beach Boys or something relaxing like that.

Then, feeling good and feeling fine, she probably roughed up the new girl on the block just to let her know “who the real bitch is.”

So when she finally ran into me, with my half open eyes and t-shirt on backwards, she probably thought I needed something to lift my spirits, thus the cheery greeting.

And even now, I bet her day is going better than mine, because I’m here at work and she’s probably passed out on the sidewalk somewhere, not a care in the world.

Well, aside from worrying about when she’s going to have sex with a random person for money again, but c’mon – who who hasn’t been there before?

i’m with stupid

Yesterday Ari and I decided to take Jack, our resident nut case of a puppy to the dog run so he could release some energy and maybe make us look like Good Dog Parents.

Upon hearing the idea, Jack showed interest.

This meant that he stopped biting my leg long enough to look up at me.

I thought that was nice of him.

So off we all went, onward to a dog run that is about three miles away from our apartment. I wasn’t sure I could make it, seeing as my usual Sundays consist of Sitting Down and Watching Sports While Nursing A Hangover, but I thought it was worth a shot.

Being a city dog, Jack has developed the odd behavior of every time that he sees a patch of grass, he immediately throws himself down and rolls around.

I think he does this to remind Ari and I that despite the fact that he loves eating discarded chicken bones off the concrete sidewalks of Brooklyn, he’d much rather roll in the grass of Country Town USA.

Once Jack was done making us feel guilty for living where we do, we continued on.

We walked past the Brooklyn Promenade, with its great views of the city and the Brooklyn Bridge.

Ari and I love Brooklyn Heights, where the Promenade is located.

We always gaze longingly at the nice brownstones and imagine that if we had just four million more dollars, we’d live there too.

Then we stop because the people who do actually live there see us staring and think that we are Crazy Poor People.

The dog run is about four blocks from the Promenade, so we were there in a few minutes.

Now you’re asking yourself, “Well Chris, where are the pictures of Jack at the dog run?”

There are none.

This is because I lost track of time and forgot. Also, there was a crazy woman yelling at me about Jack and I, being a Mature Adult, was yelling back.

Ari loves it when I do this.

After the incident and on our way home, she yelled at me about my behavior.

She explained to me that even though the woman was wrong and was being insane, it is never okay for me to say to someone who qualifies for retirement, “Dude! Shut up!”

Jack was okay with everything that happened though.

He’s a bit of a bastard, and I guess so am I. Poor Ari is surrounded by bastards.

When we finally got back to the apartment, Jack decided that it was nap time.

It was a good day, so I rubbed his belly, thanked him for being immature with me, and nodded off shortly after him.

white people like dog shit

Two posts in one day? I know. But I thought you might enjoy this little exchange I just had with a woman while I was walking Jack.

[Approaching two thirty-something black women standing on a corner]

Woman: [With attitude] “Are you curbing your dog sir?”

Me: [With more attitude] “Uh, yes. I always do.”

Woman: “Well, I hope so, because there are a lot of people who don’t and it’s disgusting.”

[I'm walking away]

Me: “Yeah, well, whatever, I always do, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Woman: [Now yelling] “Well we didn’t have this problem before you white people moved here!”

[I stop walking. I turn around to her.]

Me: [Yelling now too] “Oh! It’s because I’m white! I let my dog shit everywhere because I’m white – of course!”

Woman: “Uh-huh, that’s right!”

Me: “So let me get this straight: White people do it, but black people don’t. That’s how it goes?”

Woman: “Yes, I’m not prejudiced that’s just a fact!”

[People are now stopping and staring at us, which is something worth noting, because it takes a lot for people to stop and stare here]

Me: “Oh yes, of course! Well, I’m just glad that there are people like you around to keep things straight!”

[I start walking again]

Woman: “Yeah, you white people are terrible. You, the Jews, the fags, the lesbians and the spanish people are…”

Me: [Cutting her off] “Oh that’s right, I forgot about them! They suck too!”

[I walk away with Jack. He seems confused, so I give him a treat for not being white]

in summary

Man Weekend did not pan out exactly as I thought it would.

I know – you’re shocked.

Instead of roaming the apartment like a wild boar, here’s a small look into what I did do.

• In an effort to further distance myself from Real People and further entrench myself among Internet People, I signed up for Twitter. I have absolutely no idea how to work it, so anyone that can help, please email me. I do know that I must have more people “following” me than those that I am “following.” This will make me seem more popular. So if you too have Twitter, twat me at bksurviving. I’ve always wanted to type “twat,” and now I have. Twice. I should note that I signed up for Twitter while drinking, which as we all know, usually leads to Making Good Decisions.
• I went to the Diesel store in Union Square. I did this because 1) I enjoy spending an obscene amount of money on clothes and 2) My favorite pair of jeans is no longer made by Diesel, so I wanted to ask someone there what style it was so I could find them online. The latter involved me having to do a little twirl for a male employee there. He needed to see the back pockets. I wasn’t comfortable with this, but I will do anything to wear Cool Clothes. I also gave him my number. He said he’ll call.
• I drank a ton last night. Way too much. The drinking started as it usually does – alone, with thoughts of despair. Kidding! I was alone though. Well, Jack was with me, but he wasn’t in the partying mood. I went out, made fun of the typical amount of people and then over-tipped a cabbie on the way home. Of course.

Now, because of My love For Alcohol, my brain is not happy with me.

I don’t think I’m going to make it.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

If anybody wants my Playstation, just let Ari know.

annie leibovitz – call me

Last night Ari and I went out with some friends and ate some Thai.  After this some of the people we were with wanted to go to a comedy club.  Since we didn’t want to listen to some late-thirties dudes who still live with their parents make semi-funny jokes for an hour, Ari and I headed back to our apartment.

The problem with this unexpected end to our night, was that I was still hammered.  Because who doesn’t get wasted when eating dinner? You’re right, probably Republicans.

Anyway.

After giving the cabbie an 80% tip (my brain likes math when clouded with alcohol), we were back at our apartment and needed a way to entertain ourselves.

Drunk pictures with an uninterested/hardly impressed dog? Perfect.

Strike a pose.

There’s nothing to it.

Vogue.

saturday shorts

* I saw that guy who told me about his nasty feet today at Trader Joe’s.  I stayed away from him.  I did look at his feet though.  This guy has no idea how much he has impacted my life.

* Packing groceries is a an art form.  When I worked at Sam’s Club (yeah, whatever, Walmart is the devil and all that, but I needed money for the mass amounts of pot I consumed – okay?) back in my freshman year of college I used to take an insane amount of pride in how well I’d pack people’s shit.  Now, when someone half-asses a bag for me – I just shake my head as I analyze their every move.  “Man, no way you go with the eggplant now – the ketchup!  The ketchup now you fool!!!”

* Speaking of grocery stores – have you ever used those self-check out things?  You want to talk about pressure?  There is nothing like when one of these things doesn’t work right.  I was trying desperately to get one to work today, and all it kept saying was, “Please place the item in the bag,” like some kind of fucked-up sadistic grocery robot.  I started to panic.  I could feel people’s eyes boring a hole into the back of my skull.  Sweat was pouring down my forehead and my hands were trembling.  It was fucking terrible.  I’m sure I just lost at least a year off of my life because of that ordeal.

* My dog is chewing on a penis.  I’m serious.  At the pet store today, my girlfriend and I were looking to get him some rawhide, when out of nowhere, the owner of the place says, “Has he ever had a bull-tuggy?”  We both shook our heads no.  The owner then hands him this thing that looks a lot like a rawhide bone, and says, “It’s a bull penis, kind of like rawhide, only lasts longer.”  I said to the guy, “Uh, I don’t think I feel comfortable with him chewing on a penis,” but Jack had already grabbed hold of it.  So now my dog is chewing on a penis.  This is not the way I envisioned my Saturday.

sharp as a spoon

As I said in my first post, I have a puppy named Jack.

My girlfriend and I got him from a shelter on Long Island about two months ago, and he’s been reeking havoc on our lives ever since.

This is him in his natural state.

Jack is pretty much a small, fur-covered ball of hell.  He’s only 5 months old right now, so this means – much to my delight – that he will soon be a large, fur-covered ball of hell.

Some things that Jack enjoys:

Eating discarded chicken bones off of the street.

Running around like a maniac immediately after a bath.

Jumping on every single person that comes within three feet of him.

Eating pens.

Sticking his nose up a little girl’s skirt.

Peeing in wine stores.

Eating his own shit.

These are just a few of the many wonderful moments that Jack has blessed my girlfriend and I with.

As you may have guessed, Jack is slightly dumb.  It’s okay to say it, he doesn’t mind.

Dogs, it seems, are just like people.  Some people are smart and some people are dumb.  I just happened to adopt a dull-brained dog.

This is okay with me though.  He does a lot of cute shit that pretty much makes up for all the dumb shit that he does.

He’s a good dog, there’s just not that much going on upstairs.

And because all I’ve done is talk shit on him, here’s a picture of him looking his best.

Cute right?

Don’t let him fool you.

In the blink of an eye he’ll be peeing as he walks, unlike a normal dog, who takes a moment to crouch down to do his work.

This my dog.  This is Jack.